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Mudejarismo and Moorish Revival in Europe
Visualising the Middle Ages Edited by Eva Frojmovic (University of Leeds, UK) Editorial Board Madeline H. Caviness (Tufts University, USA) Catherine Harding (University of Victoria, Canada) Diane Wolfthal (Rice University, USA)
volume 13
The titles published in this series are listed at brill.com/vma
Mudejarismo and Moorish Revival in Europe Cultural Negotiations and Artistic Translations in the Middle Ages and 19th-century Historicism
Edited by
Francine Giese
LEIDEN | BOSTON
Cover illustration: Murcia, Royal Casino, Patio árabe, Manuel Castaños, 1901–1904. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Thomas Scheidt, Christian Stein. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Giese, Francine, editor. Title: Mudejarismo and Moorish revival in Europe : cultural negotiations and artistic translations in the Middle Ages and 19th-century historicism / edited by Francine Giese. Description: Leiden ; Boston : Brill, [2021] | Series: Visualising the Middle Ages, 1874-0448 ; volume 13 | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2021006713 (print) | LCCN 2021006714 (ebook) | ISBN 9789004448209 (hardback) | ISBN 9789004448582 (ebook) Subjects: LCSH: Architecture, Mudéjar. | Moorish revival (Architecture)– Europe. | Architecture–Europe–Islamic influences. | Historicism in architecture–Europe. | Architecture and society–Europe–History. Classification: LCC NA385 .M83 2021 (print) | LCC NA385 (ebook) | DDC 726/.309468–dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021006713 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021006714
Typeface for the Latin, Greek, and Cyrillic scripts: “Brill”. See and download: brill.com/brill-typeface. issn 1874-0 448 isbn 978-9 0-0 4-4 4820-9 (hardback) isbn 978-9 0-0 4-4 4858-2 (e-book) Copyright 2021 by Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill NV incorporates the imprints Brill, Brill Hes & De Graaf, Brill Nijhoff, Brill Rodopi, Brill Sense, Hotei Publishing, mentis Verlag, Verlag Ferdinand Schöningh and Wilhelm Fink Verlag. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Requests for re-use and/or translations must be addressed to Koninklijke Brill NV via brill.com or copyright.com. This book is printed on acid-free paper and produced in a sustainable manner.
Contents Acknowledgments ix Abbreviations x List of Figures xi Notes on Contributors xxvii Introduction: Towards a Comprehensive Understanding of Interconnected Realities 1 Francine Giese
part 1 Between Fascination and Conflict 1 Where Does Mudéjar Architecture Belong? 7 Francine Giese 2 When Warriors Become Teachers Alfonso x’s Cultural Endeavors and the Crusade Ideology 18 Michael A. Conrad 3 “Ennobling Muslims and Jews”? The Instrumentalization of Mudéjar under the House of Trastámara 1369–1474 36 Michael A. Conrad 4 Reassessing the Moorish Revival in 19th-century Europe 59 Francine Giese
part 2 Agents and Networks 5 “Oh, You Seeker of Knowledge! This is Its Gate Opened Wide...” The Transcultural Networks of Patrons, Artists, Scholars, Writers and Diplomats Between Medieval Iberia and North Africa in the 14th Century 81 Michael A. Conrad
vi Contents 6 Beyond Kings and Sultans Vertical Diffusion and the Patrons of Urban Palaces in 14th-century Toledo 108 Michael A. Conrad 7 Spanish Intellectuals of the 19th Century and Their Role for Knowledge Exchange Across Europe 133 Christian M. Schweizer 8 Mentors, Patrons and Social Networks The Trajectories of Architects in a Globalized Century 151 Francine Giese 9 Il Gusto Moresco Amateurs and Artists in Florence and Rome during the Second Half of the 19th Century 173 Ariane Varela Braga
part 3 Artisans and Architects as Protagonists of Transcultural Exchange and Artistic Transfer 10 An Interconnected World Mudéjar Artisans and the Aristocracy in 15th-century Castile 195 Luis Araus Ballesteros 11 Reproducing the Alhambra Monument Conservators and Artisans in Granada 212 Francine Giese and Alejandro Jiménez Hernández 12 Learning from Casts and Models Schools and Academies in 19th-century Europe and the Specific Case of the Alhambra Collection in St. Petersburg 235 Katrin Kaufmann, Ekaterina Savinova and Ariane Varela Braga
Contents
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part 4 Artistic Translations between Imagination, Politics and Ideology 13 The Limits of Otherness Decoding the Entangled Heritage of Medieval Iberia 269 Francine Giese and Sarah Keller 14 Political Ruptures and Artistic Continuities Pedro i, Enrique ii and the First Trastámara Architecture in Context 280 Elena Paulino Montero 15 Oriental Carpets and Gothic Windows Stained Glass in Neo-Moorish Architecture 303 Sarah Keller 16 The Alhambra as a Historicist Matrix for Museum Displays 327 Francine Giese and Ariane Varela Braga 17 Stylistic Eclecticism and its Oriental Languages Alhambrismo in St. Petersburg 348 Katrin Kaufmann
part 5 Transmitting Islamic Aesthetics Across Centuries 1 Architectural Transformation 377 18 The Fortune of the Court of the Lions and the Court of the Dolls Artistic Translations and Processes of Decontextualization 379 Francine Giese and Ariane Varela Braga 19 Domes Reinvented Changing Meanings and Artistic Translations of Ibero-Islamic Rib and Muqarnas Vaults 410 Francine Giese
viii Contents 20 The Hybridization of Sebka Ornament 431 Francine Giese and Ariane Varela Braga
2 Transmateriality 21 Revisiting the Alhambra Transmediality and Transmateriality in 19th-century Italy 463 Ariane Varela Braga 22 Neo-Moorish Ceilings On the Models and Materiality of Russian Alhambrismo 490 Katrin Kaufmann 23 Illuminating Transennae –A Technical Reinterpretation 511 Sarah Keller
part 6 Epilogue 24 An Endangered Heritage Mudéjar and Neo-Moorish Architecture in 20th-century Europe 535 Francine Giese and Laura Álvarez Acosta
Appendix 1 Catalogue of 19th-century Alhambra Casts and Models at the Scientific-Research Museum of the Russian Academy of Arts in St. Petersburg 553 Ekaterina Savinova Bibliography 599 Index of Persons 685 Index of Places 692
Acknowledgments The present volume was conceived within the framework of the research project Mudejarismo and Moorish Revival in Europe, based between 2014 and 2019 at the Institute of Art History of the University of Zurich. The editor and director of the project would like to thank the Swiss National Science Foundation (snsf) for its generous support, the Institute of Art History for hosting the project, and the cooperation partners for the good collaboration. My special thanks go to Ariane Varela Braga, Michael A. Conrad, Sarah Keller, Katrin Kaufmann, Christian M. Schweizer, Nathalie Herrmann, Gerry Fässler, Laura Álvarez Acosta, Nadja Koch, Helena Lahoz Kopiske, Rouhollah Amanimehr, Laura Castro Royo, Elena Paulino Montero, Ekaterina Savinova, Luis Araus Ballesteros and Alejandro Jiménez Hernández, who have supported the project with great enthusiasm over the past five years and whose precious contributions have helped to make it visible beyond Switzerland.
Abbreviations A.H.M.Gr aam aam aeag agp ags ahn amc ammc amtub as BGE garf
Archivo Historico Municipal de Granada Archivo del Ayuntamiento de Murcia Archivo del Ayuntamiento de Murcia Archivo de la Escuela de Arte de Granada Archivo General de Palacio Archivo General de Simancas Archivo Histórico Nacional Archivo Municipal de Cartagena Archivo Muncipal de Medina del Campo Architekturmuseum der Technischen Universität Berlin Archivio Stibbert Bibliothèque de Genève State Archive of the Russian Federation, Moscow (Gosudarstvennyi arkhiv Rossiiskoi Federatsii) HStAS Hauptstaatsarchiv Stuttgart man Museo Arqueológico Nacional de Madrid mhm Museo de Historia de Madrid NIMRAKh Scientific-Research Museum of the Russian Academy of Arts, St. Petersburg (Nauchno-issledovatel’skii muzei Rossiiskoi akademii khudozhestv) rabasf.a-b Real Academia de Bellas Artes de San Fernando, Archivo-Biblioteca rgia Russian State Historical Archive, St. Petersburg (Rossiiskii gosudarstvennyi istoricheskii arkhiv) StAS Stadtarchiv Stuttgart StAW Stadtarchiv Winterthur TsGAKFFD SPB Central State Archive of Documentary Films, Photographs and Sound Recordings of St. Petersburg (Tsentral’nyi gosudarstvennyi arkhiv kinofotofonodokumentov Sankt-Peterburga) TsGIA SPB Central State Historical Archive of St. Petersburg (Tsentral’nyi gosudarstvennyi istoricheskii arkhiv Sankt-Peterburga)
Figures 2.1 Anonymous, Alfonso x dictating the Libro de acedrex dados e tablas, before 1284, miniature on parchment. Alfonso x, Libro de acedrex dados e tablas, ca. 1284, ms. Escorial j.T.6, f. 1r. 31 2.2 Anonymous, Depiction of an astrolabio redondo, ca. 1277, miniature on parchment, full-page. Alfonso x, Libros del saber de astronomía, 1275–1277, ms. Complutense 156, f. 55v. 32 2.3 Anonymous, Illustration to Cantiga 181. A battle under the banner of Holy Mary between Christians and Muslims, second half of the 13th century, book miniature on parchment, full-page, detail. Alfonso x, Cantigas de Santa María (Códice Rico), ms. Escorial T.I.1, f. 240r. 33 2.4 Seville, Alcázar, two Gothic interiors of the Palacio Gótico as they can still be seen today. a. “Baños de María de Padilla”, second half of 13th century (left); b. Sala de las Bóvedas (right). © Michael A. Conrad. 34 2.5 Seville, Alcázar, Reconstructions of Alfonso x’s Palacio Gótico. a. the area of the Reales Alcázares during the 13th century (left); b. a model of the Palacio Gótico in its original appearance (right). Published in Tabales Rodríguez 2001, fig. 7. © Miguel Ángel Tabales Rodríguez. 35 3.1 Jaume (?) Serra (fl. 1358–90), Virgen de Tobed con los donantes Enrique ii de Castilla, su mujer, Juana Manuel, y dos de sus hijos, Juan y Juana (?), 1359–62 (?), tempera on wooden panel, 161,4 cm x 117,8 cm. © Museo Nacional de Prado, Madrid, inv. no. P008117. 53 3.2 Marcelino de Unceta y López (1835–1905), Atentado de Avila, contra Enrique iv (1465) [= Farsa de Avila], etching after a lithography by J. Donon, 1862. © Biblioteca Nacional de España, er/5116 (13). 54 3.3 José María Avrial y Flores, Sala de los Reyes, 1844, drawing on paper, 30.5 cm x 20.5 cm, landscape format. From José María Avrial y Flores, Alcázar de Segovia, Real Academia de Bellas Artes de San Fernando, Madrid, ma/ 813. 55 3.4 José María Avrial y Flores, Sala de los Reyes, Detail of the Sculptures of Queen Juana and Don Pelayo, 1844, colored drawing on paper, 30.5 cm x 20.5 cm, landscape format. From José María Avrial y Flores, Alcázar de Segovia, Real Academia de Bellas Artes de San Fernando, Madrid, Real Academia de Bellas Artes de San Fernando, Madrid, ma/799. 56 3.5 José María Avrial y Flores, Sala de Solio, 1844, drawing on paper, 30.5 cm x 20.5 cm, landscape format. From José María Avrial y Flores, Alcázar de Segovia, Real Academia de Bellas Artes de San Fernando, Madrid, Real Academia de Bellas Artes de San Fernando, Madrid, ma/798. 57
xii Figures 3.6 José María Avrial y Flores, Detalles del segundo cuerpo del friso en la sala del Solio, 1844, colored drawing on paper, 30.5 cm x 20.5 cm, landscape format. From José María Avrial y Flores, Alcázar de Segovia, Real Academia de Bellas Artes de San Fernando, Madrid, Real Academia de Bellas Artes de San Fernando, Madrid, ma/799. 58 4.1 Potsdam, Dampfmaschinenhaus, exterior view, Ludwig Persius, 1841–1843. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Rose Hajdu. 73 4.2 Stuttgart-Bad Cannstatt, Wilhelma, Moorish Villa, Cupola Room, Karl Ludwig Wilhelm von Zanth, 1842–1846. Zanth 1855–1856, pl. vi. Württembergische Landesbibliothek, Stuttgart. 74 4.3a-f Stuttgart, Bath at Büchsenstrasse 57, preparatory sketches by Wittmann & Stahl, 1887–1891. © Stadtarchiv Stuttgart, Baurechtsamt 116/3 212. 75 4.4 Stuttgart, Bath at Büchsenstrasse 57, exterior view, Wittmann & Stahl, 1889/ 1892. © Stadtarchiv Stuttgart, F 2470/82. 76 4.5 Ettal, Park at Linderhof Castle, Moorish Kiosk, interior view, Carl von Diebitsch, 1867. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Rose Hajdu. 76 4.6 Paris, Exposition Universelle, Spanish Pavilion, Agustín Ortiz de Villajos, 1878, oil on canvas, Alejandro Ferrant Fischermans, 1879. © Museo de Historia de Madrid, Inv. No. 00001.485. 77 5.1 Abū Iṣāq al-Iṣṭaḥrī, Medieval map of the Maghreb with al-Andalus, dated ah 589 /ad 1193. University Leiden, Legatum Warnerianum, Cod. Or. 3101, f. 5a. 103 5.2 Fez, madrasat al-ʿAṭṭārīn, built 1323. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Jan Gloc. 104 5.3 Fez, madrasat ʿAbū ʿInānīya, Fez, completed before 1357. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Jan Gloc. 105 5.4 Granada, madrasa, ca. 1349, oratory with mihrab, view toward the East. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Thomas Scheidt, Christian Stein. 106 5.5 Seville, Alcazares Reales, Hall of the Ambassadors (Salón de Embajadores) of Pedro’s royal palace, view to the Northeast, after 1364, with later additions. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Thomas Scheidt, Christian Stein, 2015. 107 6.1 José Hernández Sierra, floor plan of the Taller del Moro, 1745, ink on paper, 500 x 352 mm. Archivo Municipal de Toledo, Caja de “Obras privadas”, sig. 6121. 127 6.2 Toledo, Taller del Moro, detail of Latin inscription, 14th century. © Foto Marburg /Thomas Scheidt, Christian Stein. 128 6.3 Toledo, Taller del Moro, detail of figurative symbols of stucco decoration, including a dove and the Hand of Fatima, 14th century. © Michael A. Conrad. 129
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6.4 Seville, Alcázar, Palace of Pedro i, Ambassador Hall, ca. 1354. © Foto Marburg /Thomas Scheidt, Christian Stein. 130 6.5 Toledo, Casa Güena (Palacio del Rey Don Pedro), peacock decoration, 14th century. Photography by Casiano Alguacil (1832–1914), ca. 1885. Archivo Municipal de Toledo, ca-445. 131 6.6 Toledo, Casa Güena (Palacio del Rey Don Pedro), coats of arms above entrance, 14th century, (a. whole entrance, b. detail of coats of arms). © Michael A. Conrad. 132 8.1 Christian Friedrich von Leins, Córdoba, Mosque-Cathedral, maqsura, 1853/ 1854, pencil drawing on tracing paper, 22 x 17 cm. © Universitätsbibliothek Stuttgart, inv. no. Lein060. 165 8.2 Christian Friedrich von Leins, interior view of a neo-Moorish palace (unexecuted), watercolour, 17.7 x 21.7 cm. © Stadtarchiv Stuttgart, B 3185. 166 8.3 Jakob Ignaz Hifforff, Neues Hippodrom des Bois de Boulogne (unexecuted), undated, pencil and pen wash, 38.5 x 86.7 cm. © Köln, Wallraf-Richartz- Museum, inv. no. Pl.E. 115. 166 8.4 Biarritz, Imperial Chapel, interior view, Emile Boeswillwald, 1864–1866. © Ville de Biarritz. 167 8.5 Madrid, Xifré Palace, exterior view, Emile Boeswillwald, 1862–1865, historic photograph from 1900–1920. © Madrid, Fot. Lacoste, Biblioteca Regional de Madrid, 728.8(460.271) Palacio de Xifré (084.12). 168 8.6 Christian Friedrich von Leins, exterior view of a neo-Moorish palace (unexecuted), watercolour, 16 x 22 cm. © Stadtarchiv Stuttgart, B 5250. 168 8.7 Madrid, Xifré Palace, central hall of the right wing, Emile Boeswillwald, 1862–1865, historic photograph from 1900–1920. © Madrid, Fot. Lacoste, Biblioteca Regional de Madrid, 728.8(460.271) Palacio de Xifré (084.12). 169 8.8 Madrid, Xifré Palace, vestibule and staircase, Emile Boeswillwald, 1862–1865, historic photograph from 1900–1920. © Madrid, Fot. Lacoste, Biblioteca Regional de Madrid, 728.8(460.271) Palacio de Xifré (084.12). 170 8.9 Tägerwilen, Castell Castle, Moorish Hall, interior view, Emil Otto Tafel, 1891–1894. © Amt für Denkmalpflege des Kantons Thurgau /Alexander Troehler. 171 8.10 Tägerwilen, Castell Castle, Alhambra model, undated. © Private collection. 172 9.1 Regello, Villa of Sammezzano, view of the entrance hall taken from the first floor, 1850s. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Rabatti & Domingie Photography. 185
xiv Figures 9.2 Regello, Villa of Sammezzano, Hall of Mirrors, Ferdinando Panciatichi Ximenes d’Aragona, after 1870. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Rabatti & Domingie Photography. 186 9.3 Florence, Villa Stibbert, Moorish Hall, 1889. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg / Rabatti & Domingie Photography. 187 9.4 Florence, Villa Stibbert, details of the tiles at the Moorish Hall, 1889, Cantagalli manufactures. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Rabatti & Domingie Photography. 188 9.5 Portrait of Mariano Fortuny, ca. 1876, woodburytype. Courtesy of the Getty’s Open Content Program. 189 9.6 View of Fortuny’s studio in Rome. L’Illustrazione Italiana iii.15, 6 February 1876, 252. 190 9.7 Rome, Villegas’s House. La Illustración Española y Americana, 30 January 1913, 68. 191 10.1 Aguilar de Campos (Valladolid), Iglesia de San Andrés, 1405–1430. © Luis Araus Ballesteros. 209 10.2 Burgos, ruins of the Monastery of Fresdelval, first third of the 15th century. © Luis Araus Ballesteros. 210 10.3 Astudillo (Palencia), Convent of Santa Clara, stuccowork, Braymi, last third of the 15th century. © Luis Araus Ballesteros. 210 10.4 Coca (Segovia), Castle, Maestre Farax and Alí Caro, 1488–1504. © Luis Araus Ballesteros. 211 10.5 Islamic funerary stele, granite, end of the 15th century. Museo de Ávila, nº inv. 00/29/m f/131. © Museo de Ávila. 211 11.1 Granada, Alcaicería, restitution of Alhambresque façade decoration, José Contreras, Salvador Amador, Juan Pugnaire and Baltasar Romero, 1843–1845. © Granada, Archivo Histórico Municipal, C.00003.0129. 225 11.2 Aranjuez, Royal Palace, Arab cabinet, Rafael Contreras Muñoz, completed in 1851. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Thomas Scheidt, Christian Stein. 225 11.3 Madrid, Palacio de Liria, Arab cabinet, Rafael Contreras Muñoz, completed in 1855. © Archivo de la Casa de Alba. 226 11.4 Madrid, House at calle Cañizares 6 (today Cat’s Hostal), patio, Casa Rus, 1856. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Thomas Scheidt, Christian Stein. 226 11.5 Granada, Grand Hotel Alhambra Palace, Salón Árabe, Antonio Santisteban Márquez, 1908–1909. © Francine Giese. 227 11.6 Granada, Carmen de la Media Luna, patio, Antonio Santisteban Márquez, 1916. © Francine Giese. 227 11.7 Madrid, Palacio del Buen Retiro, Museo de la Artillería, Sala árabe, interior view, Manuel Castaños, inaugurated in 1903. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg / Thomas Scheidt, Christian Stein. 228
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11.8 Toledo, Army Museum, Sala Orígenes, interior view. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Thomas Scheidt, Christian Stein. 229 11.9a Madrid, Palacio del Buen Retiro, Museo de la Artillería, Sala árabe, muqarnas arcade, Manuel Castaños, inaugurated in 1903. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg / Thomas Scheidt, Christian Stein. 230 11.9b Toledo, Army Museum, Sala Orígenes, reproduced muqarnas arcade. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Thomas Scheidt, Christian Stein. 231 11.10 Toledo, Army Museum, Sala Orígenes, detail of reproduced wall decoration and neo-Nasrid columns. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Thomas Scheidt, Christian Stein. 231 11.11 Toledo, Army Museum, Sala Orígenes, 3D composition of reproduced muqarnas arcade with indication of the segments, Ervigio y Alejandro Jiménez, 2016. © Alejandro Jiménez Hernández. 232 11.12 Toledo, Army Museum, Sala Orígenes, assemblage of the muqarnas segments of the arcade, Ervigio y Alejandro Jiménez, 2016. © Alejandro Jiménez Hernández. 233 11.13 Toledo, Army Museum, Sala Orígenes, execution of the central arch of the muqarnas arcade, Ervigio y Alejandro Jiménez, 2016. © Alejandro Jiménez Hernández. 234 12.1 Alhambra casts (n. 959 and 977) and other ornamental details, pl. 13 in Catalogue avec dimensions et prix-courants de moulage en plâtre de tous genres, a l’usage des écoles, des artistes et des amateurs, École cantonale des arts industriels de Genève, 1889. Geneva, bge. Photography Ariane Varela Braga. 252 12.2 Alhambra cast, Geneva, previously at the collection of the École des arts industriels. Photography Ariane Varela Braga. © Collection de l’État de Genève /Département de l’Instruction publique, sous la responsabilité scientifique de la head – Genève. 253 12.3 Alhambra casts, previously at the collection of the Scuola professionale di arti decorative industriali (inv. 1961, 1960, 1965). Photography Ariane Varela Braga. © Gipsoteca del Liceo Artistico Porta Romana Firenze. 254 12.4 The Alhambra exhibition at the Imperial Academy of Arts in St. Petersburg, 19th century/beginning of the 20th century. Photograph published in Kondakov 1914, 104. 255 12.5 The Alhambra exhibition at the Imperial Academy of Arts in St. Petersburg, 19th century/beginning of the 20th century. Photograph published in Kondakov 1914, 105. 256 12.6 Plan of the third floor of the Imperial Academy of Arts in St. Petersburg, late 19th century, engraving. St. Petersburg, NIMRAKh, ag-2315. © NIMRAKh. 256
xvi Figures 12.7 Aleksander Krakau, Study of the capital of a column and part of an archway in the Hall of the Abencerrajes (Alhambra, Granada), end of the 1840s, ink and watercolor on paper, 750 х 513 mm. Scientific-Research Museum of the Russian Academy of Arts, A-25203. © NIMRAKh. 257 12.8 Grigorii Kotov, Study of a room at the Alhambra baths, 1886, ink and watercolor on paper. Scientific-Research Museum of the Russian Academy of Arts, А-7582. © NIMRAKh. 258 12.9 Karl Rakhau and Karl Kol’man, Study of the Tower of the Princesses (Alhambra, Granada), 1863, dyed cardboard, graphite, watercolor, 915 x 674 mm. Scientific-Research Museum of the Russian Academy of Arts, А- 13384. © NIMRAKh. 259 12.10 St. Petersburg, Villa Brusnitsyny, Smoking Room, wall panel, Architect Anatolii Kovsharov, ca. 1885. © Nikita Andreev and Katrin Kaufmann. 260 12.11 Pavel Notbek, Reproduction of an ornament at the Palace of the Lions (Alhambra, Granada), ca. 1860, plaster, wood, 59.5 x 41.5 x 5 cm. St. Petersburg, Scientific-Research Museum of the Russian Academy of Arts, S-1654. © NIMRAKh. 261 12.12 Unknown author, upper part of a niche (vault) with muqarnas, probably 1885, plaster cast, 56 x 63 x 28 cm. St. Petersburg, Scientific-Research Museum of the Russian Academy of Arts, S-1717. © NIMRAKh. 262 12.13 St. Petersburg, Villa of Sergei von Derviz, Living Room, niche, by architect Piotr Shreiber, 1885. © Katrin Kaufmann. 263 12.14 Unknown photographer, Eastern Art Room at the Soviet Academy of Fine Arts Museum, ca. 1935, gelatin silver print. Scientific-Research Museum of the Russian Academy of Arts, F-3497/2. © NIMRAKh. 264 12.15 Lecture hall of the Repin Institute for Painting, Sculpture and Architecture, St. Petersburg, 2018. © Natal’ia Solov’iova. 264 12.16 Unknown author, Diagram of the exhibits in the second Alhambra Room at the Imperial Academy of Arts, St. Petersburg, right wall, probably early 20th century. rgia, f. 789, op. 36, d. 54, l. 5–6. 265 13.1 Toledo, Cathedral, triforium of inner ambulatory. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg. 277 13.2 Córdoba, Friday Mosque, polylobed arches in the al-Ḥakam extension. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Thomas Scheidt, Christian Stein. 278 13.3 Toledo, Santa Cruz, northwestern façade. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg. 278 13.4 Toledo, Santa María la Blanca, polylobed arches in the upper arcade wall. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Christian Stein. 279 14.1 Seville, Alcázar, Ambassador Hall, 1356–1366 (dome, 1427). © Elena Paulino Montero. 296 14.2 Seville, Alcázar, Façade of la Montería, 1364. © Elena Paulino Montero. 296
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14.3 Córdoba, Mosque-Cathedral, Capilla Real, vault, 1371. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Christian Stein. 297 14.4 Córdoba, Mosque-Cathedral, Capilla Real, West wall, 1371. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Christian Stein. 298 14.5 Córdoba, Mosque-Cathedral, Capilla Real, East wall, 1371. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Christian Stein. 299 14.6 Córdoba, Mosque-Cathedral, Puerta del Perdón, 1377. © Elena Paulino Montero. 300 14.7 Córdoba, Mosque-Cathedral, Capilla Real, spandrel of the arch in the north wall, 1371. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Christian Stein. 301 14.8 Museo Arqueológico Nacional, Arch of the Palace of Enrique ii in León, 1377. © Elena Paulino Montero. 302 15.1 Stuttgart-Bad Cannstatt, Banquet Hall of the Wilhelma, Karl Ludwig von Zanth, 1844–1851, lithography. Zanth 1855–1856, pl. viii, Württembergische Landesbibliothek, Stuttgart. 319 15.2 Stuttgart-Bad Cannstatt, Cupola Room of the Wilhelma in 1932, Karl Ludwig von Zanth, 1842–1846, photography by Robert Bothner, 1932. © Landesmedienzentrum Baden-Württemberg. 320 15.3 Sulpice Boisserée, Choir windows of Cologne Cathedral. Boisserée 1823, pl. xi, Universitätsbibliothek Heidelberg. 321 15.4 Dresden, Albrechtsberg Castle, Moorish Bath, Carl von Diebitsch, 1850–1855. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Rose Hajdu. 322 15.5 Moorish Kiosk at the World Exhibition in Paris, Carl von Diebitsch, 1867. Illustrierte Zeitung, 27 July 1867, 69. 323 15.6 Regello, Villa di Sammezzano, Sala del Nada Semper, Ferdinando Panciatichi di Ximenes d’Aragona, before 1885. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Domingie & Rabatti. 324 15.7 Regello, Villa di Sammezzano, Sala dei Gigli, Ferdinando Panciatichi di Ximenes d’Aragona, after 1864. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Domingie & Rabatti. 325 15.8 Regello, Villa di Sammezzano, Horseshoe Arch Portal, Ferdinando Panciatichi di Ximenes d’Aragona, 1853–1889. © Sarah Keller. 326 16.1 Florence, Villa Stibbert, Moorish Room, 1889. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg / Rabatti & Domingie. 340 16.2 Florence, Synagogue, general view of the interior, 1874–1882. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Rabatti & Domingie. 340 16.3 Florence, Palazzo Levi, Room in the Alhambresque Style, 1890–1893 (?). © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Rabatti & Domingie. 341 16.4 Stuttgart, Palais Urach, Arab Rooms, floor plan, E. Barth, 1924. © HStAS gu 10 Bü. 56. 342
xviii Figures 16.5 Stuttgart, Palais Urach, Arab Rooms, neo-Moorish style room (Blauer Saal), Karl Mayer, begun in 1893. © HStAS gu 99 Bü. 557b. 343 16.6 Stuttgart, Palais Urach, Arab Rooms, neo-Mamlūk style room, Karl Mayer, begun in 1907. © HStAS gu 99 Bü. 557b. 344 16.7 View of the Alhambra Court. Illustrated London News, 36.1038, 30 June 1860, supplement (private Archive). 345 16.8 Florence, Villa Stibbert, Moorish Room, detail of the framing devices, 1889. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Rabatti & Domingie. 346 16.9 Madrid, Palacio del Buen Retiro, Sala árabe at the Museo de Artillería, around 1910. © Museo del Ejército. 347 17.1 Heinrich and Wilhelm Schneider, St. Petersburg, Iusupov Palace on the River Moika, Oriental Living Room, 1861, colored stereoscopic daguerreotype, 7.2 x 10.4 cm. gmu Arkhangel’skoe, Mff-1172. © gmu Arkhangel’skoe. 361 17.2 Unknown photographer, Turkish Kiosk in the Catherine Park in Tsarskoe Selo, ca. 1911. TsGAKFFD, G-17280. © TsGAKFFD. 361 17.3 Auguste de Montferrand, Pavillon Moresque, ca. 1823, ink and watercolor on paper, 57.4 х 46.5 cm. NIMRAKh, А-5848. © NIMRAKh. 362 17.4a St. Petersburg, Villa of Aleksei L’vov, Interior in neo-Moorish style, Al’bert Kavos, 1841. © Nikita Andreev. 363 17.4b St. Petersburg, Villa of Aleksei L’vov, Interior in neo-Moorish style, Al’bert Kavos, 1841. © Nikita Andreev. 363 17.5 Luigi Premazzi, Dining Hall in the Villa of Baron Alexander von Stieglitz, 1871, watercolor and gouache on paper, 39.9 x 54.9 cm. The State Hermitage, or-44610. © The State Hermitage. 364 17.6 Harald Bosse, Chapel at Bariatinsii Mansion, 1858, ink and watercolor on paper. NIMRAKh, А-6275. © NIMRAKh. 365 17.7 St. Petersburg, Vladimir Palace, Boudoir, Aleksandr Rezanov and Ieronim Kitner, ca. 1870. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Katrin Kaufmann. 366 17.8 St. Petersburg, Villa San-Galli, Study, Karl Rakhau, 1869–1872. © Katrin Kaufmann. 366 17.9a St. Petersburg, Muruzi House, Gate to Yard, Aleksei Serebriakov, 1874–1877. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Katrin Kaufmann. 367 17.9b St. Petersburg, Muruzi House, Staircase, Aleksei Serebriakov, 1874–1877. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Nikita Andreev, Katrin Kaufmann. 368 17.9c St. Petersburg, Muruzi House, Detail of a wall of the Smoking Room, Aleksei Serebriakov, 1874–1877. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Nikita Andreev, Katrin Kaufmann. 369 17.10 St. Petersburg, Villa Brusnitsyny, Smoking room, Anatolii Kovsharov, ca. 1885. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Nikita Andreev, Katrin Kaufmann. 370
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17.11 St. Petersburg, Villa Derviz, Living Room, Anatolii Kovsharov, ca. 1885. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Katrin Kaufmann. 371 17.12 St. Petersburg, Villa Spiridonov, Interior in Neo-Moorish Style, Vasilii Svin’in, 1895–1897. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Katrin Kaufmann. 372 17.13 St. Petersburg, Villa Van der Pals, Interior in Neo-Moorish Style, Julius Ernst Kristian Johannsen, 1901–1902. © Katrin Kaufmann. 373 18.1 Alhambra, Court of the Lions, 1362–1391. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg / Thomas Scheidt, Christian Stein. 394 18.2 Seville, Alcázar, Palace of Pedro i, Court of the Dolls, 1356–1366. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Thomas Scheidt, Christian Stein. 395 18.3 Seville, Alcázar, Palace of Pedro i, Audience Hall, 1356–1366. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Thomas Scheidt, Christian Stein. 396 18.4 Alhambra, Court of the Lions after 1866, Jean Laurent y Cia Madrid. © amtub, Inv. No. 6338. 397 18.5 Owen Jones, Plan of the Court of the Lions in the Alhambra and its reduced version in the Alhambra Court. Jones 1854, 66–67. 398 18.6 Owen Jones, Elevations of the Court of the Lions in the Alhambra and its reduced version in the Alhambra Court. Jones 1854, 68. 398 18.7 Philip Henry Delamotte, The Alhambra Court in the Crystal Palace of Sydenham, 1854, albumen print from collodion negative. © London, Victoria and Albert Museum. 399 18.8 Regello, Villa of Sammezzano, Stalactite Gallery, Ferdinando Panciatichi Ximenes d’Aragona, after 1865. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Rabatti & Domingie Photography. 400 18.9 Madrid, Palacio del Buen Retiro, Sala árabe of the former Museo del Ejército, Manuel Castaños, ca. 1903. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Rabatti & Domingie Photography. 401 18.10 Ernesto Basile, Elevation of the villino Villegas, 1887. © Rome, Archivio Storico Capitolino. 402 18.11 Madrid, Montijo Palacio, La Serre, Rafael Contreras Muñoz, 1855–1858. La Ilustración Española y Americana, xx, 30 May 1886, 332. 403 18.12 Madrid, Xifré Palace, Alhambresque patio, 1862–1865, historic photograph from 1900–1920, Madrid, Fot. Lacoste. © Biblioteca Regional de Madrid, 728.8(460.271) Palacio de Xifré (084.12). 404 18.13 Madrid, Angalda Palace, section, Emilio Rodríguez Ayuso/Rafael Contreras Muñoz, 1878. Anales de la construcción y de la industria iii, 1878, pl. 21. 405 18.14 Barcelona, Villa Hispanoárabe, Alhambresque patio, Manuel Vega y March, 1893. © Institut Amatller d’Art Hispànic. Arxiu Mas. 405 18.15 L’Arboç (Tarragona), La Giralda, Patio de los Leones, 1902, historic postcard. © Oficina de Turismo de l’Arboç. 406
xx Figures 18.16 Barcelona, Edificio Alhambra, patio, ca. 1890. © Institut Amatller d’Art Hispànic. Arxiu Mas. 407 18.17 Cartagena, Casa Zapata, Alhambresque patio, Víctor Beltrí, 1910. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Thomas Scheidt, Christian Stein. 408 18.18 Madrid, El Buen Retiro, Pabellón Real, Ricardo Velázquez Bosco, 1883. © Museo de Historia de Madrid, inv. no. 2001/038/0033. 409 18.19 Madrid, Museo Archeológico Nacional, patio árabe. © Madrid, Muséo Arqueológico Nacional. 409 19.1a-c Córdoba, Mosque-Cathedral, Umayyad rib vaults, 962–965/6, a. central maqsura dome, b. western maqsura dome, c. Capilla de Villaviciosa, rib vault, a-b. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Thomas Scheidt, Christian Stein; c. © Francine Giese. 424 19.2a-b Alhambra, Lions’s Palace, muqarnas domes, 1362–1391, a. Sala de las Dos Hermanas, b. Sala de los Abencerrajes. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Thomas Scheidt, Christian Stein. 425 19.3 Toledo, Convento de Santa Fé, Capilla de Belén, rib vault, 1043–1075. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Christian Stein. 425 19.4 Burgos, Royal Monastery of Santa María la Real de las Huelgas, Ascension Chapel, rib vault, after 1248 (?). © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Christian Stein. 426 19.5 Tordesillas, Royal Convent of Santa Clara, Capilla Dorada, rib vault, before 1350. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Christian Stein. 426 19.6 Córdoba, Mosque-Cathedral, Capilla Real, vault, 1371. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Christian Stein. 427 19.7 Regello, Villa di Sammezzano, White Hall, dome, ca. 1863–1867. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Rabatti & Domingie Photography. 427 19.8 Turin, San Lorenzo, dome, Guarino Guarini, 1668–1680. © Francine Giese. 428 19.9 Jakob Ignaz Hittorff, Turin, San Lorenzo, sketches and description, Notes de voyage de Paris à Turin. © Universitäts-und Stadtbibliothek Köln, 5 P 182. 428 19.10 Tägerwilen, Castell Castle, Moorish Hall, dome, Emil Otto Tafel, 1891–1894. © Kanton Thurgau, Amt für Denkmalpflege. 429 19.11 Archena, Balneario, Alhambresque staircase, dome, Manuel Castaños, ca. 1900. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Christian Stein. 430 20.1 Seville, Almohad minaret (Giralda), blind sebka panel, completed in 1198. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Thomas Scheidt, Christian Stein. 443 20.2 Alhambra, Lion’s Palace, western court arcade, two-and three-dimensional sebka, 1362–1391. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Thomas Scheidt, Christian Stein. 444
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20.3 Alhambra, Lion’s Palace, western court gallery, schematic sketch of sebka, a. its three layers (1–3), b. middle layer (2), c. middle (2) and uppermost layers (3), 1362–1391. © Nikolaos Theocharis. 445 20.4 Seville, Palace of Pedro i, Patio de las Doncellas, court arcade, detail of sebka, 1356–1366. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Thomas Scheidt, Christian Stein. 446 20.5 Toledo, Synagogue of Samuel ha-Levi (El Tránsito), eastern wall, detail of central sebka panel, 1359/60–1361 (debated). © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg / Thomas Scheidt, Christian Stein. 447 20.6 Seville, Palace of Pedro i, main façade, sebka, 1356–1366. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Thomas Scheidt, Christian Stein. 448 20.7 Front of the Golden Saloon. a. Murphy 1815, pl. 75 (Heidelberg University Library). b. Clerget 1840, pl. 47, private archive. 448 20.8 Alhambresque ornaments from Owen Jones’s Alhambra Court at Sydenham. Cundall 1855, pl. 12, private archive. 449 20.9 Sebka ornaments, preparatory drawing for plate 41 of Owen Jones’s Grammar of Ornament (published in 1856). © Victoria and Albert Museum, London. 450 20.10 Sebka ornaments taken from Goury/Jones 1836–1845, reproduced in Mendel 1887, pl. 27, private archive. 451 20.11 Ralph N. Wornum, Sebka ornament, bodycolour and gilding on paper, c. 1848. © Victoria and Albert Museum, London. 452 20.12 Sebka ornament (top left and top right) from the Patio de la Alberca. Girault de Prangey 1842, pl. 6, (baa, Geneva). 453 20.13 Sebka ornament. a. Murphy 1815, pl. 71 (Heidelberg University Library). b. Jones 1845, pl. 13, (University of Miami Library). 453 20.14 Sebka ornament a. Murphy 1815, pl. 72 (Heidelberg University Library). b. Jones 1845, pl. 21, (University of Miami Library). 454 20.15 Owen Jones, Drawing for a wall-paper or textile decoration, bodycolour, gouache on paper, unknown date. © Victoria and Albert Museum, London. 454 20.16 Carl von Diebitsch, Alhambra, detail of sebka ornament, pencil drawing with watercolors on cardboard, 1846–1847. © amtub, inv. no. 41515. 455 20.17 Dresden, Albrechtsberg Castle, bath cabinet, detail of sebka ornament, Carl von Diebitsch, 1850–1855. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Rose Hajdu. 456 20.18 Ettal, park of Linderhof Palace, Moorish Kiosk, exterior, detail of sebka ornament, Carl von Diebitsch, 1867. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Rose Hajdu. 457
xxii Figures 20.19 Madrid, Palacio del Buen Retiro, Sala árabe at the Museo de Artillería, detail of sebka ornament, Manuel Castaños, inaugurated in 1903. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Thomas Scheidt, Christian Stein. 458 20.20 Murcia, Royal Casino, Patio árabe, detail of sebka ornament, Manuel Castaños, 1901–1904. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Thomas Scheidt, Christian Stein. 459 21.1 Horseshoe arch of the cloister of Tarragona Cathedral. a. Girault de Prangey 1841, plate 1. b. Entrance hall of Villa Sammezzano. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Rabatti & Domingie Photography. 476 21.2 a. Ornamental pattern on the cover of Owen Jones’s Grammar of Ornament. b. Its modified version at the Hall of Stars of Villa Sammezzano. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Rabatti & Domingie Photography. 477 21.3 A ceiling from Cairo. a. Prisse d’Avennes 1869–1877, plate 69. b. Stucco ceiling of the Hall of Lovers at Villa Sammezzano. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Rabatti & Domingie Photography. 477 21.4 Qamarīya. a. Prisse d’Avennes 1869–1877, plate 145. b. Its painted transposition at the Hall of Lilies at Villa Sammezzano’s Hall of Lilies. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Rabatti & Domingie Photography. 478 21.5 Pattern from a blank window at the Alhambra. a. Goury/Jones 1836–1845, vol. 2, plate 43. b. Mirror from the Hall of Mirrors at Villa Sammezzano. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Rabatti & Domingie Photography. 478 21.6 Ribbon sebka ornament from the dining-room of Rocchetta Mattei. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Rabatti & Domingie Photography. 479 21.7 Ribbon sebka ornaments as depicted in Goury/Jones 1836–1845, vol.2, plate 31 (detail). 479 21.8 Ribbon sebka ornament at the atrium of Rocchetta Mattei. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Rabatti & Domingie Photography. 480 21.9 Ribbon sebka ornament on the exterior walls (top) and on the interior walls of Rocchetta Mattei (bottom). © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Rabatti & Domingie Photography. 481 21.10 Twelve-pointed star ornament. a. Goury/Jones 1836–1845, vol. 2, plate 46. b. Its painted version at the Turkish Bedroom of Rocchetta Mattei. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Rabatti & Domingie Photography. 482 21.11 View of the ceiling of the chapel at Rocchetta Mattei, with arabesque ornaments painted onto textiles. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Rabatti & Domingie Photography. 482 21.12 Muqarnas of papier-mâché at the Red Room of Rocchetta Mattei. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Rabatti & Domingie Photography. 483 21.13 The composition of muqarnas from prisms and their different uses at the Alhambra, as depicted in Goury/Jones 1836–1845, vol. 1, text to, pl. 10. 484
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21.14 General view of the Great Synagogue of Florence. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Rabatti & Domingie Photography. 485 21.15 Sebka ornament. a. Goury/Jones 1836–1845, vol. 2, plate 17. b. Its painted transposition at the Great Synagogue of Florence. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Rabatti & Domingie Photography. 486 21.16 Floral ornament. a. Goury/Jones 1836–1845, vol. 2, plate 18. b. Its painted transposition at the Great Synagogue of Florence. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Rabatti & Domingie Photography. 486 21.17 Detail from the ceiling of the Moorish Hall at Villa Stibbert. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Rabatti & Domingie Photography. 487 21.18 a. Tiles at the Moorish Room of Palazzo Levi. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Rabatti & Domingie Photography. b. Tiles from Cantagalli’s 1887 catalog. 487 21.19 View of the Moorish Room at Palazzo Levi. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg / Rabatti & Domingie Photography. 488 21.20 View of the Moorish Room at Palazzo Levi. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg / Rabatti & Domingie Photography. 489 22.1 St. Petersburg, Villa San-Galli, Cabinet, muqarnas vault of the oriel, detail, Karl Rakhau, ca. 1870. © Katrin Kaufmann. 501 22.2 St. Petersburg, Villa San-Galli, Cabinet, ceiling (detail), Karl Rakhau, ca. 1870. © Katrin Kaufmann. 502 22.3 Granada, Generalife, armadura apeinazado in the Patio de la Acequia, Pabellón N (detail), last quarter of the 13th century. © Katrin Kaufmann. 502 22.4 Granada, Alhambra, Hall of the Two Sisters, stucco wall panel, last third of the 14th century. © Katrin Kaufmann. 503 22.5 Pavel Notbek, Model of the Hall of the Two Sisters (detail), 1850s, plaster, mastic, varnish, oil paints, wood, 260 х 202 х 202 cm. Scientific-Research Museum of the Russian Academy of Arts, am-501. © NIMRAKh. 504 22.6 St. Petersburg, Muruzi House, staircase, ceiling, Aleksei Serebriakov, 1874– 1877. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Katrin Kaufmann, Nikita Andreev. 505 22.7a St. Petersburg, Villa of Sergei von Derviz, neo-Moorish living room, ceiling (detail), Piotr Shreiber, 1885. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Katrin Kaufmann. 505 22.7b Panelling in windows, Hall of the Ambassadors. Goury/Jones 1836–1845, vol. 2, pl. vi.10. © eth library Zurich. 506 22.8a St. Petersburg, Vladimir Palace, Boudoir, dome, Aleksandr Rezanov and Ieronim Kitner, ca. 1870. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Katrin Kaufmann. 506
xxiv Figures 22.8b Granada, Alhambra, Court of the Lions, pavilion, dome, ca. 1380. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Thomas Scheidt. 507 22.8c Détails de la mosquée Teyloun (Partie du grand panneau de la Chaire). Coste 1837. © New York Public Library. 507 22.9 St. Petersburg, Nikolaevskii Palace, former living room of Piotr Nikolaevich, wall and dome (detail), attributed to Nikolai Basin, ca. 1884. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Katrin Kaufmann. 508 22.10a St. Petersburg, Villa of Il’ia Gromov, interior in neo-Moorish style, ceiling (detail), Karl Rakhau, ca. 1877. © Roman Vezenin. 509 22.10b Design for a ceiling in neo-Moorish style, presumably by Karl Rakhau, 1870s. Drawing. Library of the St. Petersburg Union of Architects. © Katrin Kaufmann. 510 23.1 Cairo, Stucco window (qamarīya), front and back, 17th-18th century. Museum of Islamic Art, Cairo, inv. no. 387/1. © Katrin Kaufmann. 523 23.2 Cairo, al-Jazīra Palace/Cairo Marriott Hotel, Grosses Entrée/Salon Royal, Carl von Diebitsch, 1863/64. © Katrin Kaufmann. 524 23.3 Ettal, Linderhof Park, Moorish Kiosk, Carl von Diebitsch/Georg von Dollmann, 1867/1876. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Rose Hajdu. 524 23.4 Ettal, Linderhof Park, Moroccan House, 1878. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg / Rose Hajdu. 525 23.5 Transennae of the mosque of Sultan Ḥasan in Cairo. Prisse d’Avennes 1869– 1877, vol. 1, pl. 45. 526 23.6 Georg von Dollmann, Window Design for the Moorish Kiosk, 1876, watercolored pen and ink drawing, 55 x 34 cm (window: 25 x 15.7 cm). © König Ludwig ii.-Museum, inv no. 2165p, Bayerische Schlösserverwaltung. 527 23.7 Blank window of the Sala de la Barca. Goury/Jones 1836–1845, vol. 2, pl. xlv. 528 23.8 Ettal, Linderhof Park, Moorish Kiosk, Side Window, Georg von Dollmann, 1876. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Rose Hajdu. 529 23.9 Port-Marly, Château Monte-Christo, chambre mauresque, 1847. © Sarah Keller. 530 23.10 Hampton, Grove House, Moorish Room, 1892–1896. © Victoria and Albert Museum, London. 530 23.11 Regello, Villa di Sammezzano, Sala dei Gigli, 1862. © Bildarchiv Foto Marburg /Rabatti & Domingie Photography. 531 24.1 Sahagún, San Tirso, exterior view before the collapse of the tower. Gómez Moreno 1925–1926, fig. 539. 546 24.2 Sahagún, San Tirso, current state of central apse and tower. © Laura Álvarez Acosta. 547
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24.3 Winterthur, Badgasse 6, neo-Moorish bathing and laundering facilities (Bade- und Waschanstalt), Wilhelm Friedrich Carl Bareiss, 1863–1864, watercolor by Jakob Ziegler-Sulzberger, 1868. © Winterthurer Bibliotheken, Sammlung Winterthur, 023419_O. 548 24.4 Winterthur, Badgasse 6, neo-Moorish bathing and laundering facilities (Bade- und Waschanstalt), Wilhelm Friedrich Carl Bareiss, 1863–1864, main façade, draft, 1862. © StAW, Dep V8-Dep V9. 549 24.5 Winterthur, Badgasse 6, neo-Moorish bathing and laundering facilities (Bade- und Waschanstalt), Wilhelm Friedrich Carl Bareiss, 1863–1864, demolition of chimney in 1979–1980. © StAW, Dep V8-Dep V9. 550
Figures A.1 and A.2 554 A.3 563 A.4 565 A.5 566 A.6 567 A.7 568 A.8 569 A.9 570 A.10 571 A.11 572 A.12 574 A.13 575 A.14 576 A.15 577 A.16 578 A.17 579 A.18 580 A.19 581 A.20 582 A.21 583 A.22 584 A.23 585 A.24 586 A.25 587 A.26 588 A.27 589
xxvi Figures A.28 590 A.29 591 A.30 592 A.31 593 A.32 594
Notes on Contributors Laura Álvarez Acosta holds a ma degree from the University of Zurich in Cultural Analysis and Art History in 2018. In her ma thesis, she dealt with the Mudéjar architecture of Sahagún, province of León, considering historiographic discourses and monument preservation policy in Spain. She obtained her ba degree in Ibero Cultura and Art History from the University of Freiburg in 2016. Her area of interests is national identity, cultural heritage and promoting Hispanic culture and language. She has been working in the snsf project Mudejarismo and Moorish Revival in Europe from 2018–2019. Luis Araus Ballesteros is a curator at the Museo de Burgos. He studied Medieval History and History of Art at the University of Valladolid, where he was a predoctoral researcher from 2014 to 2018. Subsequently, from 2018–2019, he worked in the Archivo de la Real Chancillería de Valladolid. The topic of his PhD thesis is the work of Muslims in Castilian architecture in late Middle Ages. He has been visiting researcher at the Interdisciplinary Centre for History, Culture and Societies of the University of Évora (Portugal) and the Pontifical Institute for Arabic and Islamic Studies in Rome. His research focuses on the Muslim minority in Iberian kingdoms during the Middle Ages and artistic interchange between Mudéjars and Christian society. Michael A. Conrad was a research assistant for the project Mudejarismo and Moorish Revival in Europe at the University of Zurich, Institute of Art History, under the supervision of Prof. Dr. Francine Giese. Before, he worked for the Collaborative Research Centre 980 “Episteme in Motion. Transfer of Knowledge from the Ancient World to the Early Modern Period” at Freie Universität Berlin, and at the Centre for Media and Interactivity (zmi) at Julius Liebig University Giessen. His doctoral thesis deals with the Book of Games (1284) by King Alfonso x of Castile and León and how it bases some of its core concepts on the idea of play as a model for decision-making. He currently teaches at the University of Zurich on behalf of the Kompetenzzentrum Zürcher Mediävistik at the University of Zurich.
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Francine Giese is director of the Vitrocentre and the Vitromusée Romont. From 2014–2019 she held a snsf professorship at the Institute of Art History of the University of Zurich, where she led the research project Mudejarismo and Moorish Revival in Europe. Her habilitation (second book), dealing with building and restoration practices in the Mosque-Cathedral of Córdoba, was published in 2016 (Peter Lang). In her current research project Luminosity of the East (SNSF, 2020- 2024), she studies Islamic colored glass windows (qamarīya) within Western museum collections and critically questions their provenance and reception in 19th-century architecture. Her research focuses on the artistic heritage of al- Andalus, transfer and exchange processes between the Islamic World and the West, 19th-century collectorship, architectural Orientalism, and the arts of glass. Alejandro Jiménez Hernández is a graduate of the etsag (School of Architecture of the University of Granada). He has developed several projects which recreate buildings from Al- Alndalus, such as the decorations of Arab baths in different cities of Spain. In the last years, he has specialised in plasterwork with the Andalusian company Arabedeco, becoming one of the company’s masters of plasterwork. As such, he was involved in the recreation project for the Sala Orígenes at Toledo’s Army Museum, described in this volume. His academic and professional career also includes several projects of building restoration, interior design and new construction designs. He is currently working as a team leader in an international architecture office in Málaga, developing mostly luxury residential housing. Katrin Kaufmann works at the Department of Historic Preservation of the Canton of Berne and at the Vitrocentre Romont, where she focuses on Swiss stained glass of the 19th and 20th centuries. She holds a PhD in Art History from the University of Zurich. As an associated collaborator of the research project Mudejarismo and Moorish Revival in Europe between 2015 and 2019, Katrin Kaufmann wrote her dissertation Taking the Alhambra to St. Petersburg on neo-Moorish Russian architecture and interiors. Sarah Keller is a senior researcher at Vitrocentre Romont, where she deals with Swiss stained glass of the Renaissance and Baroque periods. As a specialist for the glazing, she was collaborating with the research project “Mudéjarismo and Moorish Revival in Europe” from 2014 to 2019. She holds a PhD in Art History from the University of Berne. Her dissertation thesis analyzed the transfer of Islamic elements to Romanesque architecture in Northern Spain.
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Notes on Contributors
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Elena Paulino Montero is assistant professor at the department of Art History in the Universidad Complutense de Madrid. Prior to that, she has been postdoctoral fellow at the Universidad Nacional de Educación a Distancia in Madrid (2018–2019), and at the Kunsthistorisches Institut in Florence (2015–2017), where she participated in the research project «Convivencia». Iberian to Global Dynamics (500–1750). Her research is devoted to patronage and transcultural artistic during the Late Middle Ages in the Iberian Peninsula. She is part of the Cost-Action 18129 Islamic Legacy. Narratives East, West, South North of the Mediterranean (1350–1750). Ekaterina Savinova received her PhD in Art History at the Academy of Arts of St. Petersburg, where she also pursued postgraduate studies. She is an art critic, research associate and curator of the architectural graphics and architectural models at the Museum of the Russian Academy of Arts, Saint-Petersburg. She is the author of nearly one hundred publications in Russia and abroad and has curated many international exhibitions. Christian M. Schweizer studied Art History and Musicology at the Universities of Zurich and Vienna. His master thesis «The Dream of India» –Architectonic Visions and their Political Instrumentalization during the British Raj discussed Islamic revival styles in the educational architecture of British India and the inherent political conditioning. 2016–2018, he was an associated fellow of the snsf project Mudejarismo and Moorish Revival in Europe. His research interests focus on the Islamic World, South and East Asia, especially on multi-directional transfer of culture and ideas, as well as on the instrumentalization of art and architecture in political narratives in the late 19th and early 20th centuries and its actors. He continues to read Indian Studies and Japanese at the University of Zurich. Ariane Varela Braga is Senior Lecturer in the History of Contemporary Art at the University of Geneva. Her PhD (2013, University of Neuchatel) was about Owen Jones and his theory of ornament (published 2017, Rome: Campisano). She has been a post-doc research assistant in the snsf project Mudejarismo and Moorish Revival in Europe at the University of Zurich (2014–2019). She is the author of monographs and collective volumes on ornament, Orientalism and colored marble and has collaborated with exhibitions in Brazil, Switzerland, Italy and Germany.
Introduction: Towards a Comprehensive Understanding of Interconnected Realities Francine Giese This volume presents the results of the research project Mudejarismo and Moorish Revival in Europe, which between 2014 and 2019 was generously funded by the Swiss National Science Foundation (snsf). Directed by Francine Giese and affiliated with the Institute of Art History at the University of Zurich, the project’s objective was to challenge prevalent readings of architecture and interiors whose creation was the result of cultural encounters.1 In order to propose new ways for better understanding interconnected cultural and artistic phenomena as those studied in the project, a transdisciplinary research team, composed of junior and senior researchers in the fields of art and cultural history, helped shed new light on key aspects related to the reception of Ibero-Islamic architecture in medieval Iberia and 19th-century Europe –two phenomena usually referred to as Mudejarismo and Moorish Revival.2 A deeper examination of both did reveal how imprecise and controversial the standard definitions and terminologies, as formulated in the 19th century, are. Moreover, as both phenomena are closely connected to the Islamic World –Mudéjar architecture reflects the transcultural reality of medieval Iberia, while the neo- Moorish style is a product of the age of imperialism –concepts of identity, nationalism, religious and ethnic belonging, as well as Orientalism and Islamoscepticism significantly shaped the way in which they have been perceived across time.3 Despite the fact that Mudejarismo and Moorish Revival share a common origin –Ibero-Islamic architecture –comparative analyses are still rare. Moreover, 1 For an outline of the project and its research axes, see Giese/Varela Braga et al. 2016. 2 The authors of this volume are conscious of the contested terminology of Mudéjar and the negative connotations of the term Moorish. They are used here as denominators of two phenomena that have been essentially shaped in the 19th century. When speaking of the Islamic architecture of al-Andalus, the term Moorish is rejected. In these cases, the terms Ibero- Islamic or andalusí are used. 3 The mentioned concepts and related aspects have been extensively treated in recent years, see for instance Hallam/Street 2000; Feliciano/Rouhi 2006; Anderson/Rosser-Owen 2007; Schulze 2007; Marchand 2009; Urquízar Herrera 2009–2010; Schnepel et al. 2011; Eisenbeiss/Saurma-Jeltsch 2012; Kohler 2012; Friedman/Thiel 2012; Taras 2012; Hertel 2012; Drace- Francis 2013; González Alcantud 2014; Franco Llopis et al. 2016; Kaina et al. 2016; Ruiz Souza/ Feliciano 2017.
© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2021 | DOI:10.1163/9789004448582_002
2 Giese research efforts devoted to Mudéjar art and architecture were for a long time restricted to national level only, closely linked to Spain and its ongoing struggle for finding a way to integrate its Islamic past into a coherent concept of national identity. In contrast, while the Moorish Revival had attracted international scholarship ever since, it was largely relegated to the sphere of exoticism, impeding in-depth studies of its architecture and ornamentation.4 The few exceptions come from Spanish scholars,5 whose studies show that while they had a profound knowledge of Islamic reference buildings, their focus usually remained within a largely national radius, rarely taking into account the broader context of Islamic Revival architecture or, more generally, European Historicism.6 Therefore, the project’s aim was to re-evaluate previous research results to serve as the basis for introducing new, transdisciplinary, transcultural and transnational approaches,7 with the goal to offer new readings of Mudejarismo and Moorish Revival. Even though both phenomena differ in the means by which they interpreted, adopted and transmitted the Ibero-Islamic legacy, the related architecture nonetheless shows common traits regarding, for example, the significant role of patrons, artisans and architects in promoting both styles, the crucial part royal courts played in the horizontal and vertical diffusion of Ibero-Islamic elements by first introducing and then transmitting them across various social strata,8 an affinity toward aesthetics of ‘Otherness,’ along with the incorporation of architectural features based on high degrees of stylistic and cultural hybridization. Thus, Mudejarismo and Moorish Revival are both rooted in artistic and sociocultural processes whose complexity is mirrored in the equally 4 See for instance Danby 1995. 5 Most noteworthy are Panadero Peropadre 1992; Rodríguez Domingo 1996. 6 For a broader perspective regarding Islamic Revivalism, see Darby 1983; Koppelkamm 1987; Raquejo Grado 1987; Sweetman 1988; Raquejo Grado 1989; Cresti 1999; Giusti/Godoli 1999; Andronova 2008; Oulebsir/Volait 2009; Giese/el-Wakil/Varela Braga 2019; Giese/Volait/Varela Braga 2019. 7 Transcultural and transnational approaches have become increasingly important with the global turn, see for instance Krüger/Meyer 2005; Elkins 2007; Herren/Rüesch/Sibille 2012; Casid/D’Souza 2014; Allerstorfer/Leisch-Kiesl 2017; Darian-Smith/McCarty 2017. On the potential of transdisciplinary approaches, see Mittelstrass 1993; Mittelstrass 2003; Balsiger 2005. For general references consult the online-bibliography “Inter-/Transdisziplinarität,” (accessed 12/11/2019). 8 As for a definition of horizontal and vertical diffusion, see Roeck 2007, 23–28. On the role of different social strata for the diffusion of the Mudéjar phenomenon, see Borrás Gualis 1990, 110–120; Valdés Fernández 2007, as well as c hapters 6 and 10 in this volume. As for their significance for the Moorish Revival, see Giese 2018a; Varela Braga 2018, as well as chapters 8, 11 and 12 in this volume.
Introduction
3
high number of explanatory models following diverse research approaches concerning the nature of the underlying exchange and transfer processes, as well as the ways in which the borrowed elements and motifs are integrated in pre-existing traditions and charged with new meanings. Whereas Mudéjar art and architecture testify how the artistic traditions of al-Andalus persisted even after its decline, neo-Moorish style was the result of conscious aspirations to revive a historic legacy. Consequently, the stylistic eclecticism of 19th-century Orientalist architecture knows no counterpart in the Middle Ages. In contrast, the moment of reconquest of previously Islamic territories was much more decisive for medieval artists, since this implied a notable rupture: Cut off from the political influence and artistic developments in al-Andalus, the Islamic tradition of post-conquest Iberia suffered from what could be labelled its ‘fossilisation’, resulting in the use of archaic motifs and architectural elements within the Christian territories. A conscious mode of reception occurred in the 14th century, when royal patrons promoted the adoption of Almohad and Nasrid aesthetics in Castile and León –territories that had been separated from the artistic developments of al-Andalus for almost three centuries. This consciousness links Mudéjar and neo-Moorish style, echoing a concept that Peter Burke has called a “fashion for the foreign”:9 unlike a truly transcultural, that is, multilateral, form of exchange, in both cases a set of architectural and ornamental elements were selected and transmitted in terms of unidirectional transfers.10 Focusing on different issues regarding the artistic translations and cultural negotiations that took place during these two periods, the contributions of this volume address four main topics that also rule its structure. Chapter one critically reviews historic and theoretical narratives concerning the transcultural reality and cultural heritage of the Iberian Peninsula that oscillate between fascination and conflict. The contributions of chapter two focus on the social networks and actors to identify key figures and interconnected realities that were crucial for the establishment and promotion of Mudejarismo and Moorish Revival. The artisans and architects discussed in chapter three were main protagonists of transcultural exchanges and artistic transfers as necessary prerequisites for the multi-layered cultural expressions studied in this volume – a role they fulfilled by transferring artistic vocabularies and technical skills beyond political and cultural borders. By taking into account the interactions of architects and artisans, as well as other relevant cultural actors, while simultaneously bearing in mind equally relevant issues of social, cultural and
9 10
Burke 2009, 79–82. Georgiorakis et al. 2011, 403–404.
4 Giese territorial change, the focus of chapter four are artistic translations between imagination, politics and ideology. Chapter five proposes an art-historical contextualization of Mudéjar and neo-Moorish buildings and interiors based on micro-analyses of selected architectural and decorative elements that allow to observe more closely how Islamic aesthetics had been transmitted throughout centuries. Besides architectural and stylistic re-interpretations, questions of materiality and mediality are likewise involved. Closing with a catalog of outstanding specimens from the important collection of Alhambra casts and models preserved at the Museum of the Royal Academy of Fine Arts in St Petersburg, which is to date mostly unknown to the broader public, the volume aspires to open a new path for a more comprehensive understanding of the interconnectedness of cultural realities by providing a transcultural and transnational vision of Mudéjar and neo-Moorish architecture and ornamentation.
pa rt 1 Between Fascination and Conflict
∵
c hapter 1
Where Does Mudéjar Architecture Belong? Francine Giese On June 19, 1859, the Spanish archaeologist, art and literature historian José Amador de los Ríos (1816–1878) held his inaugural lecture El estilo mudéjar en arquitectura at the Real Academia de Bellas Artes de San Fernando (rabasf), Madrid’s Royal Academy of Fine Arts. His talk, closely linked to the emergence of Spanish art historiography in the course of the 19th century and the increasingly important national identity debate reassessing the country’s transcultural past,1 opened a new chapter in Spain’s academic discourse by defining a new artistic style, ‘[…] so distinctive and characteristic of the Spanish civilization’.2 According to Amador de los Ríos, the hitherto largely disregarded artistic manifestation he called “Mudéjar” had reached its full development by the 14th century,3 as attested by the fusion of Christian and Islamic elements observed in the sumptuous buildings by the Castilian king Pedro i (r. 1350–1369),4 or in urban palaces erected by the local nobility of Toledo.5 In his attempt to position this new style within the context of the Christian ‘Reconquest’ of the Iberian Peninsula, which he glorified in his writing, Amador de los Ríos resorted to a terminology previously used in historical studies in relation to the socio-political status of an individual person or social group, the so-called Mudejares (Arab. mudajjan), i.e., the Muslims living under Christian rule.6 The practice of ascribing artistic styles to ethnic groups –in this case, a Mudéjar “race,” “la raza mudejar”7 –is highly contested today and was already questioned in the 19th century. The main point of critique still is that Amador 1 Martínez de Carvajal 1986; García Alcázar 2009; Urquízar Herrera 2009–2010; Calatrava 2011a; Ruiz Souza 2016a. 2 “[…] tan propio y característico de la civilización española,” Amador de los Ríos 1859, 28, English translation by Nathalie Herrmann. 3 Amador de los Ríos 1859, 21–22. 4 Pedro’s building activities have been the focus of numerous contributions, see for instance, Ruiz Souza 1996; Ruiz Souza 2001d; Ruiz Souza 2005; Almagro Gorbea 2005; Ruiz Souza 2007; Cómez [Ramos] 2006; Almagro Gorbea 2007a; Cómez Ramos 2008; Rodríguez Moreno 2012, as well as chapter 14. 5 For further reading, see Paulino Montero 2010, as well as chapter 6. 6 Chalmeta 2012. 7 Amador de los Ríos 1859, 13.
© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2021 | DOI:10.1163/9789004448582_003
8 Giese de los Ríos’s definition of Mudéjar as an ‘art of the Mudéjares’8 is not based on any stylistic classification, but rather on ethno-religious categorizations of master builders and craftsmen. However, in many cases Mudéjar artisans, who borrowed their name to the artistic style, had worked side by side with their Christian colleagues. This had already been noticed by Pedro Madrazo, who in his 1888 article De los estilos en las artes raised the question if ”we can be absolutely certain that everything qualified as Mudéjar today indeed is a product from Mudéjar hands.”9 The stylistic overlapping of Christian and Islamic artistic vocabularies witnessed in Mudéjar architecture seemed to justify the assumption that multi-religious and multi-ethnical groups of artisans must have worked together. Referring to the Royal Palace of Olite (Navarra) during the reign of King Carlos iii (r. 1387–1425), Madrazo accordingly asserted that ‘[…] nobody would be able to differentiate between the work of Muslims and the workmanship (hechura) of the Navarres from Biscay, the French and the Flemish, who all alternated with the first.’10 This led Madrazo to conclude that “[…] works of art should be designated on the basis of their style, be it pure or hybrid (bastardo), rather than merely on the personal condition of the master builder (alarife), […].”11 1
José Amador de los Ríos and Mudéjar Terminology –an Ongoing Debate
Madrazo’s critique of Amador de los Ríos’s definition and denomination of Mudéjar style would not be the last effort to reassess the phenomenon, as evidenced by the extensive research literature on Mudéjar art and architecture and their historiographical classifications.12 Besides changing attitudes towards the Christian and Islamic components of the style and their significance for Spain’s national identity,13 the following points of discussion have 8 9 10 11 12 13
“arte de los mudejares,” Amador de los Ríos 1859, 20. “¿tenemos por ventura la seguridad de que todo lo que se califica hoy de mudéjar es producto de manos mudéjares?”, Madrazo 1888, 262, English translation by Nathalie Herrmann. “[…] nadie sería capaz de discernir lo que allí era obra de muslimes de lo que era hechura de los navarros vizcaínos, franceses y flamencos que con ellos alternaban,” Madrazo 1888, 263, English translation by Nathalie Herrmann. “[…] desígnense los objetos de arte por su estilo, sea puro, sea bastardo, no por lo que sólo se refiere a la condición personal del alarife,” Madrazo 1888, 263, English translation by Nathalie Herrmann. For an overview, see Giese/Paulino Montero 2020. See for instance Urquízar Herrera 2009–2010, 209, 213, who proposes a critical reading of Rodrigo Amador de los Ríos’s and Vicente Lampérez y Romea’s nationalistic and
Where Does Mudéjar Architecture Belong?
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remained crucial ever since: there are problems emerging from the application of an ethno-religious terminology to an art historical phenomenon and the possibly racial connotations,14 problems of defining Mudéjar as an artistic style in the first place,15 disputable ideas of its unity, chronological evolution, temporal and geographical limitations,16 the challenges of how to integrate Mudéjar art and architecture into the existing framework of categories of art history,17 the dangers of overemphasizing structural, technological and material-specific aspects,18 or of reducing Mudéjar architecture to a merely decorative style.19 According to Verónica Gijón Jiménez, Mudéjar is perceived as “[…] a complex style composed of many artistic sensibilities, which even today is difficult to categorize.”20 Borrás Gualis had already emphasized this idea in his seminal work from 1990, stating that “Mudejar art fits neither into Islamic nor in Western Christian art history, as it constitutes an enclave at the frontier (frontera) between both cultures”21 –a statement that underscores the limitations of traditional categorizations of art history when confronted with transcultural contexts. Due to the multiple cultural ties of medieval Iberia the exchange processes observable in its cultural heritage were the results of a multi-directional flow of knowledge, language, and artistic forms, which therefore sharply differ from transfer mechanisms prevalent in the 19th century.22 Andreas Speer’s account, according to which the exchange of knowledge across the frontier(s) of medieval Iberia did not only consist of a mere accumulation of data but also involved processes of correlation and attribution, therefore seems quite convincing.23 This is also true for artistic production, where borrowed forms had to be first
pro-Christian interpretations. For further reading, see Ruiz Souza 2016a; Ruiz Souza/ Feliciano 2017. 14 See esp. Grabar 1992; Dodds 1992; Feliciano/Rouhi 2006. 15 Assas y Ereño 1857; Madrazo 1888. 16 Lampérez y Romea 1930 [1908–1909]; Gómez-Moreno Martínez 1916; Chueca Goitia 1947; Torres Balbás 1949a; Marías 1989; López Guzmán 2000 [2006]. 17 Borras Gualis 1990; Ruiz Souza 2016a; Ruiz Souza 2018a. 18 Bango Torviso 1993. 19 Robinson 2003. 20 “[…] un estilo complejo, construido de muchas sensibilidades artísticas, que aún hoy es difícil encasillar,” Gijón Jiménez 2009, 526, English translation by Nathalie Herrmann. 21 “[…] el arte Mudéjar no encaja ni en la historia del arte islámico ni en la del arte occidental cristiano, porque constituye un enclave en la frontera de ambas culturas,” Borrás Gualis 1990, 67, English translation by Nathalie Herrmann. 22 Georgiorakis et al. 2011, esp. 403–404. 23 Speer 2006, xv.
10 Giese understood in their original contexts in order to be successfully integrated and re-contextualized in their new surroundings. The comprehensiveness of the medieval attitude toward cultural exchange finds a strong reflection in Wolfgang Welsch’s concept of transculturality24 that is best exemplified by the cultural and political entanglement of al-Andalus and the Crown of Castile and León, a topic covered extensively by Juan Carlos Ruiz Souza.25 A result thereof is the blending of diverse artistic traditions as attested in Mudéjar architecture, which raises the question as to whether we are actually dealing with two distinguishable architectural repertoires –an Ibero-Islamic and a Christian one, or if we are justified in assuming a single, common artistic language shaped by an ongoing process of cultural and artistic acculturation.26 In his 1859 inaugural lecture at the Royal Academy of Fine Arts (rabasf), entitled Originalidad de la arquitectura árabe, Francisco Enríquez y Ferrer argued for the latter option,27 maintaining that the reconquered territories had been infiltrated by Islamic culture and had therefore been able to develop a strong impact on Christian customs, sciences and the arts.28 The entangled history of medieval Iberia thus resulted in something that one could call an entangled artistic heritage.29 Efforts to integrate this heritage into pre-existing classification systems originally developed for ”other European realities (otras realidades europeas),”30 as Ruiz Souza says, leaves us with the challenge to find more convincing categorizations for the artistic expressions of such a heterogeneous society with multi-religious and multi- ethnic background. 2
Opening the Path for New Approaches
Even though the artistic exchange between al-Andalus and the Christian territories of the North has been a focus of medieval studies since the 19th century,31 Iberia’s transcultural reality is still approached with strongly mono-cultural 24 Welsch 1999. 25 See for instance, Ruiz Souza 2000a; Ruiz Souza 2004; Ruiz Souza 2007; Ruiz Souza 2012. 26 On the term acculturation and its application in art history, see Speer 2006, xv; Burke 2000, 13; Gotter 2001, 265–266; Borgolte et al. 2008, 204–209; Keller 2013, 122–126. 27 Enríquez y Ferrer 1859, 205–207. See also Panadero Peropadre 1992, 445–446. 28 Enríquez y Ferrer 1859, 205. For a critical evaluation of the cultural and artistic exchange during the Reconquista, see c hapter 2 with further references. 29 On this point, also see Díez Jorge 2001. 30 Ruiz Souza 2016b, 394. 31 Hillgarth 1985; Soifer [Irish] 2009. For further reading, see Valdés Fernández 2007.
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methods. Yet the aforementioned challenges force us to question traditional art historical methodology if we want to open up the path to a more comprehensible understanding of the multi-layered legacy of one of the most important contact zones of the medieval world. The application of transcultural and transdisciplinary research and analysis tools has proven a valuable alternative for detecting related ‘disciplinary islands,’32 such as Ibero-Romance linguistics that deal with similar questions, while reevaluating studied phenomena from a global perspective.33 The potential of alternative approaches has been explored and confirmed on various occasions in the snsf project Mudejarismo and Moorish Revival in Europe,34 a point to be illustrated in the following by discussing two interrelated questions, the historic formation of Mudéjar architecture and its contested terminology. Generally, the Christian conquest of Toledo in 1085 is regarded the historic starting point of Mudéjar art and architecture.35 The heterogeneous population, consisting of Mozárabs, Muslims and Jews, thus came under the rule of León-Castile,36 thereby replacing the taifa court of Yaḥyā ii al-Qādir biʾllāh (second reign ah 474/475–478 / ad 1082–1085). As pointed out by Manuel Gómez-Moreno, the new Christian elites took over the local artistic traditions. In the third volume of the Universal History of Spanish Art – Ars Hispaniae he emphasized the difficulty of attributing the built heritage within post-conquest Toledo as follows: The persistence of Caliphal art in Toledo and the atmosphere of ‘convivencia’ between the Old Toledans –the Mozarabs, Moors, and Jews –and 32
33 34
35 36
Mittelstrass 1993, 18. Jürgen Mittelstrass significantly shaped the discussion on transdisciplinarity in the 1990s. For further reading, see Mittelstrass 2003; Brand et al. 2004; Balsiger 2005. For general references consult the online-Bibliography “Inter-/Transdisziplinarität”, (accessed 7/25/2019). Elkins 2007; Shalem 2012; Casid/D’Souza 2014; Allerstorfer/Leisch-Kiesl 2017; Darian- Smith/McCarty 2017. Especially noteworthy are the 2016 conferences “Medieval Tombs and their Spatial Contexts. Strategies of Commemoration in Christianity and Islam” (Tübingen, Walter De Gruyter 2018) and “Artistic Dialogue during the Middle Ages. Islamic Art –Mudéjar Art” (Córdoba, Casa Arabe 2020); the 2017 conferences “Islamic Art History and Archaeology in Crisis? Challenges and New Perspectives” (Madrid) and “The Power of Symbols. The Alhambra in a Global Context” (Zurich, Peter Lang 2018); the 2017 “Sephardic Afternoon” (Zurich); the 2018 conference “The Artistic Heritage of al-Andalus and National Identity” (Berlin, Justi Mitteilungen, forthcoming) or the 2019 conference “Negotiating the Past. Islamic Heritage in Italy and Spain” (Venice). See for instance, Borrás Gualis 1990, 81. See esp. Dodds et al. 2008; Remie Constable/Zurro 2012, 136.
12 Giese the Castilians, maintained since the reconquest of 1085, makes it difficult to include certain buildings that, according to their date, have a purely Arabic appearance.37 A similar situation can be asserted for Islamic dominions. For instance, the foundation of the Umayyad dynasty in Greater Syria after the Islamic expansion of the 7th century, that is, on a territory previously controlled by the Byzantine Empire, was followed by an intense cultural and artistic exchange leading to the creation of a new artistic language. Like the situation in Toledo, the new –in this case Islamic –elites adopted local aesthetics and techniques for creating an artistic vocabulary of their own. In his fundamental article from 1910 on the origins of Islamic art, Ernst Herzfeld described the Umayyad buildings in Jerusalem as old building types that had been given a new use based on adaptations of concrete practices,38 a vital point for understanding the process of artistic formation in general. In fact, Gülru Necipoğlu wrote in 1993 that “The “formation” of Islamic architecture(s) was a process that never stopped.”39 Only half a century after ʿAbd al-Malik ibn Marwān (r. ah 65–86 / ad 685–705) had established monumental Islamic architecture, the Abbasid dynasty (r. ad 750–1258) reinvented it by appropriating elements from the Umayyad repertoire, as proven by recent reevaluations of Herzfeld’s findings in Samarra.40 The “representation of continuum” as recently declared by Eva R. Hoffmann in respect to the wall paintings from Samarra41 that Ernst Herzfeld documented in a series of colored drawings and photographs produced on site and subsequently published in his 1927 Die Malereien von Samarra42 is an equally valid statement in relation to the decorative program of al-Mutawakkil’s (ah 232/ 233–246/247 / ad 847–861) Great Mosque in Samarra. Herzfeld had been the first to link the Abbasid building to the older Umayyad mosques in Jerusalem and Damascus: 37
“La persistencia en Toledo del arte cailfal y el ambiente de convivencia entre toledanos viejos –mozárabes, moros y judíos –y los castellanos, mantenida desde la reconquista de 1085, dificulta el encajar, respecto de esta fecha, ciertos edificios de aspecto puramente árabe,” Gómez-Moreno 1951, 207, English translation by Nathalie Herrmann. 38 “Die Anknüpfung an alte Typen in neuer Verwendung, mit aus der Praxis erzeugten Anpassungen,” Herzfeld 1910, 32, English translation by Nathalie Herrmann. Oleg Grabar further developed central points of Herzfeld’s argumentation in his seminal publication The Formation of Islamic Art, see Grabar 1973. 39 Necipoğlu 1993, 169. 40 See for instance Giese 2008, esp. 287–289 with further references. 41 Hoffmann 2008, 124–127. 42 Herzfeld 1927.
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The artistic notions and currents that affected the creation of this building [the Great Mosque of al-Mutawakkil] becomes apparent in the polychromy of the columns: the colorful spolia columns of Syrian mosques were perceived as a standard, so that whenever there were no spolia, or the columns were ordered and produced ad hoc, like here, or the colossal dimensions led to the use of bundles of columns instead of simple shafts, attempts were undertaken to imitate the colorfulness of these Syrian mosques. This mosque also competed with the Umayyad mosque in Damascus in respect to the glass mosaic decorations of the walls. Many remains thereof have been found, so that it has been possible to identify the technique, yet not the original patterns, [of this work].43 The construction of cultural and artistic continuities observable in Umayyad and Abbasid architecture can be regarded as one of the essential strategies in the formation process of early Islamic architecture that was similarly significant for the development of Mudéjar architecture. As shown throughout this publication, the continuation of pre-existing traditions established strong, lasting ties between the new Christian elites and local identities.44 Consequentially, there were hybridization processes that took place on various levels, including building types, floor and elevation plans, techniques, materials and ornamentations. In opposition to the widespread tendency of reducing Mudéjar architecture to an essentially decorative phenomenon, we are instead dealing with the emergence of a comprehensive artistic expression that reflected the cultural and social reality of medieval Iberia. Even though there have been previous attempts to introduce alternative terminology for designating Mudéjar art and architecture, such as Pedro de Madrazo’s terms árabe bastardo, mauritanio bastardo and naserita bastardo,45 the discipline still struggles with Amador de los Ríos’s historiographical 43
44 45
“Was für Vorstellungen und was für künstlerische Strömungen bei der Schaffung dieses Baus in Wirkung traten, das wird durch die Polychromie der Säulen recht klar: die farbigen Spoliensäulen der syrischen Moscheen wurden so sehr als das Normale empfunden, dass man hier, wo es keine Spolien gab und die Säulen ad hoc bestellt und angefertigt wurden, wo die gewaltigen Dimensionen zu Säulenbündeln anstelle der einfachen Schäfte geführt hatten, künstlich den bunten Effekt jener syrischen Moscheen nachzuahmen trachtete. Auch in dem Glasmosaik-Schmuck der Wände wetteiferte die Moschee mit der Umaiyaden-Moschee von Damaskus. Reste davon wurden reichlich gefunden, so dass ihre Technik, nicht aber ihr Muster erkannt werden konnte,” Herzfeld 1912, 8, English translation by Nathalie Herrmann. See for instance c hapters 2, 6, 13. Madrazo 1888, 263.
14 Giese legacy. Given the complexity of the phenomenon and its ethno-religious connotations, Borras Gualis’s suggestion to simply abolish the original meaning of Mudéjar when applying it to the arts,46 can therefore not be regarded as a proper solution. In contrast, Ibero-Romance linguistics proposed a convincing alternative for the equally contested term (lengua) mozárabe in the 1990s, whose definition was mostly influenced by Spanish Arabist Francisco Javier Simonet’s (1829–1897) 1888 Glossario de voces ibéricas y latinas usadas entre los mozárabes.47 In this regard, a transdisciplinary approach does not only demonstrate how this debate can help to find better terminology; it also allows to evaluate how well this debate meets the demands of art historiography. An instructive starting point for this would be Francisco Marcos Marín’s 1998 article Romance andalusí y mozárabe: dos términos no sinónimos that questions existing terminology and proposes alternatives based on academic discourse and scientific vocabulary instead of ethno-religious concepts.48 According to Simonet’s definition, the Mozarabs, in spite of being subdued to Islamic rule, had preserved their Christian faith and the use of the Latin alphabet. However, Marcos Marín points out that the term Mozarab “[…] blurs the correct image of the situation of languages and dialects on the Iberian Peninsula in the period of origins, and introduces a racial and religious factor […].”49 What follows from this assertion is that the problems emerging from the term (lengua) mozárabe are mostly identical with the shortcomings of the concept estilo mudéjar. Marcos Marín further underlines that Mozarabic is an expression related to persons and not distinctive languages, “se refiere a la persona y no a la lengua,”50 concluding that “Originally, the word was not intended as a linguistic but a socio-religious characterization –they were Christians.’51 46
47 48 49 50 51
“[…] el término mudéjar, en la historiografía artística, ha quedado en uso con un contenido totalmente diferente al inicial de su formación, vaciándose por completo de su significado etimológico, que aludía a los moros sometidos; hoy día nadie puede entender por mudéjar el arte hecho por los mudéjares, dado que el término ha soltado el lastre étnico por completo, encarnando la categoría de periodización artística,” Borrás Gualis 1990, 39. Simonet 1888. See Corriente 2008, 186, note 6. Marcos Marín 1998. “[…] desenfoca la imagen correcta de la situación de lenguas y dialectos en la Península Ibérica en la época de orígenes, e introduce un factor de orden racial y religioso …,” Marcos Marín 1998, 335. “Mozárabe, por lo tanto, es un término de uso más amplio, que se refiere a la persona y no a la lengua …,” Marcos Marín 1998, 337. “Originariamente la palabra no tiene nada que ver con la caracterización lingüística, sino con la socio-religiosa; se trata de cristianos,” Marcos Marín 1998, 340.
Where Does Mudéjar Architecture Belong?
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Marcos Marín therefore suggests to replace (lengua) mozárabe with romance andalusí, a term originally coined by Federico Corriente that he in turn might have adopted from his student Otto Zwartjes.52 In their contributions, Corriente and Marcos Marín emphasize that the (lengua) mozárabe, the language, had not only been spoken by Christians but by Muslims and Jews alike.53 Based on this linguistic account, a similar case could be made for Mudéjar architecture, whose stylistic vocabulary had neither exclusively belonged to the group of mudéjares or had been used for buildings by them alone. To overcome the terminological controversy and leave behind the ethno- religious approach of the 19th century, it is helpful to return to José Amador de los Ríos’s inaugural lecture of 1859. Therein he had described the formation of Mudéjar architecture as a combination of Islamic with either Romanesque, Gothic or Renaissance elements.54 Way before, its composite nature had already been noticed by 19th-century travelers, a point that Verónica Gijón Jiménez or, more recently, Pedro Victorio Salido López have proven.55 Hence, travelogues such as Jean-Charles Davillier’s L’Espagne (1874), who explicitly used the at the time still new term of Mudéjar and thus apparently knew Amador de los Ríos’s work, continued to rely on Richard Ford’s (1796–1858) interpretation of Toledo’s Mudéjar architecture as either “Romanesque” or “Gothic” with the addition of what he called “Moorish work.”56 Accordingly, in writings of art history before the introduction of the term Mudéjar we find others, such as Patricio de la Escosura’s estilo gótico-arábigo,57 which clearly focuses on the two main components of the hybrid style.58 Against this backdrop, a first objective of relabeling Mudéjar art therefore must be to distance oneself from such and other problematic terminology, including Vicente Lampérez y Romea’s mudéjar latinobizantino, mudéjar románico, mudéjar gótico and mudéjar plateresco, which are nowadays largely rejected,59 and to replace them with terms generally accepted and widely used in art history today. However, this 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59
E-mail exchange between the author, Marcos Marín, Corriente and Zwartjes, December 2016. For further reading, see Zwartjes 1994; Corriente 2008. “Los usarios del romance andalusí no eran cristianos, ni necesaria ni mayoritariamente, …,” Marcos Marín 1998, 335, English translation by Nathalie Herrmann. See also, Corriente 2008, 186, note 6. Amador de los Ríos 1859. Gijón Jiménez 2009; Salido López 2014. Gijón Jiménez 2009, 521–523; Salido López 2014, 184–191. Escosura 1844, 34–35. Juan Fernández Giménez’s 1862 arquitectura cristiano-mahometana uses a similar term, see Fernández Giménez 1862. Lampérez y Romea 1930 [1908–1909], vol. 3, 491.
16 Giese must happen without giving up the goal of addressing the –Christian and Islamic –traditions involved. Based on the insights elaborated in relation to Zwartjes’s Romance andalucí, a viable solution would be to combine designations for the styles of Christian peninsular architecture, for example, Romanesque (rómanico), Gothic (gótico) or Renaissance (renacentista), and combine them with the general term andalusí as a marker for its Ibero-Islamic legacy.60 This would lead to more precise compounds, such as rómanico andalusí (Romanesque Andalusí), gótico andalusí (Gothic Andalusí), and renacentista andalusí (Renaissance Andalusí). A further step would consist in replacing the equally problematic expression estilo mozárabe and its substitutes, such as José Camón Aznar and Isidro Bango Torviso’s “art of the 10th century’ (arte del siglo X /de la décima)” or “repopulation art (arte de repoblación).”61 In line with the general terminological design, such architecture would now be identified as pre-románico andalusí (pre-Romanesque Andalusí). A benefit of this new terminology would be that it suspends the 19th-century classification system based on ethno-religious criteria and integrates what has been called Mozarabic and Mudéjar into the framework of national and global art history, thereby illustrating the “[…] generic idea of its character as a mix of Spanish and Islamic.”62 3
Mudéjar Architecture and the Transcultural Reality of Medieval Iberia
The chapter’s provocative title addresses a recurring issue of Spanish art historiography, which shows the persistence of the idea of historical spaces (Geschichtsräume) such as Europe or the Islamic World,63 on which the classification systems of art historiography are still based today. The German historian Jürgen Osterhammel convincingly demonstrated that historical spaces in fact are nothing else but imaginary constructions that in many cases were applied 60
61 62 63
The term andalusí is used in scientific writing in Spain in almost all domains, ranging from arts, culture, music, singing and poetry to agriculture or pharmacology, see for instance, Viguera Molins 1992; El legado andalusí 1995; López Guzmán et al. 2000; Cano García et. al. 2000; Alvaro Zamora 2007; Valdés Fernández 2007; Borrás Gualis 2014. Camón Aznar 1963; Bango Torviso 1974; Bango Torviso 2007. “[…] la idea genérica del carácter misto de español y árabe,” Madrazo 1859, 38, English translation by Nathalie Herrmann. This topic, mentioned only briefly in this article, is central to spatial theory (Raumtheorie) as developed in the wake of the spatial turn within the cultural and social sciences, see for instance Döring/Thielmann 2009.
Where Does Mudéjar Architecture Belong?
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to a distinctive territory only retrospectively.64 At the same time, preconceived notions of historical spaces nonetheless had strong impacts on national and transnational narratives as shown by Edward Said’s critical evaluation of the Orient.65 The surprising analogy between the constructions of categories of art history, such as European or Islamic art, and historical spaces shows how deeply both concepts, which had been established more or less during the same period, the 19th century, interconnected. This means that if we question one of these concepts, we inevitably question the other too. The historiographical and terminological problems the term of Mudéjar causes can thus affect broader issues as well, especially regarding our notions of historical spaces, as it highlights how much medieval Iberia should be conceived as a region of constant migration. Should one therefore not regard hybrid art forms as indicators of equally hybrid cultural and historical spaces?66 Do such hybrid manifestations not challenge the binary logic of Europe and the Islamic World as two separate entities? Rethinking Mudéjar architecture against this theoretical background could thus yield answers regarding its cultural belonging. Instead of identifying it with a third way, with an in-between of Islamic and Christian artistic traditions, Mudéjar should hence rather be considered as one way for representing the transcultural reality of medieval Iberia. 64 65 66
Osterhammel 2016 [2011], esp. 131–150. Said 1978. Said 1985. For further reading, see Schulze 2007; Schnepel/Brands/Schönig 2011. On the concept of hybridity, see Burke 2009; Feliciano/Rouhi 2006, 323–328.
c hapter 2
When Warriors Become Teachers
Alfonso x’s Cultural Endeavors and the Crusade Ideology Michael A. Conrad King Alfonso x of Castile and León (r. 1252–1284) is less renowned as a patron of architecture and instead better known for his vast body of manuscripts in Castilian language, many of which he not only supervised but, in some cases, even co-edited (fig. 2.1). The fields of knowledge covered by these works include literature, law, historiography, natural philosophy, particularly astrology and astronomy, games, and even magic.1 Much similar to Emperor Frederick ii of Hohenstaufen (r. 1220–1250), who himself had been an equally great patron of the sciences and the arts and with whom Alfonso happened to be related (his mother was Elisabeth of Swabia), many of the written works compiled at the Alfonsian court were based on translations of Arabic sources (fig. 2.2).2 The latter is particularly true for his many astronomical-astrological books, with the Alfonsine Tables (Tabulae Alphonsinae) ranking among the most striking examples, as they would be deemed the standard astronomical tables for computing stellar positions until their replacement by Johannes Kepler’s (1571–1630) Rudolphine Tables (1627).3 Alfonso’s profound fascination with astrology later earned him the nickname “el Rey Astrólogo,”4 “the Astrologer King,” besides the more famous sobriquet el Sabio, “the Wise.”5 By subsequently discussing the example of Alfonso’s Gothic Palace (Palacio Gótico) in Seville, this chapter intends to demonstrate not only the king’s role as a patron of architecture but also to what extent the locations of his commissioned buildings and their architectural features follow a political agenda in compliance with his ambivalent attitude toward his non-Christian subjects that was fueled by the, during his lifetime, widespread crusade ideology.
1 Dodds et al. 2008, 235; Brocato 2014, 297–298. 2 Glick 1992; Dodds et al. 2008, 191–240. As for cultural achievements of Muslim Spain, s. Vernet 1999. 3 Doubleday 2015, 231. 4 Rico y Sinobas 2011 [1863–1866], vol. i, iv. 5 This passion was ambivalent for some later biographer, who shaped the legend that Alfonso had neglected his realm in favour of his scholarly endeavours; cp. Schlieben 2009, 49–67.
© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2021 | DOI:10.1163/9789004448582_004
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Alfonso’s occupation with Islamic culture began early in his life. Already his father Fernando iii (r. 1217–1252), who was canonized in 1671, had commissioned the Libro de los doce sabios (ca. 1237), a mirror of princes dedicated to the education of his children that was based on Arabic texts.6 Around the year 1251, Alfonso himself, at the time still infante, then ordered the translation of Kalīla wa Dimna from Arabic to Castilian, an extremely influential collection of fables with cultural roots in India and Persia.7 Genre-wise, Libro de los doce sabios belonged to the multi-branched Arabic-Persian tradition of belles-lettres known as adab, and would, as a piece of wisdom literature, pave the way for many of Alfonso’s later cultural endeavors.8 His fascination with Arabic knowledge intensified after the conquest of Murcia on May 1, 1243, which he had undertaken on behalf of his father, who had fallen ill.9 Some believe that it was here that Alfonso had been first exposed to works in high-standard Arabic,10 while attending lectures by Muslim polymath Muḥammad al-Riqūtī at the madrasa of Murcia.11 Such or other similar first-hand encounters with Islamic erudition in Murcia, so the story goes, had convinced Alfonso of its sophistication and advantages.12 In a recent study, Maribel Fierro pointed out that even Alfonso’s political ideas of government and royalty might have actually been shaped by and rooted in Almohad influences. His focus on rationality, philosophy and knowledge for legitimizing his power indeed reveals striking similarities with the Almohad sultans who had equally promoted “the supremacy of knowledge as a criterion of political, social or moral hierarchization […] and an instrument to legitimize the renewal of society […].”13 Furthermore, Alfonso’s cultural projects unfolded an enormous impact on later developments in the Latin West, which is why some scholars, such as Robert i. Burns, have been tempted to call his reign a “Castilian Renaissance.”14 With his cultural program, Alfonso had 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14
Salvador Martínez 2010, 77; Salvador Martínez 2016, 179. The work was probably completed around 1237. In 1255, at the beginning of Alfonso’s reign, a prologue was added. The stories of the book originate in a Sanskrit collection called the Panchatantra (3rd-6th century ad), cp. Dodds et al. 2008, 232. For a general definition of adab: Goldhizer 1913, quoted in abridged form in Dodds et al. 2008, 239. Salvador Martínez 2016, 179. Goldziher 1913; cp. Dodds et al. 2008, 239. Salvador Martínez 2010, 43, 75; Dodds et al. 2008, 228–229. Dodds et al. 2008, 228. Márquez Villanueva 2004, 172; Dodds et al. 2008, 228; Salvador Martínez 2010, 75; Doubleday 2015, 33. The exact character of this educational institution is still a matter of dispute, see chapter 5 in this volume. Salvador Martínez 2010, 75; Torres Fontes 1960; Martínez Ripoll 1968. Fierro 2009, 193. Robert I. Burns called Alfonso an “Emperor of Culture” and his intellectual movement a “Renaissance of the 13th century” (s. the title of Burns 1990).
20 Conrad […] advanced the pursuit of beauty, knowledge, science, and human happiness. Inspired by contacts with Andalusi learning and by the personal experience of grief and suffering, he had accelerated the revitalization of European culture. This process, galvanized by economic development, relative political stability, and cultural exchange, had originated in the eleventh-and twelfth-century Mediterranean and now reached an apex in the thirteenth. Alfonso was at once the inheritor of this medieval rebirth and its most imaginative figure.15 According to this historiographical narrative, the “colonial, ethnic, and religious prejudices” of Renaissance humanists and modern scholars had resulted in suppressing the memory and significance of this multi-directional and multi-layered cultural development of 12th-and 13th-century Spain that had “accompanied and sometimes predated the Italian phase.”16 Alfonso had indeed enjoyed good relations with some Northern Italian city-states, some of which would later become hubs of the Italian Renaissance. Brunetto Latini (ca. 1220–1294), Dante Alighieri’s (ca. 1265–1321) guardian, had even been appointed ambassador for Florence and sent to Alfonso’s court, which is one reason why it does not seem unlikely that one of Dante’s inspirations for the Divina Commedia (ca. 1308–1320) had in fact been an Arabic text translated at Alfonso’s court, the Libro de la escala de Mahoma, which Latini might have discovered while residing there.17 Moreover, the city of Pisa had elected Alfonso Rex Romanorum in 1256, an important step toward fulfilling one his greatest, albeit in the end unsuccessful, ambitions of becoming Holy Roman Emperor during the interregnum of 1245–1273, a grab for Imperial power he described as his fecho(s) del Imperio.18 1
A Castilian Humanism?
H. Salvador Martínez, the author of a seminal biography on Alfonso, discusses the king’s book projects as manifestations of a “vernacular humanism (humanismo vernáculo).” In contrast to the much more prominent classicist humanism of Renaissance Florence, Salvador Martínez interprets Alfonso’s humanism as
15 16 17 18
Doubleday 2015, 228. Doubleday 2015, 228. Doubleday 2015, 96–98, 232. Schlieben 2009, 87, 179; Salvador Martínez 2016, 121–147.
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a form of mentality indigenous to Castile:19 Even though Alfonso’s works continuously refer to God, Providence, and other Christian doctrines, they would, according to Salvador Martínez, display similar tendencies toward a secularization of culture.20 Consequently, Alfonso would have promoted an idea of humanitas in terms of a general solidarity with all human beings.21 Yet even though Alfonso undeniably demonstrates an unbiased interest for the achievements of Islamic culture, which some have labelled a tendency of “maurofilia” that allegedly resulted in his “mudejarización,”22 his interreligious Realpolitik indicates quite the opposite. In one study, Serafín Fanjul García for instance points out how little respect for Islam Alfonso actually displays in some of his works, such as the Estoria de Espanna, one of Alfonso’s comprehensive historiographical works, wherein he portrays Mohammed as “wrong prophet,”23 whereas in the Siete Partidas he even refers to Islam as a “foolish belief.”24 There are accounts stating that Alfonso had even wanted to replace all Arabic names in Seville with Christian ones,25 and one of his life-long plans had consisted in undertaking a crusade to North Africa.26 The oversimplifying stereotype of Alfonso x as a tolerant king of three religions,27 which still persists and according to which during his reign Christians, Muslims and Jews had coexisted and collaborated peacefully, had first emerged in the 19th century, the same period when Ramón Menéndez Pidal (1869–1968) first coined term convivencia for referring to such notions of 19
20 21
22 23 24 25 26 27
Salvador Martínez 2016, 15–17. Ramón Menéndez Pidal had already referred to an Alfonsine humanism, but disqualified it as “vulgar and Romanesque,” see Menéndez Pidal 1972. This exposed nationalization of ‘humanisms’ seems itself somewhat problematic and to indicate a form of ex post appropriation of history for shaping national narratives. However, this topic of biased historiography cannot be explored any further in the scope of this article and must thus be saved for another occasion. Salvador Martínez 2016, 16. Salvador Martínez explains that this humanism had its roots in antiquity, for example, in the Noctes Atticae by Aulus Gellius (fl. 2nd century ad). In the Siete Partidas, Alfonso indeed speaks of the wise man being “more human” than all others, cp. Siete Partidas 2001, ii, ix, 30. Cp. Deimann 2012, 241, who quotes Romero-Camacho 2000, 475. Márquez Villanueva 2004; Dodds 2008, 222; Salvador Martínez 2010, 88. Márquez Villanueva relates this term to the strong Arabic influence on Alfonso’s education. Fanjul García 2005b, esp. 42. Cp. Estoria de Espanna 1906, i.274, c. 493. Siete Partidas 2001, vii, t. 25, p. 1438. Deimann 2012, 191. Lomax 1978, 155. Deimann 2012, 218. Salvador Martínez 2010, 98, 129, 160. Serafín Fanjul makes the important point that the stereotypic speech of “three cultures” in medieval Iberia does not differentiate enough between religions, cultures, languages, races, and ethnic groups, Fanjul García 2005a, 52.
22 Conrad peaceful coexistence. Observing its semantic changes throughout history, Isabel A. O’Connor notes that definitions of convivencia usually do not address real historic circumstances but rather mirror the contemporary political situations and attitudes of the historians applying this term.28 This was already true for Menéndez Pidal himself, who had introduced the term convivencia in an age when Spain was rediscovering and re-evaluating its Islamic heritage, a process probably best embodied by the widespread obsession with the Alhambra and the subsequent Moorish Revival. This development coincided with José Amador de los Ríos’s (1816–1878) definition of “estilo mudéjar” for the Iberian style-mix of Christian and Islamic traditions, a term derived from mudéjares, the name for the group of Muslims that had remained in territories ruled by Christian kings after their conquest.29 The next generation of scholars found themselves involved in a controversy, with two of the most influential opponents being Américo Castro (1885–1972), one of Menéndez Pidal’s students, and Claudio Sánchez-Albornoz (1893–1984). In the context of a Spain still suffering from the “shock of 1898,” when it had lost Cuba as its last oversea colony, and in addition to severe political tensions with Morocco, Sánchez-Albornoz promoted a consistently negative view of Spain’s Islamic past and therefore excluded it from what he considered true a Hispanic identity that was rooted in Roman and not in Islamic culture.30 Castro, on the other hand, rejected the very notion of any ahistorical national character.31 For him it was an impossible idea that anything even slightly resembling modern Hispanic identity could have ever existed before the Middle Ages, and such precursors, if they existed at all, could only have emerged as the consequence of convivencia, which he defined as the peaceful –and productive –coexistence among Muslims, Christians and Jews. Castro regarded Alfonso x the epitome of tolerance among all medieval Castilian rulers, even though he had to admit that Alfonso had introduced a kind of ḏimmī system including special taxes for non-Christians32 –an important detail demonstrating how fragile projections of modern ideas of tolerance onto medieval communities often are.33 Tolerance in today’s understanding was a concept without any particular meaning 28 29 30 31 32 33
O’Connor 2003, 6–27. Amador de los Ríos 1872. O’Connor 2003, 12; Sánchez Albornoz 1929. Deimann 2012, 22; Menéndez Pidal 1986; Castro 1983. O’Connor 2003, 12. Such a special tax first existed for non-Muslims under Muslim rule and was part of the Pact of ʿUmar; cp. Constable 2012, 43–44, who reproduces a version of the contract from the 12th century. Deimann 2012, 21–3; Jaspert 2010, 118–119; Soifer Irish 2016, esp. 1–18. In relation to the controversies of the debate, Linde M. Brocato has coined the term of the “convivencia wars,”
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for medieval rulers. In political practice, coexistence in medieval Iberia usually only meant that either Christianity or Islam would dominate the other two religious groups. Whenever this hegemony faced a threatening experience, it usually resulted in an outbreak of violent conflicts (fig. 2.3).34 2
The Crusade Ideology and the Mudéjar Revolt
Christian hegemony and interreligious coexistence were indeed threatened during the time of Alfonso’s reign, with the Mudéjar Revolt marking one of its deepest crises. Presumably starting in the early 1260s and ending around 1266,35 this uprising of the mudéjares against Christian rule has been identified by historians as the starting point of a gradual erosion of Alfonso’s power that eventually led to his dethronement in 1282. Apparently, the rebellion had been sparked, and fueled, by Muḥammad i (ibn Naṣr), the Emir of Granada (r. 1232– 1273), and supported by an invasion of Marinid troops from North Africa.36 Combats were particularly heavy in the regions around River Guadalete, the lower valley of the River Guadalquivir, and the Murcia region.37 Given that the Muslims of Andalusia outnumbered the Christians living in this region by far, it is easy to imagine that the fact of their uprising alone had meant an existential threat for the king’s power.38 North African invasion and revolt together overwhelmed Alfonso completely, especially since he had before maintained good relations with his vassal Muḥammad i, who, ironically, owed the existence of his realm to Castile: Muḥammad ibn Naṣr had declared himself Emir in 1232, thereby founding a new dynasty to be named after his patronymic, the Nasrids. He had chosen Granada as his capital in 1238, where he erected a citadel that would later become the corner stone of the legendary Alhambra. However, in the year 1246, after losing a battle against Fernando iii, the king forced Muḥammad to hand
34 35 36 37 38
see Brocato 2014, esp. 299–305. Albrecht Classen makes the point that even though the “Middle Ages and the early modern age were certainly not ripe with ideas about tolerance […] the concept of toleration was well in place already then,” Classen 2018, 50. Salvador Martínez 2006, 356–357. The exact beginning of this rebellion is uncertain, since the main source, the Royal Chronicle, is considered unreliable, see O’Callaghan 2011, 36, who assumes the revolts started between April 29 and June 5, 1264. As for the establishment of the Marinid dynasty after the collapse of the Almohad Caliphate and the role of its members as patrons, see chapter 6. Salvador Martínez 2010, 167. Deimann 2012, 252; Echevarría Arsuaga 2004, 36.
24 Conrad over the city of Jaén and accept vassalage to Castile.39 The Pacto de Jaén (1246) determined the status of the now dependent emirate, its borderlines, and the annual tributes it had to pay to Castile.40 This alliance survived a few decades, but Alfonso’s expansionist policies gradually put an end to it. Between 1261 and 1263, Alfonso allowed mendicant and military orders as well as other Christian groups to settle in the borderlands. Pressured by same military orders, Alfonso then began to redistribute land around Murcia to Christians and to relocate Muslim communities, for example in Morón de la Frontera. More severely, he even expelled Muslims from Écija – measures that clearly infringed valid treaties with Granada.41 Further threats were the capture of Niebla in 1262,42 along with Alfonso’s insistent claim on Algeciras and Tarifa, whose ports he needed as footholds for the long-desired crusade against North Africa. These actions were threatening Granada’s power base so that it eventually decided to take countermeasures and thus encouraged the mudéjar rebellion and invited the Marinids to invade the Peninsula.43 Overwhelmed by these unforeseen attacks that met him unprepared, Alfonso resorted to an unorthodox solution and ordered the bishops of Segovia, Cuenca and Sigüenza to preach the crusade without Papal permission, instead referring to two older bulls promulgated in 1246 and 1259.44 In spite of this violation of canonical law, the Pope would nonetheless later grant his approbation.45 There is no account of the reasons for Alfonso’s transgressions, but José Manuel Rodríguez García asserts they correspond to a more general ideological change. Many kings of the period were exploiting the crusades for local interests, since declaring crusades was an advantageous practice: First, the church would provide additional financial support for crusaders. Secondly, more warriors, even from far away, could be mobilized to support the war, since crusades were associated with prestige and general indulgence. Thirdly, the Pope granted crusader kings special protection, which stabilized their political standing and allowed them to minimize conflicts of authority and build closer ties to their vassals.46 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46
Ladero Quesada 1969, 74–5; cf. Dodds 2008, 194. For more information on the contractual terms, see Suárez Fernández 2017, 20–22. Ladero Quesada 1969, 75. Salvador Martínez 2010, 166; González Jiménez 2012. Deimann 2012, 254–255. Salvador Martínez 2010, 166; Rodríguez García 2014a, 142; Doubleday 2015, 107; Boloix Gallardo 2017, 177–178. Rodríguez García 2014a, 142; Rodríguez García 2014b, 273. Rodríguez García 2014a, 153. Rodríguez García 2014b, 274–279.
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However, the so-called ‘Re-conquest’ (Reconquista), an umbrella term for the century-long chain of battles that also covers those undertaken by Fernando iii and Alfonso x, never was just a mere “Hispanic version of the crusades.”47 In fact, its roots are older and had developed independently from the crusades, while both would at times, overlap. This had, for instance, been true for the Battle of Las Navas de Tolosa (1212), during which all warriors had been granted general indulgence by the Pope.48 Such Papal interference into Iberian affairs, however, remained exceptional. Another, even greater, difference consists in a different ideological substrate that historians have labelled “Neogothicism,” and according to which a major goal of Reconquista had been the restoration of the political and religious unity of the Visigothic Kingdom. The earliest traces of this ideology of aspiring to restore what had been lost by the Islamic invasion of the 8th century can already be found in the times of Asturian King Alfonso iii (r. 866–910).49 The crusade ideology became an element that would sometimes influence the campaigns of reconquest but that was not required for their legitimization. Quite on the contrary, Fernando iii’s successful military campaigns would create influence on the European crusader movement as a whole, positioning Castile as a role model for Christendom’s fight against the infidels:50 The image of Castile as the kingdom leading the crusades begins to form. Its kings –in this case Fernando iii –were famous for this. Castile’s victories over the Muslims were praised in English, French, Norwegian and other chronicles, as well as in Papal letters. Therefore, the crusades on the Iberian Peninsula had a prestige and an impact on the rest of the Christian kings that Alfonso understood well and was not willing to loose. One has to take into account that, at the death of Fernando, the kings of Castile and León and Aragón were the only Christian leaders that had realized different successful crusading campaigns against the infidels.51 47
48 49
50 51
González Jiménez 2003, 167, they were not “una simple manifestación hispánica de la Cruzada.” Standard references on the crusade ideology are Mayer 2005 [1965] and Schwinges 1977. As for the organization of the multi-religious crusader states, see Mayer 1997. Doubleday 2015, 22. One of the earliest proofs is the Crónica de Albelda, cf. Jaspert 2010, 111. Lomax, on the other hand, believes that first traits of this ideology can already be found directly after the conquest of Spain in 711, Lomax 1978, 1–2. Moreover, “Reconquista” is a term coined by modern historians and was not used by contemporaries. Rodríguez García 2014a, 100. Rodríguez García 2014a, 101: “La imagen de Castilla como reino que lidera la cruzada comienza a fraguarse. Sus reyes –en este caso Fernando iii–eran renombrados por ello.
26 Conrad Against this backdrop, it is perhaps less surprising that Alfonso, when confronted with the Mudéjar Revolt, chose to resort to the declaration of a crusade without Papal permission. Apparently, this strategy proved successful: Supported by Jaime i of Aragón (r. 1213–1276), the Christian forces eventually defeated the rebels,52 and in 1265, Alfonso’s troops marched into Granada. Desperate to save his kingdom, Muḥammad i thereafter negotiated a truce including an agreement to pay a large tributary.53 One year later, Jaime i conquered Murcia and later on handed it over to Alfonso, who then ended its existence as an independent Islamic kingdom and established a precedent of ghettoization to be later followed in many other Castilian cities: Alfonso ruled that Muslims would, from now on, only be allowed to remain in Murcia if they agreed to reside in the arrabal of Arrixaca.54 Besides Granada’s vital interests, the Mudéjar population of Castile had had its own reasons for rebelling, including high taxation, Alfonso’s settlement policy, and, presumably, pressures to conversion. In fact, the mere fact of being governed by Christians –and not Muslims –was regarded disgraceful by many Muslims. Discriminatory laws and practices further intensified resentments.55 Already the first cortes held by Alfonso in 1252 in Seville had determined that Muslims living in Christian cities should be clearly identified by wearing special garment.56 Other, similarly discriminatory, prescriptions were later codified in the Siete Partidas, which, for instance, prohibited Christians from converting to Islam or sexual contacts between male Muslims and
52 53 54
55
56
Las victorias castellanas sobre los musulmanes fueron cantadas en crónicas ingleasas, francesas, noruegas, etc., así como en las cartas papales. Por lo tanto, las cruzadas en la Peninsula Ibérica tenían un prestigio y una influencia sobre el resto de los reyes cristianos que Alfonso reconocía y que no se mostraría dispuesto a perder. Debemos tener en cuenta que, a la muerte de Fernando, los reyes de Castilla y León y Aragón, eran los únicos líderes cristianos que habían llevado a cabo de manera exitosa diferentes campañas cruzadas contra los infieles,” translation by author. In his book, he collects further evidence that many Alfonsine works indeed show influences of crusade ideology. Rodríguez García 2014a, 164. Salvador Martínez 2010, 168. Salvador Martínez 2010, 169–70. On the development of the Muslim aljama of Seville, s. Terán Sánchez 1978. The enclosement of Muslims in Murcia’s district of Arrixaca is depicted in the famous Códice Rico of the Cantigas de Santa María, Alfonso x, Cantigas de Santa María, ms. Escorial T.I.1, f. 225va/f. 226rb. Burns 2002, who points out the ambivalence of Alfonso’s legislation that supports the establishment of parallel communities while also preventing Christians and non- Christians to mingle, leaving the latter in a precarious state at the mercy of Christian rulers. Deimann 2012, 239; Fanjul García 2005b, 49.
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female Christians. However, the legal code was not officially promulgated before 1348,57 and it is important to add that Alfonso explicitly forbade any forms of enforced conversions. Yet in spite of such concessions, the expulsions and resettlements of Muslims certainly did not help much to smoothen affairs, and neither helpful was that all mosques of conquered cities officially belonged to the king, entitled to “give them to whomsoever he wishes.”58 As a result, many buildings were converted to churches or transferred to the Jewish community living in the newly established judería to be used as synagogues.59 Even though Alfonso guaranteed Muslims the freedom to practice their religion,60 he did not grant them official places of worship.61 A document from 1277, however, informs us that at least one mosque in Seville’s Arenal quarter had indeed been leased to two Muslim brothers, who might have used it for worship.62 The Mudéjar Revolt resulted in a general eviction of Muslims, with most subsequently migrating to Granada, whose economy was strengthened by the influx of well-educated and well-skilled refugees.63 In turn, the decrease of Muslim population in Andalusia had very negative consequences for Castile. Most affected were rural regions that now, due to the lack of workforce, faced economic crisis.64 Alfonso followed attempts to counter these effects by recruiting settlers from the north, which would, however, create tensions between the Crown and the grandes. Not a direct effect but still a consequence of many such disappointments, the grandes would later overthrow Alfonso in a war of succession initiated by his son Sancho in 1282, who, after his father’s death in 1284, would reign as Sancho iv (r. 1284–1295).65 57 58 59
60 61 62 63 64 65
Salvador Martínez 2006, 355. However, Baer 1966, 199 classified Alfonso’s anti-Jewism at the end of his life even as “terroristic,” which seems somewhat exaggerated, cf. Deimann 2012, 268. Siete Partidas 2001, vii, t. 25, l. 1, 1438. Deimann 2012, 199. As cynical as it may sound, the transformation of churches also followed practical reasons, since this made building new churches unnecessary. A side effect of turning mosques into synagogues was that it chanelled the anger of Muslims against Jews and deflected criticism from the king –a typical divide et impera move of Machiavellian proportions. Siete Partidas 2001, vii, t. 25, l. 1, 1438; cf. Burns 2002. Deimann 2012, 245. Deimann 2012, 205–206. Fanjul García 2005b, 48; Boloix Gallardo 2017, 192. Deimann 2012, 256; Rodríguez García 2014a, 99. Cf. Burns 2002, 55, who writes that the majority of mudéjares lived in isolated rural communities and that their agricultural skills were very profitable for their Castilian overlords. Deimann 2012, 257.
28 Conrad 3
The Palacio Gótico in Seville
The Palacio Gótico, also known as the Palacio de Caracol, was built between 1252 and 1260 and today belongs to Seville’s Reales Alcázares, a complex of royal palaces built in different periods. The palace is a very instructive example of an architecture commissioned by Alfonso that mirrors his complex interreligious politics. It stands on the grounds of a former Almohad palace and represents the first area in Seville permanently occupied by the Castilian kings. After the city’s conquest in 1248, the Muslim population had been forced to leave Seville, with the consequence being that several urban areas were still uninhabited during Alfonso’s reign. After his dethronement in 1282, the city, which he had always held dear, would become his exile and place of death. Unfortunately, large parts of Alfonso’s Gothic palace were destroyed on November 1, 1755, during the great earthquake of Lisbon. Today’s façade therefore is the result of later constructions and amplifications. Some interiors, such as the Sala de las bóvedas in the upper story, whose name is derived from the cross-ribbed vaults that well accentuate the vertical alignment of the hall, have however preserved some original features (fig. 2.4a).66 Another striking example are the Baños de María de Padilla on basement level. The name is a misattribution, since these “baths” have nothing to do with Pedro i’s (r. 1350– 1369) famous mistress, but probably were cisterns already constructed under Alfonso x.67 The basement hall consists of an oblong water basin roofed with a dense network of cross-ribbed vaults (fig. 2.4b).68 Archaeological models show what the Gothic Palace might have originally looked like in the 13th century (fig. 2.5).69 Its basic structure follows a strictly geometrical pattern. The floor plan consisted of a simple rectangle, with one of the longer sides serving as the front of the palace. The interior space was organized in two lateral and two central naves of equal size, alongside a gallery zone composed of an arcade of high pointed arches oriented toward the courtyard.70 The alternative name “del Caracol” derives from the fact that there used to be a small tower in each corner, each equipped with a spiral staircase (escalera de caracol) that led to an upper terrace.71 All wall copings were
66 67 68 69 70 71
Editorial Palacios y Museos 2014, 135. For more information about Pedro i as patron, especially of one the Mudéjar palace at the Reales Alcázares in Seville, see c hapter 2. Editorial Palacios y Museos 2014, 135. Fernández Aguilera 2015, 333. Tabales Rodríguez 2014, 274. Editorial Palacios y Museos 2014, 130; Lleó Cañal 2002b, 171–172.
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adorned with battlements similar to the surrounding fortifications built during the different periods of Islamic rule.72 The courtyard, the Patio del Crucero, had already been the palace’s centerpiece during Almohad times.73 Its floor plan is equally orthogonal but shows a transverse alignment. Two intersecting straight paths yield the shape of a regular cross. The connecting paths had once been roofed with arcades of Gothic vaults, whereas the four open spaces had been lowered and used as garden areas. For his palace, Alfonso had not fully destroyed the Almohad predecessor but only the rear, along with parts of the outer caliphal fortifications. These elements aside, he had left the rest of the building mostly untouched.74 It seems as if Alfonso had intended to blend his Gothic palace into the already existing Islamic structures, following an integrative approach, albeit with a clear dominance of Gothic elements.75 4
Alfonso x, Warrior and Teacher
It is difficult to disengage oneself from the romanticisms surrounding the reign of Alfonso x at least since the 19th century. The events before, during, and after the Mudéjar Revolt, however, do not only stress how much Alfonso’s interreligious Realpolitik had in fact been dominated by pragmatism but also how much it entailed an attitude that could be labelled colonial. His appropriation of Arabic culture followed a translatio imperii as translatio studii: in parallel to the historiographic construction of Neogothicism and the providential significance of Castile as a leading power in Christendom’s ongoing battles against the infidels, Alfonso fashioned himself as legitimate heir of the cultural legacy of al-Andalus.76 Accordingly, recent scholarship tends to emphasize that the assumption of any separation between political and cultural spheres in respect to Alfonso x is anachronistic.77 Francisco Márquez Villanueva (1931–2013) had already pointed out that the king’s cultural program should rather be regarded as an extension of his political agenda,78 with John Tolan taking this even further in 72 73 74 75 76 77 78
Lleó Cañal 2002b, 172, who mentions that the keystones of the vault emulate Islamic architecture. Marín Fidalgo 2011, 80–94; Tabales Rodríguez 2014, 218. For a reconstruction of the Almohad Palace see Almagro Gorbea 2007c. Tabales Rodríguez 2001, 196, 205–210. The Almohad rulers redeveloped the palace area dramatically around 1221 by destroying several previous buildings. Lleó Cañal 2002b, 172, who speaks of a “cross-fertilisation or artistic hybridization.” Doubleday 2015, 105. Herbers 2000, 425–426; Schlieben 2009, esp. 163–164. Deimann 2012, 241.
30 Conrad his assertion that Alfonso’s commissioned translations from Arabic mirror underlying hegemonial claims.79 The crusade ideology intensified this attitude, as seen in his life-long plan of a crusade against North Africa and his reaction to the Mudéjar rebellion. Much more than usually considered, Alfonso was a warrior, a crusader king even, and many aspects of his cultural appropriation served the purpose of warfare. As a “frontier society,”80 Castile was not just a “society organized for war”81 but organized through war. Therefore, Alfonso’s version of convivencia seems less guided by a profound sense for humanitas than by conscious political intentions and pragmatism, in whose course each cultural, ethnic or religious group was reduced to the practical values it had to offer.82 The king had heavily relied on the Muslim population to sustain economic life in Andalusia; in this light, any religious freedom guaranteed by the king seems to have been little more than a provisional concession. Alfonso’s palace is an architectural manifestation of his ambivalent attitude. The Gothic style he and his father had imported from France was an architectural language chosen to express the superiority and unity of Christianity, an ideological claim that Alfonso used for stabilizing his power and strengthening his Imperial claim.83 In spite of having spared great parts of the original Islamic structure, the Gothic Palace nonetheless remains an imposition and celebration of the triumph of Christianity over the infidels.84 More than a gesture of tolerance, the, or at least another, motivation for the preservation of Islamic elements could have been his respect for local building traditions,85 which would seem more in line with the king’s pragmatistic attitude. Any open disregard of local heritage, be it Christian, Muslim or Jewish, would have provoked resentment and resistance –as it had indeed appeared in manifest form during the Mudéjar Revolt. In this regard, it is important to recall that the palace had been built before the uprising, when Alfonso was still exploring ways to balance the various interests of the many social groups living in his multi-religious and multi-ethnic kingdom. 79 80 81 82 83 84 85
Tolan 2002, 186, 192–193; Deimann 2012, 242; O’Callaghan 1990. Of the scholars at Alfonso’s scriptorium, Fernández Fernández mentions one “Maestre Bernardo el Arábigo,” who could have been a Muslim or a convert, s. Fernández Fernández 2013, 68. González Jiménez 1989. Lourie 1966; cp. González Jiménez 2003, 170. Serafín Fanjul García 2005b, 41. On the different degrees of appropriation of Islamic spaces by Christians, see Ruiz Souza 2006b. Tabales Rodríguez 2001, 209, speaks of such an “imposition,” but later adds that Alfonso built his palace “sin destruir los núcleos principales de los edificios almohades de la Montería y los situados bajo el actual palacio mudéjar” (210). Dodds et al. 2008, 121; Karge 2012; Giese 2018b; Thome/Pawlak/Giese 2018.
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Illustrations
f igure 2.1 Anonymous, Alfonso x dictating the Libro de acedrex dados e tablas, before 1284, miniature on parchment. Alfonso x, Libro de acedrex dados e tablas, ca. 1284, ms. Escorial j.T.6, f. 1r
32 Conrad
f igure 2.2 Anonymous, Depiction of an astrolabio redondo, ca. 1277, miniature on parchment, full-page. Alfonso x, Libros del saber de astronomía, 1275–1277, ms. Complutense 156, f. 55v
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f igure 2.3 Anonymous, Illustration to Cantiga 181. A battle under the banner of Holy Mary between Christians and Muslims, second half of the 13th century, book miniature on parchment, full-page, detail. Alfonso x, Cantigas de Santa María (Códice Rico), ms. Escorial T.I.1, f. 240r
34 Conrad
f igure 2.4 Seville, Alcázar, two Gothic interiors of the Palacio Gótico as they can still be seen today. a. “Baños de María de Padilla”, second half of 13th century (left); b. Sala de las Bóvedas (right) source: © michael a. conrad
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f igure 2.5 Seville, Alcázar, Reconstructions of Alfonso x’s Palacio Gótico. a. the area of the Reales Alcázares during the 13th century (left); b. a model of the Palacio Gótico in its original appearance (right). Published in Tabales Rodríguez 2001, fig. 7 source: © miguel ángel tabales rodríguez
c hapter 3
“Ennobling Muslims and Jews”? The Instrumentalization of Mudéjar under the House of Trastámara 1369–1474 Michael A. Conrad During the 14th century, Castile was shaken by a multitude of political, social and economic crises.1 The Great Plague had eradicated a large share of the population, with King Alfonso xi (r. 1312–1350) ranking among the most illustrious victims. Furthermore, an agricultural crisis was rampant that had been caused not only by the devastating aftermath of the Plague but by a simultaneous, albeit minor, climate change. Its effects even worsened due to failed repopulation policies in Andalusia that reached back to Alfonso x’s reign during the late 13th century.2 A series of social tensions and conflicts were the result, with many guided toward Castile’s non-Christian population. Whereas Alfonso x (r. 1252–1284) and some of his successors had aspired to mitigate any resentments of Christians directed against non-Christians, they would now be expressed more openly and more fervently. At the same time, tensions between the high nobility (grandes) and the Crown were building up. Their relationship had always been difficult; but now it was paving the way for a great civil war that eventually broke out during the reign of Pedro i (r. 1350–1369). Sometimes labeled the “Primera Guerra Civil Castellana,” this conflict had started out as a local war of succession initiated by Pedro’s half-brother, Enrique de Trastámara (1334–1379), but would exarcebate after the interference of the two great adversaries of the Hundred Years’ War, England and France. Both backing either Pedro or Enrique, they would transform the Castilian Civil War into a quasi-proxy war. In the course of events, Pedro would eventually die near Montiel in 1369, 1 Ruiz 2007; Herrer/Rafael 2016; Valdeón Baruque 1966, 2–82 names four major crises in Spain: a demographic crisis (“La crisis demográfica”), economic troubles (“los trastornos ecónomicos”), social tensions (“la tensión social”) and political struggles (“la lucha política”), repeated in Valdeón Baruque 1986. However, to generalize that the 14th century was a time of crisis in all areas of life would be an exaggeration as well. Valdeón Baruque 2003, 17–46, e.g., adds that the period also saw progress in international trade and commerce. 2 Herrer/Rafael 2016. This climate change has been labelled a “mini-Ice Age,” Ruiz 2007, 28. As for the population policies in the 13th century enforced by Alfonso x, see chapter 2 in this volume.
© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2021 | DOI:10.1163/9789004448582_005
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thereby cementing Enrique’s claim, who would henceforth rule as Enrique ii (r. 1367–1379) and establish the new dynasty of the Trastámara that would last until the death of Juana i (r. 1504–1555).3 Additional crises and military conflicts, such as the “War of the Two Peters” between Castile and Aragón (1356–1375), turned Pedro’s rule into a period of great political instability. Against this background, it seems the more astonishing that he had been able to commission and supervise the construction of several palaces in Tordesillas, Astudillo, Carmona, and Seville, which must have consumed many of Castile’s scarce resources, minimized by the combined effects of climate change and the pandemic.4 His reign even saw the completion of three important key buildings of Mudéjar: 1) Pedro’s own royal palace (alcázar) in Seville, 2) some of the most famous buildings of the Alhambra by Muḥammad v (r. 1354–1359 and 1362–1391), as well as 3) Samuel ben Meir Ha-Levi Abulafia’s (ca. 1320–1360) private synagogue, today known as “El Tránsito.”5 The interior decorations of all three buildings show great stylistic similarities and thus attest to the great influence the decorative style of the Nasrid court had on the Castilian kings especially during the period of Pedro’s reign, who also maintained very good diplomatic relationships with Granada.6 One effect of the friendly nature of this partnership was that the Nasrid court style was elevated to the preferred fashion for Castile’s representative civic architecture,7 which is underscored by the fact that the interregnum of 1359–1362 in Granada coincided with a wave of works in Castile influenced by Nasrid art. Their existence might even testify the exchange of artisans between Granada and Castile at the time, although Carlos Ruiz Souza suggests that artisans from Granada might have already been in Castile during the times of Alfonso xi, who had initiated the works on his Mudéjar palace in Tordesillas, today the Monasterio de Santa Clara, which his son Pedro would complete after his death.8 3 Enrique had been declared king already on March 13, 1366, but since this reign was disputed (see further below), I did not add it here. 4 Almagro 2013. There is a building in Toledo known as “Palacio de Pedro i,” but the name is a misattribution, see c hapter 6. 5 Dodds 1992, 126–128: “Samuel Halevi Abulafia had built a kind of ‘palatine chapel’ for himself, a grand private oratory of the type Christian kings often built for their private worship and that of their courts.” As for stylistic similarities, see Ruiz Souza 2002, 239. Gerber 2012, 40 mentions the original Hebrew name of the synagogue: Beit Knesset Sar Shmuel Halevi, Nasi Yisrael. Samuel was born in Úbeda, where there also is a house ascribed to him at calle la Gradeta de Santo Tomás. 6 Gerber 2012, 47–48; Dodds 1992, 128. María Casciaro 1946. 7 Dodds 1992, 126–128. 8 Ruiz Souza 1996; Ruiz Souza 2002, 237; Almagro 2005; Andrés Ordax 2010; Guillén 2010.
38 Conrad 1
Discrimination as a Political Strategy
As stated before, the period of Pedro i’s rule was characterized by a rise of anti- Judaism.9 There were resentments against Muslims too, but tendencies to vilify and segregate Jews were disproportionately more frequent and intense. This development signified a clear break away from Castile’s past in its search for a more balanced modus vivendi among its multi-ethnic and multi-religious population, and it progressed rather rapidly. Whereas persecutions against Jews had been common for the Christian realms beyond the Pyrenees already since the eleventh and twelfth century,10 Christian-Jewish coexistence in Castile had remained rather stable and peaceful during the second half of the thirteenth century.11 Demands for a stricter enforcement of the discriminatory laws already in place came particularly from one social group, the so-called caballeros villanos, urban “non-noble knights” who represented “the group most responsible for channeling and shaping the anti-Jewish sentiments emanating from a broad cross-section of the urban population of Castile.”12 One reason for their resentments was based in simple economic rivalry: the caballeros villanos had started to take on work in professions previously restricted to Jews, such as moneylending. At the Cortes of Zamora of 1301, Fernando iv (r. 1295–1312) had already tightened anti-Jewish regulations, which his son Alfonso xi then reinforced in the Ordenamiento de Alcalá (1348). Both kings made it very clear that “the ultimate goal of coexistence between Christians and Jews” had now transformed into “the conversion of the latter.”13 Even though these stricter laws were not fully imposed either, their mere existence emphasizes how much anti-Jewish sentiments had gained ground in the meantime.14 The development of anti-Jewish resentment coincided with a general waning of the Castilian kings’ power base. Almost from the very start, Pedro’s reign was in fact overshadowed by dynastic crisis. Almost immediately after Alfonso xi’s sudden death, his half-brother Enrique, encouraged by high-ranking noblemen, claimed the throne and staged several rebellions against Pedro.15 Enrique
9 10 11 12 13 14 15
As for differences between the modern concept of anti-Semitism and the broader concept of anti-Judaism, see Nirenberg 2013. Irish 2016, 257–261, esp. 259. Moore 2009; Irish 2016, 257–261, esp. 259. Irish 2016, 233. Estow 1995, 161. Estow 1995, 162; Irish 2016, 226, 236. For a summary of these events, see Deimann 2012, 271–284.
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de Trastámara and his twin brother Fadrique Alfonso were the oldest of Alfonso xi’s altogether seven children, but the offspring of the long-lasting, yet illegitimate, intimate relationship between Alfonso xi and Leonor de Gúzman (1310–1351).16 In the course of his rebellions against his royal half-brother, Enrique would even side with Pedro (Peter) iv of Aragón (r. 1336–1387) in his war against Castile, which would later be labeled the “War of the Two Peters.”17 How serious Enrique was about his claim from the very start can be gathered from a painting attributed to Catalan artist Jaume (?) Serra (fl. 1358–1390) (fig. 3.1). Presumably painted in 1359–1362, it shows Enrique kneeling in front of a large Madonna clothed in a sumptuous black cloak. Dominating the scene, she carries a small Christ child in her arms, sucking on one of her bare, stylized breasts. An interesting detail is that Enrique is portrayed wearing a crown and royal attire, with the coat-of-arms of the King of Castile in the right upper corner of the painting. Enrique was indeed proclaimed king in Calahorra during the Civil War, but that did not happen before March 16, 1366, that is, many years after the painting was completed.18 Apart from open battles, Enrique’s main strategy consisted in undermining Pedro’s authority with slanderous propaganda. One vantage point for Einrique was that Pedro had persecuted and severely punished resistant members of the high nobility, a practice that earned him the sobriquet “el Cruel” by his enemies, whereas allies would call him “el Justiciero.”19 Enrique exploited such prevailing negative sentiments by portraying Pedro as a tyrant and fashioning himself as Castile’s liberator.20 In fact, one of the propagandistic functions of Serra’s portrait could have consisted in presenting Enrique to the people as such, as Castile’s savior. An additonal means for intensifying his rhetoric strategy consisted in tapping into pre-existing anti-Jewish sentiments to establish the prejucidial notion that “the Jews were driving Christians to poverty and profiting from their misery.”21 In a catalog of complaints presented in Burgos 16 17 18 19
20 21
Herbers 2006, 254; Estow 1995, 5, 8, 21, 24, 28–36. Provided that the recorded dates are correct, Enrique and Fadrique were born in the Alcázar of Seville in January 1333 or 1334, and Pedro on August 30, 1334, which technically made Enrique Alfonso xi’s first-born son. Estow 1995, 153. Valdeón Baruque 1966, 81. Estow 1995, 226–232. In defiance of such ascriptions, Pedro’s rule did not really differ much from other rulers of the age, see García Fernández 2016. There is a lack of documents from Pedro’s chancellery, which might be the result of damnatio memoriae; therefore, one of the few contemporary sources, albeit not always reliable, is the biography by Pedro López de Ayala, Ayala 1779; cf. Estow 1995, esp. xxvi. Herbers 2006, 255–256, adds that Pedro had no legitimate heir either. Estow 1995, 155–179; Irish 2016, 221–222.
40 Conrad on April 13, 1363, Enrique accused Pedro of being an “evil tyrant,” an “enemy of God and the Holy Mother Church,” abandoning “the Catholic faith of our Lord Jesus Christ,” and “promoting, enriching and ennobling Moors and Jews (acrecentando e enrrequiciendo los moros e los judios e enseñorandolos)”.22 A legend circulating at the time even made the preposterous claim that Pedro were the bastard son of both Queen Doña María de Portugal (1313–1357) and Juan Alfonso de Alburquerque (ca. 1304–1354) named “Pero Gil,” presumably a reference to the name of Alburquerque’s legitimate son, Martín Gil (1325–1365), whom Pedro would later have executed. Referring to the legend of “Pero Gil,” Enrique’s party vilified Pedro’s supporters as emperogilados.23 Another legend went even further in accusing Pedro of being the son of Jews. Even though it is not very likely that such slander was taken seriously, it was nonetheless popular –not only in Castile, but also among the French and English mercenaries who came to Spain to offer their services. By carrying such stories with them on their itineraries throughout Castile and beyond, the soldiers served as messengers for Enrique’s propaganda. His defamation strategy allowed Enrique to pass his illegitimacy on to Pedro, with the favorable side effect of slowly eroding the principle of royal descent and replacing it with a new idea, according to which a claimant to the throne would have to first prove his worthiness. Consequently, pedigree and ancestry alone were seen as less sufficient attributes of power –a novelty in Castile.24 2
The Pogroms of 1391
The actual Civil War took place between 1366 and 1369. Later accounts often claim that Pedro’s death, which marked its end, had happened through Enrique’s own hands, but it is almost certainly true that this was based on a literary invention only. Either way, after having seized power, Enrique’s policies turned out not as anti-Jewish as expected.25 Instead, he demonstrated a form 22
Serrano 1907, 217–219, written in Burgos, April 13, 1366, cf. Estow 1995, 175; Devia 2011. Enrique’s use of anti-Jewish propaganda to delegitimize Pedro has been researched intensively, s. the list of literature given in Irish 2016, 221–222, n. 2; Montes Romero-Camacho 2016 is a recent study on the topic. For the anti-Jewish discourse in general, see Irish 2016, 221–261. 23 Amador de los Ríos 1875–1876, 143–256; Amador de los Ríos y Ríos 1900; Valdeón Baruque 1966, 6–7, 207; Herbers 2006, 255; Nirenberg 2006; Montes Romero-Camacho 2016, 126–128. 24 Montes Romero-Camacho 2016, 126. 25 Enrique ii nonetheless reinforced existing discriminatory laws and might have established new ones, Constable 2018, 38, 44.
“Ennobling Muslims and Jews”?
41
of pragmatism similar to that of his predecessors and would again employ Jews at his court.26 His slanderous campaign, however, had created long-lasting negative effects: from now on, any policy perceived as too much in favor of non-Christians could be used against the ruler to undermine his or her authority. One consequence was that almost every king or queen of the House of Trastámara showed inclinations to crack down harder on Jews and Muslims than his or her predecessors. Enrique himself already faced this problem, as members of the nobility pressured him to enforce anti-Jewish laws more strictly, which probably made him the first king to do so since the Visigoths.27 There are accounts saying that shortly before his death he even requested that Jews should be prevented from holding any public offices ever again.28 Even though Muslims did not suffer the same persecutions before 1492, they were nevertheless considered second-class citizens, especially since the Mudéjar Revolt of the 1260s.29 The 1370s also saw the outbreaks of a few smaller Mudéjar rebellions, most of them limited to the Murcia region. During Enrique ii’s, Juan i’s (r. 1379–1390) and the first years of Enrique iii’s reign (r. 1390–1406), the Emirate of Granada saw its longest-lasting period of peace, which meant that life for Muslims in Castile was equally exempt of violence most of the time. However, this factual peace had little to do with Granada’s own making but with the domestic problems and repeated unrest Castile suffered after the Civil War. In 1372, John of Gaunt, 1st Duke of Lancaster (1340–1399) and husband to Constanza of Castile (1354–1394), Pedro i’s oldest daughter, claimed the throne of Castile and invaded the realm with the support of Portuguese troops. After their defeat, they signed the Treatise of Bayona on July 8, 1388, agreeing to refrain from all rights to the Castilian throne. In return, Enrique iii consented to marry Catherine (Catalina) of Lancaster (1373–1418), John and Constanza’s daughter.30 It was not before this treatise that the dynastic conflict once initiated by Enrique ii was reconciled for good, with the House of Trastámara now fully legitimized and a lasting peace treaty between England and Castile sealed. However, the situation remained fragile. In 1391, the worst series of anti- Jewish pogroms on Iberian soil ever seen to this point took place:31 Starting 26 27
Valdeón Baruque 1966, 332–334; Estow 1995, 175. This especially happened during the Cortes in Toro (1369) and Burgos (1374 and 1377), Valdeón Baruque 1966, 329–330. 28 N. N. 1879 (?), 14–15, Petición X: “Que los judios non sean almoxarifes nin mayordomos de ningund cavallero nin escudero, non ayan oficios suyos; pero que puedan vivir con ellos.” 29 As for the Mudéjar Revolt, see c hapter 2 in this volume. 30 Echevarria 2002. 31 Gampel 2016.
42 Conrad from Seville and then quickly stretching over great parts of Castile, including the cities of Burgos, Toledo, Madrid, Segovia, and even extending to the Kingdom of Aragón, the possessions of Jews were sacked, their houses burnt, many slaughtered or forced to conversion. As a reaction, Enrique iii tried to stop any persecution of Jews by royal decrees, but this proved rather unsuccessful. After his death, his son Juan ii, whose pedigree united Pedro and Enrique’s lineages, ascended to the throne. However, he was still underage at the time, so that his mother, Catherine of Lancaster, and his uncle, king Fernando i of Aragon (r. 1412–1416), decided to share the regency until 1418. This time marked another period of dynastic instability and coincided with the exacerbation of tensions against Jews, with Dominican friar Vincente Ferrer (1350–1419) being a key figure of those anti-Jewish tendencies, whose sermons had been a driving force of the 1391 pogroms in the Jewish quarter of Valencia.32 Some accounts claim that he invaded the great synagogue of Toledo in 1411 and was responsible for its conversion into the church Santa María La Blanca. An aggressive missionary, Ferrer traveled throughout Castile to convert Jews and Muslims. One of his most famous cases is that of Solomon Ha-Levi (ca. 1351–1435), a wealthy and influential merchant from Burgos, who after his conversion renamed himself Paulus de Santa María and even ascended to the ranks of bishop in Cartagena and Burgos. Vincente might have been one of the main influencers behind Catherine of Lancaster’s promulgation of the discriminatory Laws of Ayllón on January 2, 1412. What gave Ferrer special political leverage was that he had a say in who was to become king of Aragon during the interregnum of 1410–1412, and, in fact, he did eventually vote for Fernando of Trastámara (then Fernando i of Aragón, 1412–1416).33 Moreover, Catherine desired to appease nobility and commoners during Juan’s minority, as she well knew how fragile his authority was back then. The purpose of the Laws of Ayllón was to reduce the Jews to poverty, to humiliate them to an extent that they would be more amenable to conversion. Now, they were not only prohibited from public offices, but from many other professions as well, including practicing medicine, surgery, pharmacy, or dealing in bread, wine, flour, and meat. In addition, they were not allowed to use the honorary title of Don anymore, nor to carry weapons. They had to give up 32
33
Valdeón Barruque 2007, 90–91; Nirenberg 2014a, 1, 104–107, 109–10, 112–113, 119, 148–149, 162–163, who gives several examples for the anti-Jewism in Ferrer’s sermons, who, for example, said that “[t]he neighbor of a Jew will never be a good Christian” (1) and that “Jews and Muslims should be separate, not among Christians” (106). This was settled in the Compromise of Caspe (1412), which established the House of Trastámara in Aragón.
“Ennobling Muslims and Jews”?
43
all self-jurisdiction guaranteed by previous kings, and to live in enclosed juderías. Muslims were obliged to obey many of these laws as well.34 Even though Juan ii abrogated the Ayllón Laws in 1418, that is, shortly after the end of his minority, great damage had already been done. The period of 1391–1415 saw the mass conversion of a third or more of all Castilian Jews.35 At first, this put the conversos or cristianos nuevos in an advantageous position. They were no longer subjected to restrictions set by anti-Jewish laws and would often still maintain their former ties to Jewish networks of trade and finance. By using their knowledge and social networks or by marrying into noble families, some even managed to reach high administrative offices. This, however, caused new conflicts between so-called New and Old Christians, eventually resulting in the Toledo Statute of 1449, today considered the first law on pure blood (limpieza de sangre). Moreover, the first tribunal of the infamous Spanish Inquisition assembled in Seville in 1480, that is, shortly before the conquest of Granada in 1492, with the subsequent signment of the Alhambra Decree stipulating the expulsion of all Jews unwilling to convert.36 In comparison, there had so far been only little pressure on Muslims to convert; in fact, the Alhambra Decree explicitly granted the Muslims of Granada the right to follow their faith freely. However, with the last Islamic stronghold in the West gone, public attitude changed rapidly. As early as 1500 and after another Muslim uprising, the Catholic Monarchs decided to campaign for forced conversions in Castile, whereas Aragón still allowed Muslims to practice their religion freely until 1525.37 However, many newly converted Muslims were suspected of being ‘crypto-Muslims,’ of adopting Christian customs only superficially while secretly pursuing Muslim practices. On April 9, 1609, Felipe iii (r. 1598–1621) then signed a first edict to expel all moriscos, the descendants of Muslims that had converted to Christianity.38 This process of systematic expulsion extended until 1614 and resulted in a crippling of the Aragonese economy, especially in Valencia, while at the same time strengthening the region of Catalonia. 34 35 36
37 38
As for how these ordinances discriminated against non-Christians and redefined their social status, see Echevarria 2002, 97–102, who doubts that Catalina ever enforced these laws. Ingram 2009, 1. Ingram 2009, 3–5. In his critique of Michel Foucault, David Nirenberg points out that the discriminatory legislation in Castile may perhaps not be called ‘racist’ in the modern sense, but do not rule out “the relevance of race to the premodern,” since it contains “some of the attributes modern scholars have located in modernity,” Nirenberg 2014b, 188. Ingram 2009, 11–12. Ingram 2009, 13.
44 Conrad 3
Mudéjar in a Persecution Society
The increasingly negative perception of non-Christians in Castile and the outbreaks of violence against them seem to starkly contrast the continued use of Mudéjar in architecture. Yet such assumptions stem from modernist projections. In fact, contemporaries did not tend to associate the style with any specific ethnic or religious group. Even Vicente Ferrer did not identify the Islamic elements of Toledo’s former synagogues with anything foreign: They also say another thing worthy of note: that when the Jews came to Spain during the persecution of Babylonia, they founded a synagogue in Toledo; […] and that the Synagogue of Toledo that remained from that time was blessed by our St Vincent Ferrer of Valencia, and it was called Our White Lady. This is what the Jews said, though we do not know if they told the truth. It may have been the case.39 The architectural style was not associated with ‘otherness’ per se, even though some examples further below indicate that artistic products with Islamicate styles could be identified as non-Christian and/or non-Castilian. Enrique’s propaganda had targeted Jews as a religious group, yet this did not include nor address architectural aesthetics. Instead, the Capilla Real of the Mezquita- Cathedral in Córdoba, for example, is a perfect example of a Mudéjar structure completed under his reign.40 There furthermore exists an account stating that before his death in 1379 he had asked his son Juan to build a monastery, the later Real Monasterio de Santa María de El Paular that included a Mudéjar refectory.41 The actual works, however, did not start before 1390, with architects including the influential Juan Gas (ca. 1430/33-ca. 1496) and a Muslim from Segovia only known by his first name as Abderrahman,42 once more indicating that the style was not regarded as something exotic or foreign, and that collaborations between Christian and Muslim artisans were even still possible at this point in Trastámaran history.
39 40 41 42
Gil 2012, 135, his translation. The original reference is Beuter 1546, f. 78r. Ferrer’s exact role in the conversion of the synagogue is a matter of dispute, as it is not clear whether it coincided with the riots of 1391 or if this happened later, not before 1411. For more information on the Capilla Real, see Ruiz Souza 2006a and Giese 2018b. Davila 1638, 24–26. Castro 1971, 281.
“Ennobling Muslims and Jews”?
4
45
The Alcázar of Segovia: The Continuity of Mudéjar during the Fifteenth Century
One of the most important key examples attesting to the existence and development of Mudéjar under the Trastámara, however, can be found in the Alcázar of Segovia. The Trastámaran era marks the Golden Age of this palace, during which it housed the Royal Treasure and Supreme Court and generally became the site of important social and political events.43 The history of Mudéjar interiors at Segovia Palace starts with the birth of Doña María (1401–1458), Enrique iii’s daughter and future Queen of Aragón, whereupon the northern royal halls were adorned with Arabesque motifs. Juan ii (r. 1406–1454) erected the famous Gothic tower with its round turrets, which would later become the palace’s most recognizable trademark and largely contribute to its image as a medieval fairy-tale castle. After Enrique iii’s death, Catherine of Lancaster, who had signed the Ayllón Laws of 1412, commissioned amplifications, the results of which were new chambers known today as the Sala de Galera, the Sala del Solio, and the Sala de las Piñas. For the interior design of the Sala de Galera she chose a high artesonado and plasterwork frieze surrounding the hall on the upper end of the walls. Enrique iv (r. 1454–1474), however, was the king who introduced the probably most outstanding examples of Mudéjar decorations at the Alcázar. He was very unpopular among his subjects, one reason being his stubborn denial to march into Granada after having shortly campaigned against the Emirate in his early years.44 As a result, he was accused of fraternizing with Muslims and preferring their customs and tastes. In a striking, albeit inverted, parallel to Enrique ii’s slanderous campaign, a league of noblemen hostile to Enrique iv used Islamophobic arguments to delegitimize him, most prominently during what is today known as the “Farsa de Ávila” (June 5, 1465). During this event, members of the high nobility performed a public deposition of Enrique iv in effigie, by reading out a list of allegations, including that the king had neglected the administration of justice, that he were homosexual and preferred to live with infidels he attracted to his court (fig. 3.2).45 At the end of the theatrical performance, the attendees proclaimed Alfonso, Enrique’s eleven-year-old 43 44 45
Ladero Quesada 2004. Suárez Fernández 2017, 128–130; Martín 2003, 105–108. Martín 2003, 176–202; Ohara 2004, chapter xi, [54–5]; Ruiz 2007; González-Ruiz 2017. Enrique’s apparent incapability of producing an heir earned him the unflattering sobriquet of “el Impotente,” the Impotent.
46 Conrad brother, the legitimate king.46 This power struggle between king and nobility resulted in yet another civil war abruptly ended by Alfonso’s sudden death on July 5, 1468. Later, Isabel, Enrique iv’s half-sister, would thereafter be proclaimed his successor (later Isabel i, r. 1474–1504). Even though many accusations of the Farsa de Ávila were slanderous exaggerations, it seems nonetheless true that Enrique iv had indeed been a great admirer of Islamic culture. It is stated that he liked to dress in Moorish fashion and that he decorated the interiors of the Alcázar of Segovia with Gothic and Mudéjar elements, equipping them with luxurious pieces of furniture, tapestries and damasks, along with wooden ceilings and artisan objects,47 thereby turning it into one of the most splendid palaces of his time. The Bohemian nobleman Jaroslav Lev of Rožmitál (1425–1486), who had been traveling with his entourage across Western Europe, arrived in Segovia in 1466 or 1467. His travelogue, of which two different versions by two of his valets have survived, gives us some invaluable insight into the Alcázar’s interior at the time and the impression it would make on contemporaries: In the castle there is a most elegant palace adorned with gold and silver and that cerulean blue which is known as azulium, while the floors are paved with alabaster. Two arcades are also to be seen there which are built of the same stone. Round about the palace are images of the kings who have reigned from the beginning, all in proper order to the number of thirty-four. […] I have not seen in Spain a more splendid castle, nor a greater wealth of gold and silver and precious stones. For they say the King of Spain has to hide his special treasure and precious stones in that castle.48 Whereas this version of the travelogue keeps a generally neutral distance when addressing Muslims and their culture, the other version, however, takes on some propagandistic undertones resembling some talking points of the “Farsa 46 47
48
Technically, this was Alfonso xii, but due to his disputed legitimacy, he is usually not counted; instead, the number is reserved for Isabel ii’s (r. 1833–1868) son, Alfonso xii (r. 1874–1885). Constable 2018, 44, who, by quoting Bernis 1959 and Fuchs 2009b, remarks that the taste for Moorish garments, such as alharemes, almaizares, quiçotes and albornoces, was “a facet of the maurophilia that was so prevalent in the fifteenth and sixteenth century,” and shared by royals and other nobility alike, for instance by Miguel Lucas de Iranzo, Enrique iv’s constable. She furthermore mentions that the Sultan of Granada had sent luxurious garments as gifts to Alfonso v of Aragón in 1418. Rožmitál 1957, 88. As for the two preserved versions of the travelogue, see the preface, vii.
“Ennobling Muslims and Jews”?
47
de Avila.” Especially Enrique’s alleged maurophilia and homosexuality are addressed: During the first encounter with the king, Rožmitál’s men see Enrique sitting on carpets “in the heathen manner.”49 The king thus “eats and drinks and is clothed and worships in the heathen manner and is an enemy of Christians. He has committed a great crime and follows unchristian ways.”50 The Queen is described as a beautiful woman, but the King, the author remarks with suspicion, “does not lie” with her.51 However, this assertion seems less trustworthy considering that the author sides with Enrique’s rival Alfonso, who he believes to be the legitimate king,52 while at the same time suppressing any information that would make his fellowmen appear in a dubious light. Once, for instance, while they were forced to protect their “lives and goods” during an attack by non-Christians, presumably Muslims, he conceals that the reason for the violent attack had been undue familiarity of one of them with a girl at an inn –important additional information on the incident found in the other travelogue version, according to which he had actually been “touching her breast,” apparently without mutual agreement.53 When it comes to the interior of the Alcázar, however, the first author –despite his Islamophobe tendencies –admits that the “King’s apartment […] is splendidly built,” and does not in any way relate its style to Muslims, whom he otherwise despises as “heathens.”54 5
The Salon de los Reyes
The hall with a gallery of sculptures of the Castilian kings mentioned in the travelogue can be identified with the Sala de los Reyes (fig. 3.3). Even a modern spectator can still feel overwhelmed by the excessive use of noble metals that give the hall a glaring effect. Its shape follows an orthogonal floor plan of approximately 20 x 10 meters, with each smaller side containing a door and an array of wide windows. Like other interiors created by the Trastámara, the walls are bare except for a decorative frieze surrounding the hall underneath the ceiling, supplemented by a richly decorated wooden roof consisting of five panels. Although this artesonado repeats the structure of that in the Sala de Galera, its ornamentation differs profoundly: Due to 49 50 51 52 53 54
Rožmitál 1957, 91. Rožmitál 1957, 91–92. Rožmitál 1957, 91–92. Rožmitál 1957, 92. Rožmitál 1957, 96. Rožmitál 1957, 91–92.
48 Conrad modifications dating back to the sixteenth century, it nowadays includes a combination of large hexagons and rhombs, each decorated with one central, pronounced pinecone. The idea of displaying sculptures of all Castilian kings and queens seems to have started with Alfonso x and was renewed and continued under Enrique iv to emphasize his royal majesty and reinforce his –as we heard – weakened legitimacy by means of a symbolic representation of institutional continuity. Today the gallery includes altogether fifty-six wooden statuettes, with the last ones completed during the reign of Felipe ii (r. 1556–1598). Fifty-two sculptures depict the kings and queens from Pelayo to Juana, whilst the other four represent Fernán González, the first independent Count of Castile, Raimundo de Borgoña, Enrique de Lorena, and Ruy (Rodrigo) Díaz de Vivar (“el Cid”). At first glance, the gallery resembles that of the Salón de Embajadores at Pedro i’s Alcázar in Seville with its series of painted portraits of all Spanish kings and queens. However, the artist Diego de Esquivel created these paintings much later, in 1599. In Segovia, the kings and queens sit on small pedestals and carry royal attributes (fig. 3.4), with the statues having been set into frames of illusionistic Gothic architecture covered with small ‘Mozarabic’ canopies of muqarnas-shaped elements. There are other symbols as well, such as the heads of Muslims at the feet of some monarchs, which obviously embody emphatic displays of the triumph of Christianity over the infidel. 6
The Salon del Trono or del Solio
Another hall completed under Enrique iv in 1456 is the Salón del Trono or del Solio (fig. 3.5). Its design follows the Islamic model of a qubba. Although such domed spaces with square floor plans were traditionally reserved for funerary purposes, they would later also be used for manifestations of secular power, which is similarly true for the Salón de Solio that served as a throne room until the nineteenth century. Similar to other halls, the walls are mostly bare –with the exception of a very broad decorative zone on the upper ends that gradually guides the spectator’s gaze vertically, toward the opulent wooden ceiling, which is roughly divided into four segments, with the lowest one bearing a Castilian inscription on a slim bordure. The text states that Enrique devoted the room to the commemoration of his campaign against Granada, especially a successful battle at “Ximena” (referring to Jimena de Frontera), which he had been able to recapture from Granada in 1456 after its loss to the emirate only five years before, after which the city would remain with the
“Ennobling Muslims and Jews”?
49
Crown of Castile for good.55 It certainly had been part of Enrique’s intention to use the reference to this battle to deflect rumours related to him being too soft on Granada, but it could do only little against allegations centering on his suspected maurophilia, especially since the inscription makes explicit mention of a Muslim collaborator, one “Master Xadel, the Mayor”:56 This hall was ordered to be built by the very noble, very powerful and illustrious King Don Enrique the Forth and completed in the year 1456 after the birth of our Lord Jesus Christ, when the King was at war with the Moors and won at Jimena. At his command, Francisco de Ávila performed the works as construction supervisor (mayordomo de la obra), the castellan (alcaide) was Pero de Muncharas, servant to the King; Master Xadel, the Mayor, directed and executed the works.57 According to this inscription, Francisco de Ávila and Pero de Muncharas had supervised the works and overseen all administrative-organizational aspects, while Master Xadel had been responsible for the artistic realization. Above the physical inscription a very broad frieze of richly ornamented plasterwork shows some figurative depictions. Two wide, pronounced bands surround the space and occasionally intersect to create an intricate circular pattern that dominates the hall. The areas within these circles and between the bands show vegetal and animal motifs, whereas two angels holding the coat-of-arms of Castile and León occupy the gaps between each pair of circles. Unfortunately, many decorations have been heavily damaged during a fire that 55
56
57
Suárez Fernández 2017, 128–130; cf. Martín 2003, 105–108. The capture of the Moorish castle, which had been erected as early as the 8th century, was of great symbolic and strategic importance. The city had already been under Castilian control from 1431 to 1451, Reina/ Tabales 2006, 155; Valverde 1996. The capture of the city is attested in a letter by Enrique iv dated June 15, 1456, see Torres Fontes 1953, 91. Jaén 2002, 81: “Tiene en lo que respecta al Alcázar, una gran significación esta obra de D. Enrique, en la que colabora y firma el mudéjar ‘maestro Xadel’: y la significación es ésta.” Ana Echevarria, citing G. Wiegers, relates “maestro Xadel” to one Master Yça Gidelli or Yça de Segovia, who was appointed alcalde of the aljama of Segovia in ca. 1418, Echevarria 2009, 189. Patronato de El Alcázar de Segovia 2010, 99: “Esta quadra mandó faser el muy alto e muy poderoso ilustre señor el rrey don Enrique el quarto, la qual se acabó de obrar en el anno del nascimiento de nuestro señor Jehu Xpo, de mill e cuatrocientos e cincuenta e seis annos, estando el señor rrey en la guerra de los moros, quando ganó á Ximena, la qual obra fiso por su mandado Francisco de Avila mayordomo de la obra, seyendo alcaide Pero de Muncharas criado del rrey la qual obra ordenó e obró maestro Xadel alcalde”; cf. Oliver-Copóns 1916, 101.
50 Conrad took place on March 6, 1862, which destroyed a great part of the palace. Most interiors as seen today are the results of later reconstructions. That is why the – often very detailed –drawings by José María Avrial y Flores (1807–1891), the Director of the School of Fine Arts in Segovia and member of the Real Academia de Bellas Artes de San Fernando, are invaluable documents for understanding the appearance of the halls before the fire.58 Together with textual descriptions, Avrial collected his drawings in a 65-page album entitled Segovia pintoresca (1844), published in several editions much later.59 One drawing depicts decorative details that can help to better understand the transformation of Mudéjar during the Trastámara period. The detail of interest belongs to the second of six horizontal stripes found atop the plasterwork frieze. It is composed of small double columns –possibly a reference to Solomon’s Temple – and very slim and angular muqarna-shaped elements (fig. 3.6), all in gleaming gold. Figurative, at times even grotesque, decorations fill the gaps between each pair of double columns. The six-layered decorative system provides a seamless transition toward an octagonal dome of eight planes covered with star-shaped ornaments and a large, pronounced pine ornament in its center, resembling the celestial firmament and earlier Mudéjar buildings, particularly the domes in Pedro i’s Alcázar and elements of the Alhambra in Granada. 7
A Christianization of Mudéjar
The previous short analysis of some of the halls at the Alcázar in Segovia demonstrates that even under the House of Trastámara and in spite of its anti- Jewish and anti-Muslim propaganda, Mudéjar style continued to flourish and even reached new heights. Ever since the beginnings of the new royal dynasty in the age of Enrique ii, it had been struggling with its legitimacy, and one successful way to stabilize its claim to the throne was to stylize itself as the superior defender of Christianity and thus, in turn, to reject and fight against anything non-Christian. This strategy, however, would at times backfire, especially whenever the public suspected dynastic members of fraternizing with Muslims and preferring their customs. Why then did they use a decorative style rooted in Islamic traditions? A first answer is that by the time Enrique ii seized power, Mudéjar had already been firmly established as the courtly style for representative purposes, a tradition the Trastámara continued, but not without
58 59
Patronato de El Alcázar de Segovia 2014, esp. 56. E.g., Avrial y Flores 1905, Avrial y Flores 1953, Avrial y Flores 2002.
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adding some aesthetic changes that made it better fit into the framework of a political doctrine increasingly hostile towards non-Christians. Accordingly, the style appears more assimilated, Christianized. Whereas in Alfonso xi’s and Pedro i’s buildings Islamic elements dominate –there is an excess of ornamentation, to which Gothic elements are added –the style at Segovia appears more reduced, tamed, and stern. In contrast to what has been labelled the horror vacui of Nasrid style, great portions of the walls are kept empty, thereby intensifying the contrast to the rich decorations of the ceiling zone and the artesonados, which now become dominating elements that direct the gaze upwards, towards the ceiling as a symbolization of the physical sky and, thus, of heaven.60 Accordingly, sebka and muqarnas appear in reduced designs using strict, geometric lines, to better blend into the Gothic matrix. The vertical orientation corresponds to the hierarchic disposition of the decorative system that includes more figurative, at times grotesque, elements that look as if they had been inspired by medieval drolleries or bestiaries. In turn, the surrounding Islamic elements are scaled down to mere frames for figurative representations. Arabic inscriptions are missing completely, although some Latin characters, with their remarkably slim bodies and strong vertical alignment, do indeed resemble Arabic letters, which might have been a deliberate decision to imitate the decorative form of Arabic inscriptions in previous Mudéjar buildings. This is not to say that the Islamic origins of Mudéjar were ever fully forgotten. The transformative process of the style itself underscores an awareness of its origins, with its inclination to create aesthetic distance between Mudéjar and its Islamic roots. The case study of Enrique iv makes it seem that this strategy had generally been successful; even though the king was vilified for his maurophilia, this allegation would not be related to architecture, which, instead, would even be praised by contemporaries with otherwise Islamophobic attitudes. This ambivalence is furthermore affirmed by the continued employment of Muslim artisans and architects. Aspirations to obscure the Nasrid roots of the style were also caused by changes of the political landscape. Castile was in the process of entering the last phase of reconquest, lurking for just the right moment to capture the last remaining Muslim stronghold on the Peninsula. Whereas the relationship with Granada had once been characterized in terms of friendship by Pedro i, the Emirate had, in the meantime, lost its position as a cultural role model. By the time when Enrique ii seized power, Mudéjar had already been fully
60
One earlier building with a similar contrast between bare walls and rich ceiling decorations is Samuel Ha-Levi’s synagogue; see chapter 6.
52 Conrad interwoven into the fabric of Castilian identity. Under the Trastámara, the style thus transformed into the architectural form of self-reflection of Castilian identity that a historian of the nineteenth century had once so aptly described when he wrote that “the Mudéjar of Enrique iv is ‘very Castilian, very Mudéjar’.”61 61
Jaén 2002, 81–82.
“Ennobling Muslims and Jews”?53
Illustrations
f igure 3.1 Jaume (?) Serra (fl. 1358–90), Virgen de Tobed con los donantes Enrique ii de Castilla, su mujer, Juana Manuel, y dos de sus hijos, Juan y Juana (?), 1359–62 (?), tempera on wooden panel, 161,4 cm x 117,8 cm source: © museo nacional de prado, madrid, inv. no. p008117
54 Conrad
f igure 3.2 Marcelino de Unceta y López (1835–1905), Atentado de Avila, contra Enrique iv (1465) [= Farsa de Avila], etching after a lithography by J. Donon, 1862 source: © biblioteca nacional de españa, er/5 116 (13)
“Ennobling Muslims and Jews”?55
f igure 3.3 José María Avrial y Flores, Sala de los Reyes, 1844, drawing on paper, 30.5 cm x 20.5 cm, landscape format source: from josé maría avrial y flores, alcázar de segovia, real academia de bellas artes de san fernando, madrid, ma/8 13
56 Conrad
f igure 3.4 José María Avrial y Flores, Sala de los Reyes, Detail of the Sculptures of Queen Juana and Don Pelayo, 1844, colored drawing on paper, 30.5 cm x 20.5 cm, landscape format source: from josé maría avrial y flores, alcázar de segovia, real academia de bellas artes de san fernando, madrid, real academia de bellas artes de san fernando, madrid, ma/7 99
“Ennobling Muslims and Jews”?57
f igure 3.5 José María Avrial y Flores, Sala de Solio, 1844, drawing on paper, 30.5 cm x 20.5 cm, landscape format source: from josé maría avrial y flores, alcázar de segovia, real academia de bellas artes de san fernando, madrid, real academia de bellas artes de san fernando, madrid, ma/7 98
58 Conrad
f igure 3.6 José María Avrial y Flores, Detalles del segundo cuerpo del friso en la sala del Solio, 1844, colored drawing on paper, 30.5 cm x 20.5 cm, landscape format source: from josé maría avrial y flores, alcázar de segovia, real academia de bellas artes de san fernando, madrid, real academia de bellas artes de san fernando, madrid, ma/7 99
c hapter 4
Reassessing the Moorish Revival in 19th-century Europe Francine Giese The global diffusion of the Moorish Revival across 19th-century Europe was joined by different degrees of understanding of historic reference buildings, an eclectic tendency as to their appropriation in contemporary architectural practice, along with shifting attitudes towards the artistic and socio-political meaning of neo-Moorish architecture. In addition, there was a general confusion in 19th-century art historiography and art critique regarding the use and meaning of the term “Moorish,” especially as almost any mention of Islamic or Orientalizing art and architecture would be labeled with this –nowadays –controversial term.1 Although the majority of world art histories, which appeared in increasing numbers throughout the 19th century, would also add Islamic art to their narratives,2 the lack of more profound knowledge prevented a differentiated assessment and classification of artistic production, which in many cases would also be paired with an Orientalist attitude.3 As a manifestation of historicism, the European Moorish Revival would be either linked to schools of decorative arts4 or to the polytechnic schools emerging in the nineteenth century as alternatives to traditional academies.5 As for the latter, the aforementioned publications had become important teaching tools, not least as they provided readers with a global overview on the historic developments of architecture from antiquity to the present, and would this way not only shape generations of architects but also a century of architectural practice. The heated debate 1 McSweeney 2015a. 2 For the important German contribution to Orientalizing art, see, for instance, Heigelin 1833; Kugler 1842; Schnaase 18431864; Lübke 1855. 3 Neçipoğlu 2012; Shalem 2012. 4 Labrusse 2007a; Varela Braga 2012. See also chapter 12 in this volume. 5 Of particular interest in the context of contemporary art-historical debate are the polytechnic schools of Paris (1794); Berlin (1799); Karlsruhe (1825); Munich (1827); Dresden (1828); Stuttgart (1829) and Madrid (1844). For further reading, see Baum et al. 1929; Börsch-Supan 1977, 718–810; Sonnemann et al. 1988; Belhoste 1989; Landgraf 1992; Nerdinger 1993; Belhoste/ Dahan Dalmedico/Picon 1994; Navascués Palacio 1996; Bauakademie 1996; Bauakademie 1997; Bauakademie 2000; Pommerin 2003; Hoepke 2007.
© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2021 | DOI:10.1163/9789004448582_006
60 Giese among these circles of architects and teachers, revolving around the future of 19th-century architecture, the potentials and limitations of historicist styles, can shed some light on why and how contemporary architects across Europe decided to integrate the artistic language of al-Andalus into their works. 1
The Revalorization of Medieval Architecture and the Question of Style
In his 1828 article, In welchem Style sollen wir bauen? (In what style should we build?), Karlsruhe-based architect Heinrich Hübsch (1795–1863) challenged contemporary architectural practice by rejecting the rigid Neoclassical style as present in Friedrich Weinbrenner’s (1766–1826) extensive architectural oeuvre in the city, whose building materials he regarded inappropriate for northern climates.6 Even though Hübsch had been trained at Weinbrenner’s Bauakademie between 1815 and 1817,7 in his theoretical works he openly criticized not only Aloys Ludwig Hirt’s interpretation of Neoclassicism as described in his 1809 Die Baukunst nach den Grundsätzen der Alten, but also indirectly his teacher’s architectural practice.8 In his search for a new architectural style better suited for northern climates, Hübsch took a different path than Weinbrenner that would eventually make him one of the main representatives of the so-called Rundbogenstil (Round Arch Style).9 Within the international debate that Hübsch had provoked with his work and 1828 article,10 two aspects would stand out: the revalorization of medieval architecture as a source of inspiration for contemporary building styles, and the notion of architectural and tectonic “truth” (“Wahrheit”) in opposition to the “Lügen-Styl” (“style of lies”)11 he identified with contemporary Neoclassicism. As for the first-mentioned aspects in relation to the Moorish Revival, what can be observed is a growing interest in the artistic heritage of al- Andalus starting in the 18th-century, when Islamic Iberia was capturing
6 7 8 9 10 11
Hübsch 1828, esp. 15–17. Bergdoll 1983, 4. On Hübsch’s biography, see esp. Walther 2004, 795–817. While Hübsch expressed this position emphatically in his 1828 contribution, similar trends are observable in his earlier essays, see for instance Hübsch 1822 and Hübsch 1825. For further reading, see Bergdoll 1983. On his architectural oeuvre, see Walther 2004, 301–562. See, for instance, Döhmer 1976; Brix/Steinhauser 1978; Herrmann 1992; Walther 2004, 100–124. Hübsch 1828, 23.
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the attention of increasing numbers of French and British travelers.12 As demonstrated elsewhere,13 the Englishmen Richard Twiss (1747–1821) and Henry Swinburne (1742–1803) were the first to include illustrations of the Islamic heritage of al-Andalus, more precisely, of the Alhambra in Granada and the Mosque-Cathedral in Córdoba, to their travelogues issued in 1775 and 1779.14 Already before both campaigns, towards the middle of the 18th century, the Spanish Royal Academy of Fine Arts (Real Academia de Bellas Artes de San Fernando) had begun working on the two-volume project Antigüedades árabes de España, a much more ambitious survey of the country’s Islamic remains that, due to various problems,15 saw the light of day not before 1787 and 1804, after Twiss and Swinburne’s publications. However, recent re-evaluations of the Antigüedades árabes emphasize how much the accuracy of their plans and elevations actually stood out against those by Twiss and Swinburne.16 Whereas Spain remained a place of romantic escapism and exoticism during most of the 19th century,17 the scientific approach of the Antigüedades árabes would not remain an isolated case. Instead, other French and British artists and architects, such as Joseph-Philibert Girault de Prangey (1804–1892) or Jules Goury (1803–1834) and Owen Jones (1809–1874), would continue travelling to Andalusia in the 1830s in order to study and document its Islamic architecture and ornamentation.18 Contemporary art historiography in Germany showed a similar attitude towards the Ibero-Islamic legacy of al-Andalus; according to Henrik Karge, the general interest for the Islamic architecture of Spain surpassed that for its Christian heritage by far.19 With some delay, there also was criticism of Neoclassism in Spain, together with the emergence of a general interest in its medieval past.20 The result was a complete change of the previous
12 13 14 15 16 17 18
19 20
Fernández Herr 1973, 68–316; Krauel Heredia 1986; Viñes Millet 1999, 19–20; Talenti 2011; Barrio Marco/Fernández Bahíllo 2014. Giese/Varela Braga 2017b, esp. 29–31. Twiss 1775; Swinburne 1779. Rodríguez Ruiz 1992. Almagro Gorbea 2015a. Fernández Herr 1973; Galera Andreu 1992. Decléty 2009, 90. As will be repeatedly shown throughout this volume, the publications after their sojourns in Spain would later become important transfer media for the Moorish Revival. Especially noteworthy are Girault de Prangey 1837–1839; Girault de Prangey 1841; Girault de Prangey 1842; Goury/Jones 1836–1845, and Jones 1856. Karge 2007. On the significance of the Alhambra for developments in German art historiography in the 19th century, see Karge 2018. See for instance Panadero Peropadre 1992; Sánchez de León Fernández 1995.
62 Giese situation, whereby, according to Nieves Panadero Peropadre, “Classicist exclusivism had been replaced by Medievalist exclusivism.”21 2
Stylistic Pluralism and the Eclectic Approach
Although the fascination for the Islamic heritage of al-Andalus was peaking throughout Europe in the 19th century, its appropriation in contemporary architecture was often limited to what Wolfgang Herrmann has labeled its “aesthetic superstructure.”22 Like most buildings and interiors studied in this volume, the general layouts, floorplans and elevations, used materials and most construction techniques of neo-Moorish architecture would follow Western prototypes and procedures, thereby limiting Islamic components to the ornamental skin and a small number of architectural elements, such as capitals or arches. It is at this point that we are touching on the second aspect Hübsch had stressed in his 1828 contribution, i.e., architectural and tectonic truth. The Karlsruhe-based architect clarified this aspect in his description of the characteristics of Italian Renaissance architecture, which, according to him, had similarly combined new interior spaces with selected decorative elements that, in this case, alluded to antiquity: The imitation of ancient architecture that recommenced in Italy during the fifteenth century, was first limited to secondary details; and even after the order of columns and pilasters had been imitated fully and gradually, the real intended purpose of the building would predefine the main forms first still, to which ancient architecture would then be attached merely fragmentarily and externally.23 For Hübsch this very process resulted in what he called a “masked façade,”24 a feature also observable in 19th-century historicism. Matthias Staschull has 21 22 23
24
“exclusivismo clasicista había sido sustituido por un exclusivismo medievalista,” Panadero Peropadre 1992, 705, English translation by author. Herrmann 1992, 5. “Die in Italien mit dem fünfzehnten Jahrhunderte wieder begonnene Nachahmung der antiken Architectur beschränkte sich anfangs nur auf untergeordnete Einzelnheiten; und als man nach und nach die ganze Säulen-und Pilaster-Stellung nachahmte; so gab doch die wahre Bestimmung des Gebäudes immer zuerst die Hauptformen an, welchen alsdann die antike Architectur bloss fragmentarisch und äusserlich angeheftet wurde,” Hübsch 1828, 24–25, English translation by author. “maskirte Façade,” Hübsch 1828, 25.
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demonstrated that the façade of the famous Dampfmaschinenhaus, a steam- powered pump station in Postdam built by Prussian architect Ludwig Persius (1803–1845) between 1841 and 1843, shows such an architectural masking in terms of an “aesthetic superstructure” to add an artistic language that clearly differs from the rest of the construction (fig. 4.1).25 In contrast to Hübsch’s terminology, however, in this case Persius had not adopted an ancient but an Islamic vocabulary to meet the explicit demands of Prussian King Friedrich Wilhelm iv (r. 1840–1861). Yet the Dampfmaschinenhaus would remain an exception in Persius’s oeuvre, who had never visited the East before and therefore had entirely relied on visual sources, especially the aforementioned book illustrations by Girault de Prangey or Jules Goury and Owen Jones.26 It thus is little surprising that the pump station brings together two of the, at the time, most popular languages of Islamic architecture –a neo-Mamlūk exterior and a neo-Moorish interior –that had both become well-known throughout Europe during the first half of the 19th century thanks to publications by Pascal-Xavier Coste, James Cavanah Murphy, Joseph-Philibert Girault de Prangey, or Jules Goury and Owen Jones.27 Likewise, the general layout of the Wilhelma complex next to the Rosensteinpark in Stuttgart-Bad Cannstatt, commissioned by King Wilhelm i of Wurttemberg (r. 1816–1864) and built between 1842 and 1865 after plans by Karl Ludwig Wilhelm von Zanth (1796–1857),28 is rooted in Western palace architecture, whereas the wall surfaces would be entirely covered in an eclectic blend of various Islamic styles (fig. 4.2). Even though Ludwig von Zanth was one of the first German architects to ever study Islamic architecture on site during a journey to Sicily in 1822–1823 together with Parisian architect Jacob Ignaz Hittorff (1792–1867) and the future professor of architecture at Berlin’s Bauakademie, Wilhelm Stier (1799–1856),29 he himself had never visited Spain and, consequently, did not have any first-hand knowledge of the country’s Islamic monuments.30 Just as Ludwig von Persius, Zanth had therefore mainly based his sketches for the Wilhelma, composed of various buildings surrounded by 25 26 27
Staschull 1999, esp. 99–103. Giese 2018c, 138–141. Coste 1837; Murphy 1815; Girault de Prangey 1837–1839, 1841 and 1842; Goury/Jones 1836–1845. 28 On the Wilhelma, see Schulz 1976; Scholze 1996; Koppelkamm 1987, 64–75; Grimm 2016; Giese 2017a, esp. 49–55; Giese 2018c, esp. 135–137. The so-called Damascene Hall (Damascenerhalle) was executed after Zanth’s death by Stuttgart-based architect Wilhelm Bäumer (1829–1895) following Zanth’s original plans. 29 Hammer 1968, 41–67; Scholze 1996, 7–9. 30 Giese 2018a.
64 Giese gardens, on the same visual sources, which is why the neo-Mamlūk and neo- Moorish styles are predominant again. Surprisingly, a critical evaluation of stylistic pluralism, which dominated German art historiography until the middle of the 19th century, is missing in Hübsch’s 1828 contribution. Even more, the Karlsruhe architect argued in contra of the prevailing eclectic tendencies in saying that just one style could represent contemporary society.31 Whereas in his early writing Hübsch had identified the Rundbogenstil as a way for overcoming stylistic pluralism, in his 1844 essay In welchem Style sollen wir bauen? Eine Frage für die Mitglieder des deutschen Architektenvereins his colleague Carl Albert Rosenthal (1801–1879) stressed the growing importance of Hübsch’s essay.32 Already in the first paragraph of the text, Rosenthal therefore argues why Hübsch’s interest in style had, in the meantime, become such a pressing issue: The question I would like to submit to be examined seriously by all master builders, especially German master builders, is by no means new, but important enough to be repeatedly raised as the vital question of our art. However, it has already become pointless for many architects. Yet as long as the efforts of all have not been devoted to one common goal, as long as one will apply this [style], another that one, a third one different styles at once, while a fourth might build without any style entirely or might even submit several drafts with different styles for the same building to be chosen arbitrarily, it will remain an urgent duty to envisage our question with more and more seriousness and to not keep silent about it until it is solved.33
31
Hübsch 1828, esp. 51–52. See also Bergdoll 1983, 3; Walther 2004, 117–118. Hübsch’s plea for establishing a standard style instead of stylistic pluralism was not accepted by all contemporaries, see for instance Heigelin 1833, 39–40. 32 Rosenthal 1844. 33 “Die Frage, welche ich der ernsten Prüfung aller Baumeister, und namentlich der deutschen Baumeister vorlegen möchte, ist keineswegs neu, sie ist jedoch als die eigentliche Lebensfrage unserer Kunst wichtig genug, um sie immer und immer wieder aufs Neue in Anregung zu bringen. Für viele Baumeister ist sie allerdings schon überflüssig geworden; so lange aber die Bestrebungen Aller noch nicht nach Einem Ziele hin gerichtet sind; – so lange der Eine diesen, der Andere jenen, ein Dritter verschiedene Baustyle gleich zeitig anwendet, ein Vierter ganz ohne Styl bauet, und nicht selten sogar zu demselben Gebäude mehrere Entwürfe in verschiedenen Stylen zur beliebigen Auswahl vorgelegt werden: –so lange ist es dringende Pflicht, unsere Frage ernster und ernster ins Auge zu fassen und nicht eher zu schweigen, bis sie entschieden ist,” Rosenthal 1844, 23, English translation by author.
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Faced with an ever-growing style pluralism, Hübsch eventually addressed this issue three years later, in the 1847 publication Die Architectur und ihr Verhältniss zur heutigen Malerei und Sculptur. After having, for many years, been one of the loudest critics of Neoclassic rigidity, the Karlsruhe-based architect now scorned contemporary practice as “a permanent architectonic carnival,”34 questioning the almost unlimited freedom of artistic choices in historicism. Despite such critical voices, stylistic pluralism nonetheless remained very prominent throughout most of the 19th century, as German art historian Wilhelm Lübke (1826–1893) confirms in his Geschichte der Architektur von den äl testen Zeiten bis auf die Gegenwart (1855). Addressing the architecture that had emerged during the reign of Ludwig i of Bavaria (r. 1825–1848), Lübke, who had been a professor at Stuttgart’s polytechnic school from 1866 to 1885, spoke of “a truly terrible muddle of heterogeneous (architectural) elements that, even though it might seem an appealing stomping ground for practical exercises still is [nothing else but] a torture for the eye […].”35 The practice Rosenthal alludes to consisted in either applying various styles to one building or creating different stylistic variations for one building. The bath at Stuttgart’s Büchsenstrasse 57, executed and enlarged by Wittmann & Stahl in 1889 and 1892 respectively, is an excellent example of the second method. The preparatory sketches conserved at Stuttgart’s city archive (Stadtarchiv) show a spectrum of proposed styles, including Gründerstil, neo-Romanesque and neo-Renaissance for the first phase (figs. 4.3a-c), as well as neo-Classical, neo-Renaissance and neo-Islamic for the second phase (figs. 4.3 d-f ). Various authors and architectural examples all over Europe confirm the popularity of Orientalizing, especially neo-Moorish, bath architecture since the middle of the 19th century.36 Accordingly, for the façade of the Stuttgart bath a central bi-chrome horseshoe arch, an allusion to the Umayyad mosque of Córdoba, had been used (fig. 4.4), while the lateral niche and window frames referenced Mamlūk examples. In contrast, the arcade at the upper end of the façade is neo-Romanesque, whereas the bulbous dome was inspired 34 35 36
“[…] einen permanenten architectonischen Karneval,” Hübsch 1847, xx. “[…] ein wahrhaft entsetzliches Durcheinander der heterogenen Bauformen, der werkthätigen Uebung zwar ein willkommener Tummelplatz, dem Auge aber eine Qual […],” Lübke 1855, 378, English translation by author. Marczoch 1989, 187–212; Koppelkamm 1987, 124–137. Most noteworthy among the neo- Moorish examples by German architects are the bath cabinets at Albrechtsberg Castle in Dresden (1854–1855) and Schwerin Castle (1854–1857), both created by Carl von Diebitsch, or the bath and laundry (Bad-und Waschanstalt) in the Swiss town of Winterthur executed by Wilhelm Friedrich Carl Bareiss between 1863 and 1864.
66 Giese by Mughal architecture. The coexistence of such diverse styles in one and the same building corresponds to the high degree of eclecticism as observable in a great number of neo-Moorish structures. What Lübke had so ingeniously described as the “kaleidoscopic effect”37 would indeed become one of the main characteristics of 19th-century Islamic Revival architecture: By using diverse visual resources, architects otherwise not well-acquainted with the historic reference buildings would create collage-like drafts that were little more than vague approximations. Architect Karl Marcell Heigelin (1798–1833), who from 1829 to 1833 was an influential teacher at Stuttgart’s Gewerbeschule, showed his clear understanding of the problem in the third volume of his Lehrbuch der höheren Baukunst für Deutsche from 1833. Identifying the limitations of the approach, he wrote that “Very different from adoption is borrowing, wherein the absorbed forms always remain something foreign, while in the drafts they appear rather aligned than fused.”38 3
Reinventing Ibero-Islamic Architecture on International Stage
Without detailed studies of Ibero-Islamic reference buildings, their ornamentation and technique, it would have been as good as impossible for 19th-century architects to reinterpret the historic legacy and translate it into a new contemporary style. The works by Prussian architect Carl von Diebitsch (1819–1869) belong to the best examples for demonstrating how this transcultural transfer would have taken place in practice. After his vocational training at the Bauakademie in Berlin and actively partaking in the scientific and social activities at the city’s influential Architektenverein (Architects’s Association),39 whose member he had been since 1840, von Diebitsch embarked on an educational journey that would take him to Italy, North Africa and Spain between 1842 and 1848.40 His six-month stay in Granada in 1846–1847, where he recorded the Nasrid architecture of the Alhambra in copious sketches and watercolors, would have a great impact on his later work.41 Von Diebitsch was one of the first German
37 38 39 40 41
“Solchem kaleidoskopischen Wirken […],” Lübke 1855, 379. “Von diesem Erwerben sehr verschieden ist jenes Entlehnen, wo die aufgenommenen Formen sich immer als fremdartig darstellen, und in den Entwürfen mehr verkettet, als verschmolzen erscheinen,” Heigelin 1833, 41. On the Berliner Architektenverein, see Börsch-Supan 1977, 718–810. Pflugradt-Abdel Aziz 2009. Today, most of these works are preserved at the Architectural Museum of the Technical University of Berlin, see Giese/Varela Braga 2017a.
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architects to ever study and document the medieval palaces and ornamentation of the Alhambra on site. These detailed studies laid the foundation for his life-long passion for the Alhambra style as the dominating artistic language of his oeuvre and allowed him to not just loosely ‘add’ Nasrid elements to contemporary structures but to ‘fuse’ them with state-of-the-art building technique and materials, thereby creating an innovative architectural language.42 One of the greatest exponents of this new style was the Moorish Kiosk he built on his own expenses for the Prussian section of the 1867 Paris World’s Fair (fig. 4.5).43 Originally the Prussian architect had wanted to sell the Kiosk to the Khedive Ismāʾīl Pasha (r. 1867–1879). The international reviews were overwhelmingly positive and soon made the architect renowned all over the world. An official report for the Royal Academy of Fine Arts in Madrid pays special attention to Carl von Diebitsch’s Kiosk, explicitly referring to the architect as “Señor Diebitsch” and describing the neo-Nasrid building as “[…] a Moorish pavilion inside and outside, overdrawn with all the wealth and finesse of oriental luxury.”44 Yet even more important for the writer was that […] Prussia, which has played such an excellent role in exhibiting the different branches of human knowledge in its central palace, presented an exquisite practical example in the park of what could be achieved in all architectural genres by using the construction methods available today.45 According to this quote, the combination of technological innovation and neo- Moorish surface design had been acknowledged as one of the main characteristics of Carl von Diebitsch’s Kiosk, which set it apart from other neo-Moorish buildings and interiors executed in Spain after 1844.46 By comparison, it seems rather astonishing that Spain had by the time not provided any artistic reinterpretations of its Islamic heritage at the increasingly important World’s Fairs. 42 43 44 45
46
On the many facets of the architect Carl von Diebitsch, see Giese/Varela Braga 2017a. On the Moorish Kiosk and its afterlife at Linderhof Park, see Fehle 1987; Pflugradt-Abdel Aziz 2009, 80–82, Pflugradt-Abdel Aziz 2017a, 145–146; Keller 2017. “[…] un pabellon morisco revestido así interior como exteriormente de toda la riqueza y refinamiento del lujo oriental,” Memoria de la Exposición de Paris de 1867, rabasf.a-b , 5-132-3, p. 120, English translation by author. “Prusia, que tan brillante papel ha representado en la exposición del palacio central en los diferentes ramos del saber humano, ha presentado en el parque un delicioso ejemplo práctico de lo que puede hacerse en todos los géneros de arquitectura con los medios de construcción de que hoy se dispone,” Memoria de la Exposición de Paris de 1867, rabasf.a- b, 5-132-3, p. 120, English translation by author. On this point, see Giese 2017a.
68 Giese Despite its institutional efforts to revalorize its unique transcultural legacy through the Antigüedades árabes and in spite of a growing public interest in Islamic art and architecture spearheaded by its leading art historians,47 it had be left to another European country to anticipate later Spanish initiatives for representing itself to the international public with an own neo-Moorish pavilion. As Luis Sazatornil Ruíz stresses, the disappointment in Madrid was big, with contemporary voices criticizing the cultural appropriation of Spain’s Islamic heritage at the 1867 World’s Fair.48 In his publication España en Paris. Revista de la Exposición Universal de 1867, Granada-born writer José Castro y Serrano (1829–1896) expressed his discontent by retracing the historical development of the study and artistic appropriation of Islamic architecture in Europe and emphasizing that Spain should have played a major role therein, since “No [other] nation should have preceded our Spain in evoking the arts of the Moors, for it has undoubtedly been Moorish (mora) for much longer time than Gothic and Castilian.”49 In José de Castro’s view, it should have been a Spanish artist to first demonstrate to the world the style’s full potential and not a person of Prussian or any other nationality: “Mr. Contreras or any other of our esteemed artists who have devoted themselves to the study of the Arab monuments should have been in Paris to demonstrate the legitimate application of this style to buildings and the industry.”50 Whereas the rest of Europe celebrated the Moorish Revival as a fashionable style detached from ethno-religious contexts, Spain in the year 1867 was apparently not ready to achieve the same on international level, thereby making transparent the general conflict between national and international Orientalism as described by Sazatornil.51 4
Spain’s Search for a National Style
1878, however, would be the year when Spain would finally take its revenge on Prussia and represent itself at the Paris World’s Fair with a neo-Moorish 47 Calatrava 2011a. 48 Sazatornil Ruiz 2015, esp. 120–128. 49 “Ninguna nacion ha debido ir delante de nuestra España en esto de evocar las artes de los moros, porque mora ha sido ella mas tiempo sin duda que goda y castellana,” Castro y Serrano 1887, 155. 50 “El Sr. Contreras ú otro de nuestros apreciables artistas que se han dedicado al estudio de los monumentos árabes, son quienes debieron mostrar en Paris la legitima aplicación de ese estilo á las construcciones y á la industria,” Castro y Serrano 1887, 155, English translation by autor. 51 Sazatornil Ruiz 2015, 122. For further reading on Spanish pavilions at World’s Fairs, see Bueno Fidel 1987; Calatrava 2015; Calatrava 2017; McSweeney 2017.
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exhibition pavilion by Agustín Ortiz de Villajos’s (1829–1902) (fig. 4.6). As a reaction to the ever-changing attitudes and styles by which Spain had been representing itself at World’s Fairs, Lluís Domènech i Montaner’s (1850–1923) article En busca de una arquitectura nacional is revealing. Therein the Catalan architect inquired the existence of a national Spanish style. Describing contemporary architects as “convicts of eclecticism,”52 Domènech i Montaner’s contribution can be read as a manifesto for stylistic pluralism that takes up an, at the time, widespread artistic trend in Spain strongly influenced by architectural practice in Northern Europe.53 Whereas Hübsch had criticized Ludwig i’s building activity, his Spanish contemporaries exploited the eclecticism of the Bavarian king as a source of inspiration for revitalizing their own, stagnant architecture, an attitude recorded in José Galofre’s 1852 contribution for the Madrid edition of El Heraldo.54 Against the backdrop of Ludwig i’s travel plans to visit Spain and the outstanding architectural achievements of its past –the Gothic cathedrals in many Spanish cities, the Islamic monuments in Córdoba and Granada, as well as the Escorial –Galofre wrote in consternation that the country had no contemporary monuments to match those of its past, on account of “[…] the current state of our arts, abandoned, dead, [our] artists isolated and [our] academies exposing their moribund agonies in all corners of the Peninsula where human efforts cannot achieve anything.”55 The educational journey of two young Spanish architects, Jerónimo de la Gándara (biographical data unknown) and Aureliano Varon (biographical data unknown), to France, Britain and Germany in 1853 can thus be interpreted as a reaction to this devastating situation. Their goal was to learn more about the architectural trends and innovations in these countries, and to meet some of the leading representatives of historicism, among them Henri Labrouste (1801–1875) in Paris and Friedrich August Stüler [“Stiler”] (1800–1865) in Berlin.56 Six years after De la Gándara and Varon’s trip, José Amador de los Ríos’s 1859 inaugural lecture at the Royal Academy of Fine Arts in Madrid brought into play a new aspect –Mudéjar architecture.57 Relating to Amador de los Ríos’s 52 53
“convictos de eclecticismo,” Domènech i Montaner 1878, 79. On 19th-century Spanish eclecticism and the related debates, see for instance Martínez de Carvajal 1986; Isac 2011. 54 Galofre 1852. 55 “[…] el actual estado de nuestras artes, abandonadas, muertas, aislados los artistas y ostentando su moribunda agonía las academias en todos los rincones de la Península donde ningun humano esfuerzo puede nada hacer,” Galofre 1852, s.n, English translation by the author. 56 Anon. 1853. 57 The repercussions of Amador de los Ríos’s inaugural lecture is treated in more detail in chapter 1.
70 Giese characterization of Mudéjar as the distinctive and characteristic style of Spanish civilization,58 Antonio Urquízar Herrera has outlined the political dimensions of his term, stressing that “an undoubted will to affirm national identity intervened in its conception.”59 There was an immediate response to the new concept so that, according to Urquízar Herrera, its institutionalization would follow quickly thanks to José Amador de los Ríos’s political influence and academic positions.60 Notwithstanding Pedro de Madrazo y Kuntz’s (1816–1898) critique of the term Mudéjar,61 Amador de los Ríos’s son, Rodrigo Amador de los Ríos (1849–1917), would defend it vigorously.62 The same was true for the influential Spanish architect Vicente Lampérez y Romea (1861–1923), who in his seminal Historia de la arquitectura cristiana española en la Edad Media, first published in 1908–1909, supported the idea of Mudéjar as a national style by focusing on its Christian elements.63 Even though the study of Ibero-Islamic art and architecture in Spain produced important outcomes during the 19th century,64 including José Amador de los Ríos’s contributions of the mid-1840s,65 José Caveda y Nava’s influential Ensayo histórico sobre los diversos géneros de arquitectura empleados en España, first published in 1848,66 and Francisco Enríquez y Ferrer’s 1859 contribution,67 the majority of leading Spanish art historians and critics would continue to associate the country’s Islamic legacy with pleasure, escapism and sensuality.68 Accordingly, Nieves Panadero Peropadre wrote that this moral ambiguity was one of the main reasons why the adaptation of Christian medieval art seemed more suitable for contemporary Spanish architecture. The artistic heritage of al-Andalus had to be considered as “something worthy of study and even admiration, but not of imitation, [and as] inferior to any other production of 58 59
Amador de los Ríos 1859, 28. “[…] en su concepción intervino una indudable voluntad de afirmación de identidad nacional,” Urquízar Herrera 2009–2010, 203, English translation by author. For further reading, see also Ruiz Souza 2016b. 60 Urquízar Herrera 2009–2010, 205. On José Amador de los Ríos’s role among other members of 19th-century Spanish intelligentsia see chapter 7. 61 Madrazo 1888. See also c hapter 1. 62 Urquízar Herrera 2009–2010, 213. 63 Lámperez y Romea 1908–1909/1930, vol. 3, 483–498. 64 Calatrava 2011b. 65 Amador de los Ríos 1844; Amador de los Ríos 1845; Amador de los Ríos 1846, discussed in detail in chapter 7 of this volume. 66 Caveda y Nava 1848. On the 1858 German edition of Caveda’s Ensayo by Franz Kugler, see Karge 2007, 45–46. 67 Enríquez y Ferrer 1845; Enríquez y Ferrer 1859. 68 Revilla 1974; Panadero Peropadre 1992, esp. 389–394.
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medieval architecture imbued with the Christian spirit that dignifies and magnifies forms.”69 Patricia Hertel has ascertained that this attitude produced a dilemma, since it had been precisely this very “sensuality” of Islamic architecture that –apparently –distinguished Spain from the rest of Europe and was a cornerstone of its national identity.70 In this regard, Amador de los Ríos’s concept of Mudéjar as a Christianized version of Ibero-Islamic arts paved the way out of this dilemma by offering a reasonable alternative that not only embraced Spanish nationalism but also the country’s deep-rooted Catholicism.71 However, the boundaries between neo-Moorish and neo-Mudéjar were often very fluent among the architectural practices of 19th-century Spain.72 José Manuel Rodríguez Domingo furthermore identified a general confusion in art historiography concerning the proper definition of both styles and how to correctly attribute them to buildings and interiors. Juan de Anglada y Ruíz’s Palace at Madrid’s Paseo de la Castellana is a telling example, as here one can observe a tendency of assigning both styles to a single building.73 Whereas the auxiliary buildings by Madrilenian architect Emilio Rodríguez Ayuso (1846–1891) are among the first implementations of neo-Mudéjar in Madrid and had been located in the garden of Anglada palace to proudly present this new formal vocabulary to the outside world,74 the neo-Moorish patio árabe created by Rafael Conteras Muñoz (1824–1890) would be hidden behind a Neoclassical façade. To expose the neo-Mudéjar and hide the neo-Moorish parts of a building was a common practice among Spanish architects with only few exceptions, such as the Xifré Palace at Paseo del Prado 18–20 in Madrid75 or the extravagant Orleans-Borbón Palace in Sanlúcar de Barrameda.76 It is probably no coincidence that both palaces were linked to non-Spanish circles: a French architect, 69
“[…] algo digno de estudiar e incluso de admirar, pero no de imitar, inferior a cualquier otra producción de la arquitectura medieval imbuida del espíritu cristiano que dignifica y engrandece las formas,” Panadero Peropadre 1992, 392. 70 Hertel 2012. 71 Bueno Fidel 1987, 58; Urquízar Herrera 2009–2010, 213–215. 72 Rodríguez Domingo 1999. 73 The Anglada Palace has been discussed in a number of contributions, see esp. Panadero Peropadre 1992, 881; Rodríguez Domingo 1996, vol. 1, 350–351, vol. 2, 180; González-Varas Ibáñez 2010b, 200–205; Ordierez Díez 2015. 74 Flores Pazos 1966, 52. 75 As one of the most important 19th-century palaces of Madrid, the Xifré Palace has been discussed in various publications, see for instance Panadero Peropadre 1992, 891–892; Rodríguez Domingo 1996, vol. 1, 349, vol. 2, 175; Navascués Palacio 1973, 265–267; González- Varas Ibáñez 2010, 89–91, as well as chapters 8 and 18 in this volume. 76 For more on this palace, see Rodríguez Díaz 2015, 68–77.
72 Giese Prosper Mérimée’s protégé Emile Boeswillwald (1815–1869), had executed the Xifré Palace,77 whereas another Frenchman had commissioned the Palace in Sanlúcar de Barrameda: after fleeing from Paris with his wife and settling in Seville in 1848, Antoine d’Orléans, Duke of Montpensier (1824–1890) began the works on his Orientalizing hideaway in 1851.78 5
The Different Faces of the Moorish Revival
The purpose of the previous pages was to show that the Moorish Revival was one of many possible answers to Hübsch’s initial question: In what style should we build? As a transnational style of 19th-century Europe, neo-Moorish architecture had various manifestations. While Spain’s appropriation of its own Islamic heritage was subject to ideological concerns, in the rest of Europe the Moorish Revival would free itself from all ethno-religious connotations and transform into the largely decontextualized “masquerade” that Hübsch had criticized and applied to almost any imaginable building and interior. Only in rare cases hybridization and transmaterialization processes would be explored to yield more innovative reinterpretations, as was the case for Carl von Diebitsch’s architectural oeuvre. The increasing availability of visual and material sources, such as book illustrations and plaster casts,79 effected an equally increasing commercialization of Ibero-Islamic architecture and ornamentation that would raise questions regarding the authenticity and reproducibility of art in general. 77 78 79
Emile Boeswillwald’s professional career and his personal network, along with the role Prosper Mérimée played therein are analyzed in chapter 8. Rodríguez Díaz 2015, 54, 72. On these aspects, see Giese/Heller 2017; Giese/Varela Braga 2017b and chapters 11, 12 and 21 in this volume.
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Illustrations
f igure 4.1 Potsdam, Dampfmaschinenhaus, exterior view, Ludwig Persius, 1841–1843 source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / rose hajdu
74 Giese
f igure 4.2 Stuttgart-Bad Cannstatt, Wilhelma, Moorish Villa, Cupola Room, Karl Ludwig Wilhelm von Zanth, 1842–1846. Zanth 1855–1856, pl. vi. Württembergische Landesbibliothek, Stuttgart
Reassessing the Moorish Revival in 19th-century Europe
f igure 4.3a-f Stuttgart, Bath at Büchsenstrasse 57, preparatory sketches by Wittmann & Stahl, 1887–1891 source: © stadtarchiv stuttgart, baurechtsamt 116/3 212
75
76 Giese
f igure 4.4 Stuttgart, Bath at Büchsenstrasse 57, exterior view, Wittmann & Stahl, 1889/1892 source: © stadtarchiv stuttgart, F 2470/8 2
f igure 4.5 Ettal, Park at Linderhof Castle, Moorish Kiosk, interior view, Carl von Diebitsch, 1867 source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / rose hajdu
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f igure 4.6 Paris, Exposition Universelle, Spanish Pavilion, Agustín Ortiz de Villajos, 1878, oil on canvas, Alejandro Ferrant Fischermans, 1879 source: © museo de historia de madrid, inv. no. 00001.485
pa rt 2 Agents and Networks
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c hapter 5
“Oh, You Seeker of Knowledge! This is Its Gate Opened Wide …” The Transcultural Networks of Patrons, Artists, Scholars, Writers and Diplomats Between Medieval Iberia and North Africa in the 14th Century Michael A. Conrad The year 1248 put an end to the rule of the Almohads (al-muwaḥḥidūn) in al- Andalus.1 On November 23, the Day of Saint Clement, the Castilian forces that had been besieging Seville for several months were finally successful.2 King Fernando iii (r. 1217–1252) and his son, the later King Alfonso x (r. 1252–1284), entered the city through what today is known as the Gate of Macarena. Before, Fernando had ordered that the city should be emptied within a month. Idrīs i al-Maʾmūn (r. ah 624–629 / ad 1227–1232), the last Almohad Caliph to ever reside in Seville, had already left in 1228.3 The Estoria de Espanna, a historical work compiled under the authority of Alfonso, asserts that the Muslims thereafter sold all their belongings and handed over the city’s keys to Fernando.4 To those who wanted to emigrate on the water, Fernando gave “five ships and eight galleys (çinco naues et ocho galeas),” while those who wanted to travel by land were given “beasts (bestias),” certainly referring to pack animals such as horses, mules or donkeys. The source also relates the routes the refugees took: “And those who fared over sea and wanted to pass through Ceuta amounted to a hundred times thousand, and those who traveled overland and wanted to
1 An important edited volume on the topic was published on occasion of the 750th anniversary of the conquest of Seville, see González Jiménez 2000. 2 On the medieval history of the city, see González Jiménez 2006. 3 The Almohads did not reside in one single but several palaces in different cities, with the most important ones located in Marrakesh, Rabat, Córdoba, Seville, and Gibraltar, cf. Arnold 2017, 195. During Almohad times Seville was the capital of Iberia. On the transformation of the city of Fez from Almoravid to Almohad times, see Marcos Cobaleda 2018. 4 Estoria de Espanna 1906, §1124, 767, left col. The account of the handover of the keys might, however, be only a legend.
© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2021 | DOI:10.1163/9789004448582_007
82 Conrad pass through Jerez amounted to three hundred times thousand […].”5 Asking whether these numbers are correct or not is rather beyond the point; their only intention clearly was to give readers an impression of the vast amount of outpouring refugees. Of greater interest are the mentioned destinations: Jerez de la Frontera had just been captured by Castilian troops the very same year, and from there refugees were able to enter the Nasrid Emirate of Granada, which would remain the last Islamic stronghold on the Peninsula until 1492, when it was conquered by the “Catholic Kings,” Isabella i of Castile (r. 1451–1504) and Fernando ii of Aragon (r. 1452–1516). The alternate route consisted in taking a ship from either one of the sea harbors near Seville or to leave the city on the Guadalquivir River and sail to Ceuta (sabta), the port at the Straits of Gibraltar closest to North African. In other words, either Granada or North Africa were preferred destinations for Muslim refugees –a small detail highlighting the close relationship al-Andalus and the Maghreb had maintained throughout the Middle Ages, and also the central point of Jean Dangler’s recent study Edging toward Iberia, wherein he collects plentiful evidence proving that, for the Islamic World as well as for the Christian Kingdoms in the Iberian Peninsula, the western Mediterranean had always been an important (trans)cultural region.6 During the second half of the thirteenth century, not only al-Andalus and the Maghreb but the whole Islamic World had been in constant turmoil. In 1258, the Mongols under Hülegü Khan (ca. ah 613–663 / ad 1217–1265) sacked Baghdad, thereby putting an end to the century-old Abbasid Caliphate in the East, which was not only a devastating blow due to the many civilian victims and other atrocities committed by the Mongols, but also because of the destruction of the Abbasid’ libraries, foremost the House of Wisdom (bait al- ḥikma), which had been one of the most important cultural centers of Islam and devoted to the translation of Greek, Chinese, Sanskrit, Persian and Syrian works into Arabic. In the West, the outlook was no less gloomy. As already mentioned, the mid-century marked the collapse of the Almohad Caliphate, whose gradual downfall had begun with the Battle of Las Navas de Tolosa (July 16, 1212), or, as it is referred to in Arab sources, the Battle on the Hillsides (al- ʿIqāb):7 under the leadership of Alfonso viii (r. 1158–1214), a coalition between 5
Estoria de Espanna 1906, §1124, 767, left and right col.: “Et los que yuan por mar et querien pasar a çebta, eran çient vezes mill por cuenta; et los que por tierra, que yuan para Xerez, eran trezientas uezes mill […].” 6 Dangler 2017. 7 “Als an-Nāṣīr gegen den Verlierer von Alarcos antrat, erlitten die Muslime –am Montag, dem 8. ṣafar des Jahres 609H –jene schwere, mit dem Namen al-ʿIqāb (‘die Hänge,’ Las
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the Kingdoms of Castile, Aragon, Portugal and Navarra, with the additional support of military orders and knights from other Christian territories, had succeeded in obliterating the forces of Caliph Muḥammad an-Nāṣir (r. ah 595– 610 / ad 1199–1213). After this unexpected defeat –the Caliph’s troops had outnumbered the Christians by far –Muḥammad set over to North Africa, where he would die the next year. Consequently, the south of al-Andalus was left fully open to the Christians to henceforth capture it city by city. The unrest in the West did not stop here; between 1224 and 1269 the Maghreb had sunk into anarchy as well. In 1235/36 the Zayyānids in Tlemcen declared their independence, whereas the Hafsids in Tunis were able to conquer great parts of the eastern Maghreb, marching forward until reaching Tlemcen in 1243.8 The year of Seville’s conquest, 1248, was the same when the Banū Marīn, who belonged to the Berber tribe of the Zanātah, captured Fez from the Almohads and founded their own dynasty.9 After having rebelled against their former overlords already in the 12th century –albeit unsuccessfully10 –the Banū Marīn now controlled the western Maghreb, with the exception of the Marrakesh region, which would remain attached to Almohad power for a few more years. It is disputed whether the Marinids had declared their independence as early as 1219/20; yet even if this is true they still would not have been able to consolidate their power before the foundation of a new Sultanat by Abū Yaḥyā Abū Bakr (r. ah 642–656 / ad 1244–1258) in ah 642 /ad 1244.11 Marrakesh was eventually captured in 1269 and the last Almohad Caliph, Idris ii (ʿAbd al- Muʾmin, r. ah 665–668 / ad 1266–1269), assassinated.12 Before their final defeat, the Almohads had already lost al-Andalus to Ibn Hūd (d. ah 635 /ad 1238), while the Hafsids had successfully claimed Ifrīqiya, that is, the eastern part of the Maghreb that bordered on Egypt. The Zayyanid (or Abdalwadid) dynasty, the weakest post-Almohad power, took over the region between the territories of the Marinids and Hafsids, and made Tlemcen their capital in 1236. Ibn Hūd was eventually defeated by Muḥammad ibn Yūsuf ibn Naṣr ibn al-Aḥmar, the first ruler of the then newly founded Emirate of
8 9 10 11 12
Navas de Tolosa) verbundene Niederlage, nach der al-Andalus seinem Schicksal nicht mehr entgehen konnte,” Islamische Geschichte Spaniens 1970, 471. On the history of these two post-Almohad realms, see Tarabulsi 2006. Haarmann 1994, 304, 306; Shatzmiller 2000, xiii. Shatzmiller 2000, 46. Shatzmiller 2000, 52. They would, however, not disappear from the historical scene completely. During the slow decline of the Hafsids the actual rulers were Almohad viziers. Being the grandson of Abū Ḥafs ʿUmar (1090–1175), a follower of the mahdī Ibn Tūmart (1077–1130), the founder of the Hafsids, Abū Zakariyā (r. 1229–1249), was himself related to the Almohads.
84 Conrad Granada, Muḥammad i (r. ah 629–671 / ad 1232–1273).13 However, already in 1246 Fernando iii forced Muḥammad i to surrender Jaén to him and accept vassalage to the Crown of Castile, which was why Muḥammad i would later send supporting troops to aid the Castilian besiegement and conquest of Seville in 1248.14 This short summary of events shows how complex and unstable the political situation of the western Mediterranean had been at the end of the 13th century, with the consequence that the 14th century would be characterized by a constant struggle for a new, stable balance of power. During the period of its greatest expansion (1180–1212), the Almohad Caliphate stretched over the whole Maghreb, bordering on Egypt in the East and the Iberian Christian Kingdoms in the Northwest. The Almohads also were the first and only Berber dynasty to succeed in unifying all Maghrebian Berber tribes under one leader.15 But now this unity had broken up into four small fractions. Despite these and the other great crises of the century, including the Great Plague, the second half saw a blossoming culture and the construction of many representative buildings. And as the examples so far have already demonstrated, it is valid to say that al-Andalus and the Maghreb –at times in concert with Castile –constituted a common cultural entity. From the conquest of the Iberian Peninsula by an army of mostly Arab and Berbers troops under the lead of Ṭāriq ibn Ziyād (ca. 670–720) between 711 and 718, al-Andalus and the Maghreb had maintained strong political and cultural ties with each other throughout the period that Europeans usually refer to as the ‘Middle Ages’. A map by Abū Isḥāq al-Iṣṭaḫrī (fl. ah 340 /ad 951) that Dangler chose as cover for his book, stresses this point by depicting al-Andalus and the Maghreb as two parts of the same, unified political entity (fig. 5.1).16 13 14 15 16
Muḥammad had already elevated himself sultan in 1232, yet only of the polity of Jaén. Boloix Gallardo 2017, 146–151. Haarmann 1994, 302. “Medieval Iberia is not an enclosed geographic or temporal space, nor even merely a yielding series of shifting kingdoms, but rather a network of interrelated attachments between varying individuals and groups. The idea of associations extends medieval Iberia from geographical and temporal boundaries to a series of cultural, economic, or political relationships. If we recognize medieval Iberia not as a peninsular terrain bounded by the Pyrenees, the Atlantic, and the Mediterranean, but as a series of associations between the peoples who inhabited and ruled the broad area of the peninsula, and communities throughout the Mediterranean and Europe, then we shift our focus from geographical or political domains to dealings among groups of people,” Dangler 2006, 24; cp. Dangler 2017, 3, 29. This ties into the idea of the Mediterranean Sea as a cultural region in its own right, for which the exchange between different peoples has been already characteristic in antiquity and even before, see Braudel 1973; Braudel/Duby/Aymard 2006
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Dangler furthermore recalls that the word Maghreb itself “once referred to the western portion of the Islamic World and may have reached from Iberia’s Ebro Valley region to the limits of Egypt, thus comprising al-Andalus and all of North Africa.”17 Therefore, Arab historians would sometimes call Hispanicate Iberia Isbānīya, while reserving the word al-Andalus for either the whole peninsula or its Islamicate territories only.18 This cultural identity continued into the 14th century and would at times even include Castile or at least some of its parts. Inspired by Jean Dangler’s proposal, who based his observations on network theory and World System Analysis (wsa), along with other authors who stress the interconnectivity of the (western) Mediterranean,19 the focus of this chapter will be on networks of patrons, artisans, scholars and other representatives of the cultural elites who frequently moved between Marinid, Nasrid, and even Castilian, courts. Their itineraries evidence the potentially high degree of exchange and mobility across the Strait of Gibraltar at the time, facilitated by the permeability of the cultural entities and a common hybrid culture shared on both shores. Especially three contemporary scholars embody this transcultural mobility: Ibn Ḫaldūn (ah 732–808 / ad 1332–1406), Ibn Baṭṭūta (ah 703–770 or 779 /ad 1304–1368 or 1377), and Ibn al-Ḫatīb (ah 713–776 / ad 1313–1374/1375), which is why they shall be given most attention here. In addition, examples of representative buildings will be analyzed in terms of physical expressions of this cultural openness and as silent witnesses to a once commonly shared artistic vocabulary. 1
The Apogee of the Marinids: Patrons of Knowledge and Architecture
Of all post-Almohad dynasties, the Marinids turned out the most powerful – that is, at least during the 14th century when they reached their political apogee.20 After the collapse of the Almohad Caliphate they were most successful
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[1985]; Abu-Lughod 1989; Abulafia/Berend 2002; Abulafia 2003; Abulafia 2011. On the Mediterranean Sea as a dynamic hub of trade and exchange in the 14th century, see Sola 2006. Dangler 2017, 29. Dangler 2017, 30. Braudel/Duby/Aymard 2006 [1985]; Abu-Lughod 1989; Constable 1994; Abulafia 2011. Immanuel Wallerstein is one of the best-known pioneers of world-systems analysis and had started developing this method already in the 1970s, see Wallerstein 1974. For more general remarks on the Marinids in respect to the other post-Almohad powers, see Shatzmiller 2014.
86 Conrad in their ambition of restoring its former size and glory, an aspiration they shared with the Hafsids, who fashioned themselves as the legal successors of the Almohads and would therefore imitate their customs.21 However, after Tlemcen (1337) and Tunis (1347) having been captured by Sultan Abū l-Ḥasan ʿAlī (r. ah 731–749 / ad 1331–1351), the Marinids had almost fulfilled their ambitions, with the Sultanate stretching from the Atlantic Ocean to Gabes for a short period. Moreover, Abū l-Ḥasan had, for the first and only time, been able to unify all Zanāta Berbers.22 In 1333, the Marinids even conquered Gibraltar, after the Nasrids had asked them for military support. Their plan consisted in using Gibraltar as a beachhead, from where the Marinids could easily attack Castile and thereby slowly reconquer al-Andalus. Abū Mālik (d. 1339), son of Abū l-Ḥasan, even fashioned himself the King of Ronda and Algeciras, making Ronda, where he built a “palace and a strong castle,” the capital of the short- lived “Province of Tākarunnā” that furthermore included Jimena, Marbella and Gibraltar.23 During the decisive battle at the River Salado on October 30, 1340, however, the Marinids were defeated by an alliance of Castilian, Portuguese, Aragonese and Catalonian troops under the leadership of Alfonso xi of Castile (r. 1312–1350). After long besiegement, Algeciras was recaptured in 1344, to the effect that the Marinids lost control over Gibraltar and would not be able to set foot on the Iberian Peninsula ever again. With Gibraltar under his control, Alfonso next stop would have been “a full-scale invasion of Morocco,” an ambitious plan stopped by his sudden death on March 27, 1350, due to the bubonic plague.24 In many ways, the Marinids were weaker than the two previous Berber dynasties, the Almoravids and Almohads. Unlike their predecessors, they did not base their power on any religious reform movement. Whereas the Almohads had legitimized their power through their founder Ibn Tūmart (d. ca. ah 473–524 / ad 1080–1130), who had claimed to be the mahdī,25 the Marinids had abolished this religious doctrine around the year 1223 without replacing it with a new one.26 However, their legitimization still depended much on the support of religious leaders, especially since they aspired 21 22 23 24 25
26
Haarmann 1994, 306. Haarmann 1994, 309–310. Norris 1959, 192. Estow 1995, 7–13; Haarmann 1994, 309. In Islamic eschatology, the mahdī is a long-awaited redeemer of Islam who will appear for a few years before Judgment Day (the exact period is a question of differing interpretations). He is not mentioned in the Qurʾān but in the ḥadīṯ; Fromherz 2012, esp. 19–22; Fierro 2016, 1–20. As for strategies of political legitimization in general, see Bennison 2014. Torremocha Silva 2006, 74.
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to establish an “Islamic state,” that is, to use Islam for building a domestic consensus that would allow them to unify the different Berber tribes within their territory, as they were constant drivers of political unrest. This goal was so crucial to them that the Marinids would enhance the status of the Berber language and even allow it to be used in religious contexts. Certainly not without a certain disapproval, Ibn al-Ḫatīb, at the time vizier of the Emirate of Granada, thus noted that at court the Marinid rulers would mostly speak Berber and not Arabic.27 These politics of recognition were successful insofar as many nomadic Berbers would in turn take on urban lifestyles, which would, however, create tensions with the Arabized elites. A great challenge for the Marinid rulers therefore was to create and maintain a difficult power balance among the various ethnic and social groups living on their lands. They tried to achieve this by centralizing the state, the economy and the tributary system, as well as by employing non-Muslims (ḏimmī).28 These political measures laid the foundations for a subsequent economic boom, with the sub-Saharan gold trade serving as its central basis. Especially vital was the trade of gold from Mali, which used to pass through the Maghreb to then be sold to Catalan, French and Italian cities.29 In fact, some scholars consider this global trading network as a precursor of the colonial globalization of the 16th century.30 Both factors –political stability and economic strength –allowed the Mari nids to undertake ambitious military and cultural projects. They commissioned the building of mosques, madrasas, zawiyas, fortifications, bridges, hospitals, and even entire cities, such as Fās al-Ǧādid and al-Manṣūriya in the Maghreb, or al-Binya near Algeciras in al-Andalus.31 Fās al-Ǧādid, ‘New Fez,’ officially Madīnat al-Baiḍā, the White City, was established near Fez as a residence city for the palaces of the sultan and members of the political elite, and furthermore owned a mosque, a madrasa, and the official mint. Of this palace, the Dār al-Maḫzan, only little has survived.32 Notwithstanding this, in modern- day Morocco the Marinids are still fondly remembered for their architecture, also because most of the earlier Almohad and Almoravid buildings have disappeared, while most still extant examples of medieval architecture were built
27 28 29 30 31 32
Shatzmiller 2000, 91. On his life, see Elger 2002. Shatzmiller 2000, xv. Shatzmiller 2000, xiii; Sola 2006, 42. Sola 2006, 42. Torremocha Silva 2006, 78. Al-Binya had been planned as a palatial city, see Navarro Luengo/Torremocha Silva 2000, 283–330. Arnold 2017, 226–227.
88 Conrad by Marinid patrons,33 who have been considered “a reference of good government for centuries.”34 Some of the most outstanding examples of Marinid architecture are madrasas; in fact, this building type was the dynasty’s specialty, which is why Virgilio Martínez Enamorado calls their introduction “the great innovation that took place in the Muslim world from the 13th century onwards.”35 These madrasas mainly served two functions: they were schools of higher education, with a strong focus on the study of Islamic law (fiqh) and the hadiṯ, and they offered residences for students. In the Maghreb they had evolved into “specialized centers in the creation of power elites in dynasties which, in many cases, were under the obligation to justify their religious legitimacy,”36 which, as said, had been a central political objective of the Marinids. What made madrasas convenient in this regard was that their founders and all those who established endowments (waqf) for their construction and maintenance enjoyed full control over the employed staff. In contrast, only the caliph was entitled to appoint an imām for a mosque, regardless of who financed its construction or maintenance.37 Due to this special status, madāris became what Lucien Golvin calls a “nouvel ‘outil’ du pouvoir.”38 With the centralization of power came a centralization of teaching, along with a standardization of education and the censorship of scholarship and religious beliefs, particularly intended to cleanse the state from all remains of Almohad doctrine.39 As replacement, the Marinids reinstituted the Maliki legal school, “which afforded the leaders the support of the ulemas and the respect of the faithful.”40 The threat that religious movements implied was to be taken very seriously: indeed, the first three Marinid rulers, Abū Yaḥyā Abū Bakr (r. ah 642–656 / ad 1244–1258), Abū Yūsūf Yaʿqūb (r. ah 656–685 / ad 1258–1286) and Abū Yaʿqūb Yūsūf (r. ah 685–706 / ad 1286–1307) had all faced several uprisings organized by the clergy.41 Along with the promotion of Holy War, for example 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41
Haarmann 1994, 310–311. Torremocha Silva 2006, 81. Martínez Enamorado 2006, 343. Of course, just as their counterparts in the Latin West, students in the Islamic World would usually be male; however, instruction dedicated to women did exist, see Marín 2007. Martínez Enamorado 2006, 344. Bernabé Pons 2007, 16. Golvin 1986, 308–309. Shatzmiller 2000, 89. Torremocha Silva 2006, 79. Shatzmiller 2000, 87. The very short-lived reign of Abū Yaḥyā Abū Bakr’s son, ʿUmar (r. 1258–1259), is usually not counted.
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in al-Andalus, the control of the madrasas had thus become a linchpin for stabilizing domestic power.42 The standardization of higher education “put an end to the independence of the ulemas,” that is, of Muslim scholars,43 and reached down to the contents of teaching. Although a madrasa was claimed to be a “House of Science” (dār al-ḥikma), where the “sciences of old” would be taught, that is, astronomy, medicine, pharmacology, mathematics and others, Islamic sciences, especially law and theology, dominated. From the 12th century on, standardized versions of legal texts and hadiṯ were preferred, thereby curbing scholarly diversity. At the same time, small mosques ceased being places of instruction.44 Maya Shatzmiller assumes that governmental control was a main reason why al-Abīlī, one of Ibn Ḫaldūn’s teachers, refused to teach in Marinid madrasas.45 The idea of madrasas as state institutions had its origins in the East: Niẓām al-Mulk (d. ah 485 /ad 1092), vizier of the Seljuq Empire, had founded the first of its kind in Baghdad in 1067. Of course, there are earlier madrasas, but what made Niẓām’s foundation stand out as model for the Marinids was its public character.46 In 1249, the Hafsid Sultan Abū Zakariyyāʾ Yaḥyā (r. ah 625–647 / ad 1229–1249) founded the first, now vanished, official school of this kind in Tunis.47 The madrasat aṣ-Ṣaffarīn, commissioned by Abū Yusūf Yaʾqub and completed in Fez in 1271 or 1280–1281 is considered the first Marinid state madrasa,48 and it is noteworthy that its first director, the qādī al-Dilaʾi, had actually come from Almería, indicating that the sultan had intended to base the teachings of the new educational institution on the well-established scholarly traditions of al-Andalus.49 Soon after, madrasas would become signature buildings of Marinid style. Some of the most beautiful examples were erected during the reigns of Abū Saʿīd ʿUṯmān ii (r. ah 710–731 / ad 1310–1331), the builder of the today famous madrasat al-ʿaṭṭārīn (1323, fig. 5.2), and 42 43 44 45 46
47 48 49
Torremocha Silva 2006, 79–80. Martínez Enamorado 2006, 345. Martínez Enamorado 2006, 345. Shatzmiller 2000, 92. Bernabé Pons 2007, 16. This is the reason why he does not mention earlier examples. The famous University al-Qarawīyīn in Fez, for example, had already been founded as a madrasa in 859, but in this case the term was used in the broad and original sense to determine the place where students could study Islamic law (fiqh). He was one of the most powerful Hafsid sultans and had been the Almohad governor of Gabès before. In 1242, he made the Sultan of Tlemcen his vassal; later, the Marinids and Muslim princes paid tributes to him. Bernabé Pons 2007, 16. Shatzmiller 2000, 90 means the same building, but discusses it under one of its other names, the madrasat al-Yaʿqūbiyya. Shatzmiller 2000, 91.
90 Conrad of aforementioned Abū l’Ḥasan ʿAlī and Abū ʿInān Fāris (r. ah 749–759 / ad 1348–1359). This period of almost 50 years coincided with the construction time of the most famous and magnificent palaces of the Alhambra in Granada.50 Around the year 1350, the city of Fez already counted seven large madrasas, with Abū l’Ḥasan building many more in all major municipalities, including Meknes, Ceuta, Marrakesh, Salé, Anfa, Tangier, Azemmour, Taza and others.51 Their designs show great diversity as the builders were granted artistic freedom for solving architectural problems on site.52 One of the most striking examples certainly is the madrasat ʿAbū ʿInānīya, completed between 1350 and 1355 and founded by Sultan Abū ʿInān Fāris, Abū l’Ḥasan’s son, who also happened to be a great patron of poets and scholars and for instance commissioned his Granada-born court poet Muḥammad ibn Ǧuzayy to pin down Ibn Baṭṭūṭa’s famous travelogue, the riḥla. Of all Marinid madrasas, Abū ʿInān Fāris’s is the most monumental and the only one that includes a minaret.53 Similar to other madrasas, it was both an institution of higher education and a Friday mosque. The central, rectangular and marble- paved courtyard, of which three sides are surrounded by two-story buildings with rooms for students, certainly is the building’s highlight (fig. 5.3). No surface was left undecorated, with the lavish decorative program having been based on the vocabulary of Nasrid palatial architecture: Whereas the dado zone is covered with glazed tiles (az-zallīǧ), the rest of the walls are embellished with filigree plasterworks and woodcarvings. Wooden screens (mašrabiyya) separate the courtyard from arcades on the first floor with more student residences. A round water basin is located at the center of the courtyard where the two main symmetry axes intersect, thereby dividing the space into four equal-sized sectors. It was no-one other than Ibn Ḫaldūn, one of the greatest medieval scholars of the Islamic World, who had reflected the link between representative architecture and power: “Architecture is also needed when rulers and people of a dynasty build large towns and high monuments. They try their utmost to make good plans and build tall structures with technical perfection, so that (architecture) can reach its highest development. Architecture is the craft that
50 51 52 53
Fernández-Puertas 1997b. Martínez Enamorado 2006, 346; Shatzmiller 2000, 90. The madrasa al-Ǧadīda in Ceuta (destroyed in 1891) is especially noteworthy as it might have inspired the Nasrids to establish their own in Granada; cf. Golvin 1995, 213. Golvin 1995, 256: “le constructeur dispose d’une grande liberté pour résoudre les problems qui lui sont poses.” Golvin 1995, 236–245.
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satisfies requirements in all these respects.”54 Moreover, Ibn Ḫaldūn adds that the skillfulness of architects “depends on the (ruling) dynasties and their power.”55 Given the historic backdrop of constant struggle for dominance during a period of great political instability, it was all the more important for the rulers of al-Andalus and the Maghreb to demonstrate their power through monuments, and it is noteworthy that Ibn Ḫaldūn also makes mention of the practice of decorating interiors with plasterwork and painting, which, if read in the context of his general remarks on the political function of architecture, allows us to infer that decoration was equally intended to visualize the power and legitimacy of the ruling dynasty. The ʿAbū ʿInānīya indeed attracted some of the greatest scholars of the time; in fact, Ibn Ḫaldūn himself had been one of its professors. The University of al- Qarawiyyin in Fez, the world’s oldest continually operating institution of higher education, was another magnet for scholars. Among its illustrious students, we again find Ibn Ḫaldūn, but also Ibn al-Ḫatīb, Ibn Rušd (Averroes, ah 520–595 / ad 1126–1198), the Jewish philosopher Maimonides (1135 or 1138–1204), and the famous geographer Muḥammad al-Idrīsī (ca. ah 493–560 / ad 1100–1165).56 The university is not only notable for its foundation as a madrasa by Fatima al-Fihri in 859, but also because in 1349 Abū ʿInān Fāris donated to it a precious library with many manuscripts.57 Francisco Vidal Castro informs us that the period from the conquest of Marrakesh to the death of Abū ʿInān Fāris in 1358 generally saw intense cultural exchange happening between the Maghreb and al-Andalus whose network was not limited to Granada and Fez but included many other urban centers as its nodes. However, since the Marinids constituted the most powerful dynasty in the region, Fez turned into one of the most dominant cultural and political centers of the western Mediterranean.58 54 55 56
57 58
The Muqaddimah 1978, 320–321. The Muqaddimah 1978, 321. The latter three are all also interesting in the scope of this chapter: Averroes and Maimonides were both born in Córdoba before settling over to North Africa; al-Idrīsī, on the other hand, was born in Ceuta, but later emigrated to the court of the Norman King of Sicily, Roger ii (r. 1130–1154), where he wrote his extremely influential geographic work, the Tabula Rogeriana, which he complemented with one of the most advanced world maps of his time. On libraries in the Islamic World in general, see Green 1988; on libraries specifically in the Maghreb, see Hendrickson 2008. Vidal Castro 2004, 281: “En Fez había un continuo trasiego de estudiosos, inmigrados, visitants, delegaciones, embajadas, aparte de comerciantes y peregrinos. El mecenazgo de los sultanes meriníes atraía desde muy diversos lugares y países a estudiantes y maestros a la Qarawiyyīn y otras mezquitas y madrazas de Fez, donde docentes e, incluso, discentes, estaban bien pagados y podían alcanzar una buena situación económica y posición
92 Conrad 2
Writings on the Wall: The Exchange between the Nasrid and Marinid Courts
From the very start, the vassalage to Castile placed the Emirate of Granada into a precarious position. As the last remaining territory on the Iberian Peninsula under Islamic control, Granada was constantly struggling for its survival as an independent political entity. Especially after the Battle at Salado River, this resulted in complicated seesaw politics with its neighbors. Even though the Nasrids would often collaborate with the Marinids or other Maghrebian emirates against Castile or other Christian realms, they would at times not shy away from building alliances with peninsular Christian kingdoms against North African powers.59 Ibn Ḫaṭīb, the vizier to Muḥammad v (r. ah 755–760 / ad 1354–1359 and ah 763-193 / ad 1362–1391), was a great advocate for pro- Marinid policies and encouraged him to seek their support in his fight against the Christians.60 However, this proposition made Ibn Ḫaṭīb unpopular and might have caused his eventual downfall. It was probably due to intrigues set into motion by adversaries that he was later accused of heresy, which made him flee to the Marinid court in 1371. Eventually arrested in 1374, Ibn Ḫaṭīb was strangled to death in his prison cell.61 Granada’s ever-changing alliances made the emirate appear like an unreliable partner, so that in the fifteenth century it would find itself politically isolated.62 In addition, when the Christian Kings captured Granada in 1492, the Marinids had been replaced by the Waṭṭāsids in 1472, who were unwilling
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social, lo que sin duda enriqueció notablemente el nivel intellectual y cultural de la capital y del estado meriní.” Vidal Castro furthermore gives a long list of scholars who either came from Granada and worked in Fez or originated in the Marinid Empire and were employed in Granada, Vidal Castro 2004, 297–305. The presence of the Marinids on the peninsula was threatening to the Nasrids, too, as they feared they might aspire to conquer al-Andalus just as the Almoravids and Almohads had done before them, cf. Vidal Castro 2004, 284. Among the many works of this very prolific writer, his al-iḥāṭa fī āḫbār Ǧarnāṭa (The Complete Source on the History of Granada), a history of Granada in four volumes, deserves special mention here, an encyclopedia on the history of the Emirate that has not been translated to English yet. On his life as a diplomat constantly moving between al-Andalus and the Magreb, see Molina López 2004. Lisānaddīn Abū ʿAbdallāh Muḥammad bin ʿAbdallāh Ibn al-Ḫaṭīb was the son of a family that had originally settled over to Córdoba from Yemen. Because of their participation in a rebellion, they moved to Toledo and later Loja near Granada, where Ibn al-Ḫaṭīb would be born in 1313. Irwin 2004, 85–86. On his life, s. Islamische Geschichte Spaniens 1970, “Einführung,” 9–41. Estow 1995, 1, n. 1; Torremocha Silva 2006, 76–77.
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to offer military support but exile only to refugees from Iberia.63 Ibn al-Ḫaṭīb had already been aware of the emirate’s fragility when writing that its survival wholly depended on the civil wars of its enemies.64 Granada’s difficult political situation affected its everyday culture. It was forced to make unwanted concessions to its Castilian overlords, or so it must at least have seemed in the eyes of Muslims visiting from abroad such as Ibn Ḫaldūn. In many ways, his eventful biography embodies the political crises of the Islamic West, because of which it is full of sudden turns and surprising twists. Born in Tunis, he had first served at the court of Hafsid Sultan Abū Isḥāq ii (r. ah 750–770 / ad 1350–1369) before moving to the Marinid court, where he reached the highest social and political ranks. Very ambitious, he even conspired against his Hafsid lords several times, which brought him into prison at least once. Disappointed by his professional prospects, Ibn Ḫaldūn eventually settled over to the Nasrid court in 1362.65 In his Muqaddimah, the introduction to his monumental work on the philosophy of history, he discloses a generally negative view of Andalusi culture: The Spaniards are found to assimilate themselves to the Galician nations in their dress, their emblems, and most of their customs and conditions. This goes so far that they even draw pictures on the walls and have them in buildings and houses. The intelligent observer will draw from this the conclusion that it is a sign of being dominated by others.66 In his opinion, the “Spaniards” –in his terminology: the Muslims of al- Andalus –had lost their ways and instead submitted to the strange cultural practices and customs of their oppressors, here referred to by the generic term “Galician nations” for the Christian realms of the peninsular north.67 The drawing, or rather painting, of pictures on walls was an artistic practice for which there is famous evidence: an alcove of the Hall of the Kings (Sala de los Reyes) includes a ceiling painting that depicts ten dignitaries dressed as 63
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The waves of Muslim refugees fleeing to North Africa since the days of the Reconquista left their marks on local Maghrebian culture that are visible till this very day, the many traces of which Virginia Luque Gallegos has collected in her instructive monography, El legado de Al Ándalus. La herencia andalusí y morisca en el Magreb (Luque Gallegos 2017). Islamische Geschichte Spaniens 1970, 51: “Unser Weiterleben hängt an unsres Feindes Bürgerkriegen, (die ihn von Granada abbringen und) zum Frieden zwingen.” On the difficult political circumstances he faced throughout his life, see Cheddadi 2006; Páez López 2006; Ferhat 2008. The Muqaddimah 1978, 116. Cp. Simon 1989.
94 Conrad kings.68 Although this painting and two others in two lateral alcoves of same hall date back to the late fourteenth or early fifteenth century, their existence confirms that in his book, Ibn Ḫaldūn was apparently referring to a real artistic practice, whose negative evaluation fits the author’s general attitude against the “Spaniards” as being “weak-minded.” He accused them of lacking “group feeling” (ʿaṣabīya). They had been “enslaved by tyranny and had become fond of humiliation, thinking that their descent, together with their share in the ruling dynasty, was the source of power and authority. Therefore, among them, professional men and artisans are to be found pursuing power and authority and eager to obtain them.”69 In his autobiography Ibn Ḫaldūn writes that, after having arrived in Gibraltar via Constantine, he entered the city of Granada on December 26, 1362, the same year Muḥammad v had returned after his dethronement in 1359. The sultan and his vizier, Ibn al-Ḫaṭīb, welcomed Ibn Ḫaldūn with the highest honors.70 Ibn Ḫaldūn had already stood in contact with Ibn al-Ḫaṭīb before and had written him a letter announcing his arrival.71 Little later, in 1363, Muḥammad entrusted Ibn Ḫaldūn with the task of negotiating a peace treaty with the Castilian King Pedro i (r. 1350–1369) in Seville, an encounter discussed in more detail further below. After the return from his successful mission, he was forced to leave Granada and go back to North Africa, probably due to instigations set into motion by al-Ḫaṭīb. Once more, he offered his services to the Hafsids and Marinids, yet finally ended up at the court of the Zayyanids. He spent his last years in Cairo, where he would be repeatedly dismissed and reinstated from the post of a Malikite qāḍī. A last memorable highlight of his career was his encounter with Tamerlane (Tīmūr Lang, r. ah 771–807 / ad 1370–1405) in Damascus in 1400–1401.72 Ibn Ḫaldūn died in Cairo on March 17, 1406;73 by the end of his life, he had traveled to and worked at
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Many scholars have discussed these paintings at length and proposed manifold, at times contradicting, interpretations, see, e.g., Rallo Gruss 2018 and Ruiz Souza 2018b. The Muqaddimah 1978, 28. “Il m’avait réservé un de ses palais, avec ses tapis et son équipement, et avait envoyé pour m’accueillir, montés sur des chevaux, ses proches. Il me manifesta ainsi sa joie et son affection, et me récompensa de mes services. […] Il m’accueillit avec la même bienveillance et me revêtit d’une robe d’honneur. Après avoir pris congé de lui, je fus reconduit par le vizir Ibn al-Khatîb jusqu’à mon lieu residence,” Autobiography 2oo2, 98. “Je débarquai à Jabal al-Fath [Gibraltar], alors en la possession du maître du Maghreb. Puis je le quittai pour Grenade et envoyai un message au sultan Ibn al-Ahmar et à son vizir Ibn al-Khatîb pour leur annoncer mon arrive,” Autobiography 2000, 97. Fischel 1952; Hamami 2006, 313. For a much more detailed overview of his biography, see Hamami 2006, 304–397.
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all major Muslim courts of North Africa, including Egypt, and had even made it to Granada and Castile. However, there was another contemporary traveler who exceeded Ibn Ḫaldūn by far –Abū ʿAbdallāh Muḥammad ibn Baṭṭūṭa (ah 703–770/79 / ad 1304–1368/ 77), who had been born in Tangier on February 24, 1304, which by then had belonged to the Marinid Kingdom. After his pilgrimage to Mecca, aged 21, he traveled the whole Islamic World and even beyond. His three itineraries (1325–1332, 1332–1347, 1349–1354) cover destinations in Europe, North Africa, West Africa, the Middle East, Central Asia, Southeast Asia, South Asia, and China. His last journey brought him to the Emirate of Granada, North Africa, and even Mali. His original intention for traveling to al-Andalus had been to join the Muslim forces in defending Gibraltar against Alfonso xi. However, at his arrival in 1350, Alfonso had already died, which made Ibn Baṭṭūṭā change his plans and seize the opportunity to discover al-Andalus instead. Traveling through Valencia, he eventually ended up in Granada, intending to meet Yūsuf i (r. ah 733–755 / ad 1333–1354). Unfortunately, though, the sultan had fallen ill. Instead, his “most pious and virtuous” mother sent the traveler a purse of money that he found “very useful.”74 The rest of his time in Granada he spent meeting representatives of the local elite and visiting Sufi lodges.75 Apparently, he never had the opportunity to see the Nasrid palaces of the Alhambra from inside and does not mention them therefore. Instead, it is Ibn al-Ḫaṭīb who in his History on Muslim Spain lets the personified city of Granada praise the Alhambra as the palace that elevates its lord above all stars.76 Moreover, Ibn al-Ḫaṭīb’s own biography is directly linked to the building, given that the vizier was the author of some of the epigraphs on its walls, although it has to be admitted that Ibn al-Ǧayyāb (d. 749/1349) and Ibn Zamrak (ah 733-ca. 795 /ad 1333-ca. 1393) provided many more.77 Al-Ǧayyāb, Ibn al-Ḫaṭīb’s predecessor as head of the Nasrid chancellery, had furthermore written a poem for the entrance of another key building of Nasrid splendor, the Madrasa of Granada, founded in 1349 (fig. 5.4):78 74
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“Au temps où j’entrai dans cette ville, elle était gouvernée par le sultan Aboû’l Haddjâdj Yoûçuf, fils du sultan Aboû’l Oualîd Ismâ’îl, fils de Fardj, fils d’Ismâ’îl, fils de Yoûçuf, fils de Nasr 701. Je n’ai pu le voir à cause d’une maladie qui l’affligeait; mais sa mère, la noble, la pieuse et la vertueuse, m’envoya des pièces d’or, qui me furent très utiles,” Norris 1959, 195; Ibn Baṭṭūṭa 1982 [1858], 327; cp. Dunn 2012. Ibn Baṭṭūṭa 1982 [1858], 327; cp. Norris 1959, 195; Dunn 2012, 286. “Mein ist das Schloß, das seinen Schloßherrn über alle Sterne hebt, so dass der Wolkenflor zu seinen Füßen schwebt […],” Islamische Geschichte Spaniens, 475. Hoenerbach’s German translation is based on the standard edition in French, Lévi-Provençal 1950. García Gómez 1975; Rubiera Mata 1994; Vidal Castro 2004, 286–287. Cabanelas Rodríguez 1976, esp. 25–26. Cabanelas Rodríguez 1988; Bernabé Pons 2007, 20.
96 Conrad Oh, you seeker of knowledge! This is its gate opened wide; * Enter, then, so you will behold its splendor appearing as the sun at noon. Thank your Lord, the Glorious, for a destination and a stage goal, * for God has brought near what had been out of reach for you! The capital of Islam has been honored by a madrasa * in which the path of guidance and knowledge has become for all to see. The achievements of Yūsuf, our lord, and his intention * have illuminated many pages (in his record with God) whose balance has inclined (in his favor).79 However, al-Ǧayyāb died a few months before the inauguration, so that verses by Ibn al-Ḫaṭīb would be used instead.80 This madrasa was the first, and presumably only, of its kind in the emirate.81 Its actual initiator and patron had been the vizier and chamberlain Ibn Riḍwān (d. 1359).82 In comparison with the aforementioned Maghrebian madrasas and in light of the late date of its foundation, it is apparent that the building type of public madrasas had been introduced to al-Andalus much later. Of the original building, only the oratory with mihrab has survived. Nowadays, it is open to visitors, who find it inside Palacio de la Madraza (the former Casa del Cabildo de Granada) next to the Cathedral, which itself had been erected on the grounds of the former Great Mosque.83 The lavishness of the oratory’s decoration is overwhelming: every 79
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I am deeply obliged to Urs Gösken (University of Bern) for his transcription and translation of this inscription based on the published edition by Darío Cabanelas Rodríguez (Cabanelas 1976, 25; also, with some differences, Bernabé Pons 2007, 20). Gösken furthermore pointed out a mistake in the second verse of Cabanelas’s version that made it not fit the poem’s original meter and is not found in other published translations. His – corrected –transcription reads as follows: “yā ṭāliba l-ʿilmi hādā bābuhū futiḥā * fa-dḫul tušāhid sanāhu lāḥa šamsa ḍuḥā \ wa-škur maǧīdaka min ḥillin wa-murtaḥalin * ʾid qarraba llāhu min marmāka mā nazaḥā \ wa-šarrafat ḥaḍrata l-ʾislāmi madrasatun * bihā sabīlu l-hudā wa-l-ʿilmi qad waḍaḥā \ ʾaʿmālu Yūsufa mawlānā wa-niyyatuhū * qad ṭarrazat ṣuḥufan mīzānuhā raǧaḥā”. According to Gösken, the last, somewhat cryptic, verse was meant to underscore that the achievements and noble intentions of the Nasrid rulers adorn many pages of God’s inventory of his deeds, so that he will be entitled to enter Paradise on Judgment Day. Bernabé Pons 2007, 20; this point was first proven by Cabanelas 1976. There is an ongoing debate among experts whether some earlier schools of higher education could be considered equals to the madrasa in Granada, such as a “madrasa”said to be founded in Murcia by Alfonso x for al-Riqūṭī in the 13th century, or a later school in Málaga. However, Cabanelas 1988, 34–36 and Bernabé Pons 2007, 18–20, both hold that these institutions do not fit the 14th-century idea of secular schools and therefore differ. Echevarria 2008, 52. Cabrera/Policarpo/Gómez-Moreno Calera 2007.
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inch of the surfaces is overloaden with ornaments –a stylistic trait that, according to Virgilio Martínez Enamorado, “emulates” Marinid models.84 What further sustains this assertion is that it is known that Muḥammad v had indeed adopted Marinid customs and ideas. A striking example is the – presumably only –public celebration of the Prophet’s birthday (mawlid) at the Alhambra.85 The event took place on December 30, 1362, and it must at this point also be noted that Ibn al-Ḫaṭīb had written a poem for the occasion. The festivity of mawlid was central to Sufi traditions, and the Marinids had institutionalized and promoted it hoping that this way they would be able to integrate possibly deviant and subversive religious movements and thereby stabilize their power.86 In this regard, the Nasrid approach does not seem to have differed much, since “through the patronage of significant institutions such as mawlid festivities and madrasas, potentially problematic groups of Sufis could be more effectively kept under royal scrutiny.”87 Cynthia Robinson and Amalia Zamaño both argue that Muḥammad will have gathered this idea from his own experience during his exile at the Marinid court.88 3
Seville, Once More: The Encounter of Pedro i and Ibn Ḫaldūn
How does Castile fit into this picture? Was it another node within the Andalusian-Maghrebian network? A small detail taken from the introduction to Ibn al-Ḫaṭīb’s History of Islamic Spain seems helpful here. Rather casually, the author mentions an intermediary he often sent “to the courts of the Christian Kings further inland,”89 thereby reaffirming that delegates and diplomats from the Nasrid Kingdom were a common sight at the Castilian court. At this point the encounter between Ibn Ḫaldūn and Pedro i, mentioned in vivid detail by Ibn Ḫaldūn in his autobiography, seems the more significant.90 84 85 86 87 88 89 90
Martínez Enamorado 2006, 347. Robinson/Zomeño 2014, 154. The mawlid had already been celebrated during the reign of his father, Yūsuf i. The innovation was to have it take place at the Alhambra and give it a specifically political turn. Brown 2014, esp. 150. Robinson/Zomeño 2014, 173. Following a provocative article by Juan Carlos Ruiz Souza on the Palace of the Lions (Ruiz Souza 2001a), the authors believe that it might indeed have fulfilled a sacred function. Robinson/Zomeño 2014, 163, 165, 171–174. “Ein Gewährsmann, den ich oft an die Höfe christlicher Könige weit landeinwärts schickte […],” Islamische Geschichte Spaniens 1970, 49. Pons Boigues 1898, 350–362; Irving 1959; Cheddadi 1982–1983.
98 Conrad As already mentioned, Muḥammad v had sent Ibn Ḫaldūn to Pedro i’s court in Seville to negotiate a peace truce. This commission was also convenient for Ibn Ḫaldūn as it allowed him to investigate the traces of his ancestors, the Banu Ḫaldūn, who had once belonged to the most influential advisers at the Almohad court in the city. Ibn Ḫaldūn claims the family had ancient Arab roots and had descended from Yemeni soldiers, although there is no proof of it.91 Ḫalid, the founder of the Banu Ḫaldun, had settled in al-Andalus probably as early as the mid-8th century, that is, only a few decades after it had been conquered by Ṭāriq’s troops.92 The family’s decision to migrate might have been made after the death of Ibn Hūd and the conquest of Granada by Muḥammad al-Aḥmar the same year, but was delayed due to other circumstances, such as a famine in Ceuta around 1239. They eventually resettled in Tunis a few years before the capture of Seville by Fernando iii in 1248.93 The aforementioned friendly politics of the Hafsids towards refugees from al-Andalus might have encouraged them to go there.94 In fact, Tunis had a large Andalusi community, and also the Hafsids were well-known patrons of poets, artists and scholars. The fondness for al-Andalus went so far that they had a preference for employing refugees from al-Andalus for high offices, which led to the unofficial rule “Do not appoint a native when an Andalusi is available.”95 Ibn Ḫaldūn names ah 765 as the year of his encounter with Pedro i, which spans the period from October 10, 1363 to September 27, 1364. What can be gathered from available documents is that Pedro had indeed been in Seville between September 28 and November 3, 1353, as well as from July 2 to 27, 1364.96 Ana Marín Fidalgo assumes that the meeting should have taken place in the Hall of the Ambassadors (Salón de Embajadores) at Pedro’s royal palace that had been added to the palatial structures of the Alcázar in Seville in mid-century (fig. 5.5).97 This, however, is mostly speculative, as the sources do not determine the exact location of the encounter, although it does not seem unlikely that the king would have chosen this representative setting for the occasion, since the lavish decorations with Nasrid elements the Hall of the Ambassadors made it the most magnificent room of the entire palace. Moreover, the king happened to entertain very good relationships with Granada: Pedro
91 92 93 94 95 96 97
Al Yaaqubi 2006, 320–321. Al Yaaqubi 2006, 323–324. Cf. Valencia 2008, 35. Al Yaaqubi 2006, 329. Al Yaaqubi 2006, 329. Molénat 2006, 164. Ruggles 2004; Marín Fidalgo 2008, 76.
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had helped Muḥammad restore his power in Granada after his dethronement, and the Sultan would back the king during the Civil War.98 Offering the best he had would have just been good enough for a political friend and ally. Pedro apparently knew that Ibn Ḫaldūn’s family had once held high positions in Seville and therefore proposed to him the reestablishment of his family’s assets in the city if he decided to stay at his court, an offer that Ibn Ḫaldūn politely declined.99 Jean-Pierre Molénat has speculated on the reasons for Pedro’s offer and Ibn Ḫaldūn’s refusal, asserting that it had been vital for Pedro to strengthen the Muslim minority in his realm, whose “loyalty was guaranteed because their survival depended on his will.”100 The king’s intentions might have been to make Ibn Ḫaldūn the alcalde mayor de los moros, a position specified in King Alfonso x’s Siete Partidas as a Muslim judge for mudéjares at the court of appeal “who had already been judged at local level.”101 To appoint this position to such a prestigious and erudite person like Ibn Ḫaldūn might have improved Pedro’s acceptance and legitimization among the Muslim community of Castile and equally strengthened his ties with Granada. Why Ibn Ḫaldūn, on the other hand, rejected Pedro’s offer might have been rather simple: at this early stage of his career, he wanted to retain his freedom as a scholar and diplomat so that he would be able to continue traveling for research purposes, which constituted one of the four types of travel highly respected in Islamic tradition.102 The encounter between Pedro and Ibn Ḫaldūn demonstrates that the Castilian court was no less a place of transcultural and transregional encounters than its counterparts in Granada or the Maghreb, although the cultural relationships with North Africa certainly never were as direct or intense. Influences of Maghrebian culture on Castile, which Pedro i more or less openly embraced, can be characterized as indirect at best and were usually established and maintained through go-betweens such as Ibn Ḫaldūn and other emissaries. Even though the allegation of an unbridled ‘maurophilia’ is to be rebutted as the effect of propaganda fueled by his half-brother Enrique de Trastámara,103 Pedro 98 99
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Molénat 2006, 167. “Le souverain me demanda de rester, et m’offrit de me rétablir dans les biens de mes ancêtres á Seville, détenus par des dirigeants de son royaume. Je m’en défendis en des termes qu’il put accepter, et il continua à me marquer sa satisfaction jusqu’à mon depart,” Autobiography 2002, 99. Molénat 2006, 165. Molénat 2006, 166. In the Islamic World, there were four dominating reasons for travel: “trade, pilgrimage, travel for intellectual pursuits (riḥla or ṭalab al-ʿilm), and travel for saint’s veneration” (Dangler 2017, 71); see also Roldán Castro 2004. On this subject, see c hapter 2 and c hapter 14 in this volume.
100 Conrad apparently even received political advice from Ibn al-Ḫaṭīb as is confirmed by a few letters whose authenticity Julie Marquer has proven recently.104 4
Gates Closing: The End of an Era of Borderless Transmission
During the 14th century, especially during its second half, a large, transregional network of scholars, artisans and poets had connected both sides of the Strait of Gibraltar. It not only joined the Islamic courts of the Marinids and Nasrids, whose cultural achievements were rapidly reaching an apogee, but occasionally reached out over to Castile as well. The borders between al- Andalus and the Maghreb, which in Islamic tradition had been considered a unified cultural body, were permeable and allowed for an almost frictionless and constant flow of ideas and goods, of merchants, artisans, scholars and travelers.105 This macrostructural development coincided with the emergence and cultivation of a transregional identity, most impressively exemplified in its architecture: almost at the same time, the Marinid madrasas (especially the madrasa ʿAbū ʿInānīya), some of the most famous and magnificent parts and interiors of the Alhambra, including the Patio de Leones, and Pedro i’s palace in Seville, were under construction. For some decades, the Marinids would represent a dominating force in the Islamic West, with their style, customs and building types (madrasas) being adopted by the Nasrid court. During the second half of the century, however, this process of cultural exchange changed dramatically, in fact almost reversed. The death of Abū ʿInān Fāris was followed by a period of anarchy with a long list of short-lived rulers, some of which were installed as the result of interventions by Muḥammad v. By that time, the Marinids had passed their zenith, with the Nasrids on the rise as the new dominating cultural force in the Islamic West until they themselves would disappear after 1492. The underlying assumption of a transregional identity, however, is not intended to brush over inherent tensions or dissimilarities. Unlike some recent theories that misconceive the Islamic World as a monolith in opposition to
1 04 Marquer 2011. 105 “Just as al-Andalus was a commercial hub in the Islamicate world-system, so was it central to broader travel flows. It was a travel destination in its own right, and it was a conduit for passage north and south […]. Starting in the eighth century, Umayyad al-Andalus was part of an intellectual network that included not only Ifrîqiya and Egypt, but also Iraq and Khurasan, a historic region that covered parts of modern Iran, Afghanistan, Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan, and Tajikistan,” Dangler 2017, 70.
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an equally misconceived, monolithic West,106 this short glance at the Western Mediterranean demonstrated that even though it is correct to assume a common cultural ground on both sides of the Strait of Gibraltar, differences and regional particularities should not be overlooked. Such differences would, for example, include the ongoing tensions between the mostly itinerant Berbers, with their own languages and cultural practices, and the more urbanized Arab elites, a complex relationship on which Ibn Ḫaldūn had based central concepts of his influential political and historical theories. In addition, there are special cultural traits, such as the worship of saints and the celebration of the Prophet’s Birthday, which are not commonly shared in other parts of the Islamic World. What this analysis would therefore like to stress instead is that the hybrid, transregional identity of the geographic area as defined by the triangle between Granada, Castile and the Maghreb in many ways was the result of political will and thus engineered by the social elites. Architecture, the arts, literature and science were used as instruments to give this cultural interconnectivity and identity a visible form. The transcultural bond would eventually break apart under the Trastámara and their intensified military campaigns against Granada.107 The observed cultural flourishing on both sides of the Strait took place during a period of political crisis. With it came a sense of decline and nostalgia as found in the writings of both Ibn al-Ḫaṭīb and Ibn Ḫaldūn. It is not without a certain bitterness that Ibn Ḫaldūn, during his journey to Seville, came to realize that the Christian kingdoms were on the rise and the Golden Age of Islam slowly eclipsing.108 In this, he mostly agreed with Ibn al-Ḫatīb, who had been similarly aware of the fragile state of Islamic power in al-Andalus, saying that it had dwindled
106 Huntington 1997. Ever since, Huntington’s claim of a “clash of civilizations” was met with a lot of criticism, one central point being that his categories of world civilizations are way too broad and do not take into account enough local differences. Also, he does not consider modes of interdependency and cooperative interaction, which exactly is a central issue of this contribution. For criticism of Huntington’s theory, see, for example, Sen 1999, 3–17; Annan/Matsuura 2001; Said 2001. 107 For more on this aspect, see chapter 3 by the same author and chapter 14 by Elena Paulino Montero in this volume. 108 González Ferrín 2017, 303–309, esp. 306: “[E]n Sevilla, Ibn Jaldún reconoció, a regañadientes, que los castellanos habían superado el nivel cultural árabe. Que Europa era ya imparable. En un silencio voluntario, no desde la ignorancia, el tunecino omite hablar de París en su obra; de Bolonia, de Salamanca, de las que sin duda oyó hablar. Las mismas ciudades que habían aprovechado y europeizado a Avicena y a Averroes.” Lombard 2009; Al-Khalili 2012.
102 Conrad to little more than a shadow of its former glory.109 In their view, the magnificence of Islamic culture belonged to a faraway past; laying ahead was slow decay only. Both authors lived “at the end of the disintegration process of the Muslim world,”110 and maybe more than others, Ibn Ḫaldūn embodied the transitional state of the Islamic World “in face of another world undergoing a transformation that would culminate with the Renaissance.”111 It therefore seems justified to say that his belief in the cyclical nature of the rise and fall of states and civilizations had not least been inspired by his own historic experience.112 For the “Spaniards,” as well as for other Muslim contemporaries, he attested a lack of “group-feeling” (ʿaṣabīya) as the reason for the lack of unity among the Islamic World.113 What had become especially apparent after the collapse of the Caliphates was that the dār al-islām lacked a strong spiritual leader with an accumulation of “group- feeling” large enough to reunite it. What had, for centuries, been a permeable cultural frontier between Islam and Christendom would thus slowly and gradually become undone and turn into a closed barrier.114 Radical change was taking place, and the powerhouse of the Islamic World soon after moved to the Ottoman Empire.115 After the discovery of the New World, the Mediterranean Sea also began to lose its central economic importance, to the effect that the western Maghreb would find itself bereft of any greater significance on world stage.
Acknowledgments
I am much obliged to Francine Giese (University of Zurich) who provided me with helpful information on the history and art history of madrasas, as well as on the life and work of Ibn Ḫaldūn. I also thank Emilio González Ferrín (University of Seville) for information on Ibn Ḫaldūn’s nostalgia, as well as Sally Hany Abed (University of Alexandria) for information on traveling in medieval Islam. Further thanks go to Rouhollah Amanimehr (University of Zurich) for his preliminary research on the circles of artists and patrons on which some parts of this chapter rely. 109 “Doch bleibt von al-Andalus heutzutage nur ein Rest, der den Durst nicht mehr stillt, ein geringer Rückstand, der als Gericht nicht mehr gilt,” Islamische Geschichte Spaniens 1970, 51. 110 Hamami 2006, 313. 111 Hamami 2006, 314. 112 As for his sociological theories, see Charfi 2006. 113 Fromherz 2014. 114 Ferrin 2017, 314. On Islamic categories of borders, see Brauer 1995. 115 Torremocha Silva 2006, 81.
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Illustrations
f igure 5.1 Abū Iṣāq al-Iṣṭaḥrī, Medieval map of the Maghreb with al-Andalus, dated ah 589 / ad 1193. University Leiden, Legatum Warnerianum, Cod. Or. 3101, f. 5a
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f igure 5.2 Fez, madrasat al-ʿAṭṭārīn, built 1323 source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / jan gloc
“Oh, You Seeker of Knowledge! This is Its Gate Opened Wide...”
f igure 5.3 Fez, madrasat ʿAbū ʿInānīya, Fez, completed before 1357 source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / jan gloc
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106 Conrad
f igure 5.4 Granada, madrasa, ca. 1349, oratory with mihrab, view toward the East source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / thomas scheidt, christian stein
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f igure 5.5 Seville, Alcazares Reales, Hall of the Ambassadors (Salón de Embajadores) of Pedro’s royal palace, view to the Northeast, after 1364, with later additions source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / thomas scheidt, christian stein, 2015
c hapter 6
Beyond Kings and Sultans
Vertical Diffusion and the Patrons of Urban Palaces in 14th-century Toledo Michael A. Conrad 14th-century Castile did not only see the creation of outstanding examples of royal architecture. During the second half of the century, when Muḥammad v (r. ah 755–760 / ad 1354–1359 and ah 763-193 / ad 1362–1391) completed some of the most famous parts of the Nasrid palace complex of the Alhambra in Granada and Pedro i (r. 1350–1369) built the lavish halls of his palace at the Reales Alcázares of Seville, many noble families of Toledo commissioned representative urban palaces, “casas principales,” as they are called in the documents.1 The tendency of urbanization fit a general trend that had started with the reign of Pedro and intensified under Enrique ii (r. 1369–1379), who, after a fraternal strife and his half-brother’s violent death in Montiel in 1369, established the new Trastámara dynasty that would reign Castile from 1369 to 1504.2 That many interiors of these urban palaces in Toledo show stylistic similarities with contemporary key examples of Mudéjar architecture was not coincidental either but the result of noble patrons imitating the representational style cultivated by the kings.3 Toledo had special significance for Castile as the former urbs regia of the Visigothic Kingdom, which is why its conquest by Alfonso vi (r. 1077–1109) in 1085 was considered an important milestone for the fight against the Muslims and the ideological mission to re-establish Christian control over the whole Iberian Peninsula. As a new addition to Castile, Toledo soon after competed with Burgos for the title of the most important venue of cortes held by the king on his itinerary through the realm. Toledo’s officials were recognized as the
1 Jean Passini has done a lot of research on the architecture of ‘lesser’ patrons in Toledo. One result is a comprehensive catalog of medieval houses that even includes shops and taverns, see Passini/Molénat 1995/1997. See also Passini 2007, Paulino Montero 2010, Pérez Higueras 2011. On the architecture of simpler houses in medieval Toledo, see Izquierdo Benito 2001. For palatial architecture in medieval Iberia in general, see Ruiz Souza 2011a. 2 “The majority of urban palaces date from the later fourteenth and fifteenth centuries,” Raizman, 103. See also chapters 2 and 14 in this volume. 3 Caballero García/Sánchez Peláez 2011.
© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2021 | DOI:10.1163/9789004448582_008
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proper Royal Curia (Curia Real), and its special status was furthermore highlighted in that it became the capital of an own kingdom with an independent administration. Constituted by Alfonso vi after his victory, this kingdom, the Reino de Toledo, would be treated as a single unified political territory subordinate to the unified Crowns of León and Castile.4 On cultural level, the conquest of 1085 marks the beginning of a “politically mature Mudejarism which involved exploiting to the maximum everything that could be used from the Andalusi legacy.”5 Alfonso vi would henceforth encourage Muslims to stay in the region so that Toledo continued “to be a predominantly Arab-speaking city until well into the thirteenth century.”6 Alfonso vi’s treatment of non-Christian communities, however, did not mean that he followed any modern concepts of tolerance; in fact, he actually despised Islam. His decision was more driven by pragmatic principles: aware of how much he depended on Muslim communities to keep economy and culture alive, he never imposed any sanctions or forced conversions.7 He thus ensued “not an imperialistic, but rather a colonizing policy.”8 The treatment of mudéjares followed the blueprint of how the Mozarab community (from Arabic mustaʿrib, ‘Arabized’ or ‘one who adopts the ways of the Arabs’) had been treated under Muslim rule according to the Quʾrānic doctrine of ḏimma, which in practice especially meant that they had to pay a special tax (ḫarāǧ).9 The strong influence of Mozarabs on Toledo’s culture was one of its most unique traits, and members of Mozarab families would for a long time belong to the city’s most powerful people. In fact, the patrons discussed in this chapter all belonged to families that either had Mozarab ancestors or married into the Mozarab elite. While there certainly had always been Mozarab communities in the city during Muslim times, their numbers increased dramatically around the 1050s, due to waves of immigration pouring in from the South.10 The enormous influence of Mozarab culture is exemplified in that different ethnic groups, including the Francs living in the Frankish Quarter (Rabaḍ al-Ifranǧ), along with Castilians and Galicians, would experience what Jean-Pierre Molénat
4 5 6 7 8 9 10
Leblic García, 2010, 113. Márquez Villanueva 2009, 36. Márquez Villanueva 2009, 36. Gonzálvez, 153. Epalza 1992, 256. Molénat 1997, 25. On Arabic as lingua franca of Toledo, see Márquez Villanueva 1996. Márquez Villanueva 2009, 37. Márquez Villanueva 2009, 38. Márquez Villanueva 2009, 38–41. Molénat 1997, 42.
110 Conrad calls “mozarabization,” which mostly manifested itself linguistically but also through other cultural aspects.11 Centuries after the Christian conquest, the city still maintained an Arabized way of life, which affected the integration of Islamic influences into the architecture of urban palaces.12 As for a definition of urban palaces in Toledo, it is worthwhile to take into account Jean Passini’s many studies of the subject, who has catalogued and described the various forms of medieval residences in the city. By comparing historic documents, Passini concluded that in the 15th century the term palacio would be usually reserved for the principal, representative halls of a larger building complex organized around a central patio. This architectural organization was based on the typical layout of the Islamic house of al-Andalus but would evolve in line with contemporary fashions, which is particularly apparent in the development of arches over entrances, whose form would change from horseshoe or twin arches to round arches or plain lintels.13 As Peter Burke emphasizes, cultural hybridization is a common result of intercultural encounters and cultural exchange. According to him, cultures tend to demonstrate openness towards external influences, while a lot of effort and force is required for excluding everything standing in the way of whatever might be considered as “cultural purism.”14 What makes medieval Castile, and especially Toledo, such an instructive object of study in this regard is the high density and closeness of many different ethnic, cultural and religious groups with the expectable result of an equally high intensity of cultural hybridization. One important outcome thereof is the presence of Mudéjar in the architectural structures and interior decorations of many of Toledo’s still extant urban palaces from the 14th century.15 In contrast to the impression of a modern spectator, this blend of Islamic, Christian, sometimes even Jewish, elements were not regarded as ‘other’ or foreign but as a style intrinsically imbued 11 12
13 14
15
Molénat 1997, 62–67, esp. 67. Gonzálvez 1983. On the multicultural life of Toledo in the 13th century that found an equally multilayered architectural expression in the Mozarabic church of San Román in Toledo, see, e.g., Epalza 1992 and Dodds 2007. I thank Elena Paulino Montero (Universidad Complutense de Madrid) for recommending Dodd’s article to me. Pavón Maldonado 1988. Navarro Palazón/Jiménez Castillo 1995. Delgado Valero 1999. Passini, 2004, 69. Passini 2007. Caballero García/Sánchez Peláez 2011. “It is surely true, as the epigraphs to this book suggest, that every culture is hybrid and that the process of hybridization takes place all the time. All the same, some cultures are surely more hybrid than others. There are also moments of particularity intense hybridization, the consequence of cultural encounters”, Burke 2009, 66. Burke 2009, esp. 76. Varela Braga 2017a.
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with a local identity overarching the borders of different cultural and religious communities.16 It was especially during the reigns of Alfonso xi (r. 1312–1350) and his son Pedro i (r. 1350–1369) that Mudéjar would reach the status as the official style of royal self-representation, with the royal palace in Tordesillas, initiated by Alfonso xi and completed under Pedro, ranking among the earliest examples.17 This visual language of worldly representation would thereafter be imitated by the Castilian nobility so that not only sultans and kings, but also members of the higher nobility would commission representative Mudéjar buildings.18 The transfer from royal court to nobility can be characterized as a form of “vertical diffusion,” which Bernd Roeck distinguishes from horizontal cultural transfers in terms of “processes of spatial diffusion and transfers among people from similar social groups, whereas vertical cultural transfers transgress social borders.”19 Where horizontal diffusion is interested in how cultural exchange takes place among people of the same social status, vertical diffusion relates to how such exchange is able to move from “one social group to another, either from lower to higher social strata or in the reverse direction.”20 Roeck’s terminology thus offers analytical tools for a more elaborate and precise understanding of social aspects of cultural exchange as observed by Peter Burke, who did note that cultural interactions usually take place between different classes or social strata but at the same time remained rather vague as to the social specifics of such interactions. However, he made an important point during his examination of some classic studies on the issue by Edward Thompson, Pierre Bourdieu and Norbert Elias in pointing out the possibility of rivalling interpretations: the appearance of royal practices among representatives of the noble class could thus be either viewed as the result of a rather passive ‘trickle-down effect’ that reinforces “the influence of the court on the wider society” or of a more active process related to the appropriation and transformation of royal role models.21 Roeck, on the other hand, indicates an underlying methodological problem: “Every early modernist, and even more every medievalist, is acutely aware that the adoption of other cultural forms 16 17 18 19 20 21
Márquez Villanueva 2009, 42. Of course, there are many others who share this view, e.g. Ruiz Souza 1996, Robinson 2003, and Feliciano 2016, who proposes a reevaluation and redefinition of this label once coined in the 19th century. Pérez Higueras 1994, 129– 222. Ruis Souza 1996. On his alleged “maurophilia,” see Fuchs 2009b. Martínez Caviró 1992; Martínez Caviró 2006. Pavón Maldonado 1988. Roeck 2007, 23. Roeck 2007, 24. Burke 2009, 77–78. He bases his analysis on Thompson 1963; Bourdieu 1979; Elias 1996.
112 Conrad is almost exclusively documented among a very small group of literate people.” Therefore, historians are rarely able to identify how “horizontal cultural transfers were distributed vertically.”22 However, the point of this chapter is to demonstrate that Toledo’s 14th-century urban palaces indeed belong to the lucky few examples that allow us to do exactly that, to examine more closely how horizontal and vertical diffusion can not only coexist next to each other but interlock and collaborate. The method used for the purpose of distinguishing both directions of transfer and their intersections consists in the analysis of social networks, in this case, those of three powerful noble families in Toledo –the Álvares, the Meneses and the Ayala –, about whom we are fortunate enough to have sufficient documents that allow us to analyze their mutual relationships as well as those directed towards the royal court.23 The chosen starting point, however, is Samuel Ha-Levi’s private synagogue, as this building ranks among the earliest examples and paradigms for understanding how the style of royal representation could have been adopted alongside the vertical direction of transfer. 1
The Case of Samuel Ha-Levi Abulafia
Since its conversion to a church after the expulsion of all Jews in 1492, Samuel ben Meir Ha-Levi Abulafia’s (ca. 1320–1360) private synagogue (Beit Knesset Sar Shmuel Ha-Levi, Nasi Yisrael), is known under the name of “El Tránsito.”24 Even though it was a religious building and its patron a Jew, it nonetheless makes for an instructive example for understanding the vertical diffusion of Mudéjar in 14th-century Toledo. Firstly, as a private synagogue, this place of worship served a representative function as expressed through its rich interior decorations with strong stylistic parallels to the Nasrid palace complex of the Alhambra in Granada and Pedro i’s Alcázar in Sevilla, while furthermore 22 23
24
Roeck 2007, 23. Of course, these families were all part of the high nobility and often were close to the king. However, as they did not belong to the members of the royal family, it seems justified to analyze them as a separate social group. For network analysis in general, see Castells 2004. Samuel was born in Úbeda, where a house ascribed to him still exists in the street of la Gradeta de Santo Tomás. Dodds 1992, 126–128: “Samuel Ha-Levi Abulafia had built a kind of ‘palatine chapel’ for himself, a grand private oratory of the type Christian kings often built for their private worship and that of their courts.” As for stylistic similarities with other key buildings of the time, see Ruiz Souza 2002, 239. Gerber 2012, 40 mentions the Hebrew name of the synagogue.
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incorporating Hebrew inscriptions.25 This intent to display political power is a reason why Jerrilyn Dodds has characterized the synagogue as a “palatine chapel.”26 Such connections to worldly power were strengthened even more in that it is likely that some of the craftsmen had originally come from Granada or Sevilla, although they might have already been present in Castile.27 Some architectural elements of the synagogue underscore the high political status Samuel entertained as Pedro’s royal treasurer (almojarife) from 1353 to 1360.28 In this function, the king bestowed several privileges upon him: Ha-Levi bore the royal seal and occasionally served as a judge and diplomat.29 Stressing his worldly power, some of the Hebrew inscriptions in the synagogue address him as “Prince of Israel” (Nasi Yisrael)30 and allude to his nobility.31 In order to underpin such claims he even appropriated Christian heraldry: a repeated decorative element on the interior walls of the synagogue is Ha-Levi’s own coat of arms, a combination of the heraldic castle of Castile with two fleurs de lis.32 Although fleurs de lis –actually irises –are nowadays associated with the Kingdom of France, their symbol –in Hebrew: the shoshan –had already been in use in Jewish art since antiquity.33 Fleurs de lis also appear on Jewish signet rings from medieval Iberia.34 The exposure of high self-esteem underscores Ha-Levi’s identity as a courtier Jew, whose special status separated him from his coreligionists. To choose the style that Alfonso and Pedro had cultivated in Tordesillas and Sevilla underlined his identification with and loyalty to the Castilian Crown. However, this ostentatious loyalty did not prevent him from his eventual downfall. As much as the example of his life points out the social mobility some privileged Jews could entertain, it also demonstrates the precariousness 25
26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34
Gerber 2012, 47–48; Dodds 1992, 128. The patron of the synagogue in Toledo is not related to the Jewish vizier Samuel Ha-Levi ben Nagrila, who might have built one of the earliest palaces of the Alhambra in the 11th century and been responsible for the famous fountain that gave the Lion Court its name, see Robinson 2006a, 33. Dodds 1992, 126–128. Ruiz Souza 1996; Ruiz Souza 2002, 237; Almagro 2005; Andrés Ordax 2010; Guillén 2010. Gerber 2012, 44. Muñoz Garrido 2014, 242. Roth 1948, 20: “príncipe entre los príncipes del cuerpo levítco, Samuel Ha-Levi.” Muñoz Garrido 2014, 244. Muñoz Garrido 2014, 249, who dedicates a whole chapter (153–70) to the use of fleurs de lis by Jews. For example, it is found on a Jewish coin dating back to ca. 320 B.C., Meshorer 1966, pl. 1, x. Muñoz Garrido 2014, 169. One striking example that combines fleurs de lis and the castle of Castile like Ha-Levi’s coat of arms is held at the Museo Sefardí in Toledo, inv. nr. 216, cp. Bango Torviso 2002, 126–127.
114 Conrad of their existence. In fact, Ha-Levi’s lifetime was characterized by an increase of anti-Jewish sentiments: in a catalogue of complaints presented in Burgos on April 13, 1363, Enrique accused his half-brother, King Pedro, of “promoting, enriching and ennobling Jews and Moors (acrecentando e enrrequiciendo los moros e los judios e enseñorandolos).”35 This accusation was part of Enrique’s slanderous campaign to impugn Pedro’s royal legitimacy. Enrique’s allegation of his brother “ennobling” Jews and Muslims was reflected in the person of Samuel Ha-Levi himself.36 For reasons unknown, Pedro would imprison Ha- Levi around 1360 and have him tortured to death at the royal dockyards of Seville (atarazanas reales). Even though the documents do not directly link Ha-Levi’s death to Enrique’s anti-Jewish propaganda, it is not implausible to assume that it had somehow influenced Pedro’s decision. Much later, Ha-Levi’s name makes an unexpected reappearance in a document from April 15, 1371, wherein Enrique, now king, confirms the donation of a house in Toledo’s judería to Teresa García that had before belonged to Don Mayr, Samuel Ha-Levi’s son. Six years later, on March 1, 1377, another contract states that same Teresa had sold a house –maybe the very one –to Pedro González de Mendoza, the mayordomo of the infante don Juan, explicitly saying that it had belonged to “Don Zulema Abençadoc and then to Samuel Ha- Levi, his son.”37 2
The Álvarez de Toledo, the Casa de Mesa and the Casas Principales de San Román
Central figures related to the 14th-century casas principales in Toledo were members of the ancient and wide-branched Álvarez family. Some of the houses built under their commission are still extant in Toledo, among them the casas principales de San Román and the casa de los Toledo.38 The Álvarez came from an old Mozarab family, with Esteban Illán (d. 1208) being one of their 35
36 37 38
The document was written in Burgos on April 13, 1366, Serrano 1907, 217–219; cp. Estow 1995, 175; Devia 2011. Enrique’s use of anti-Jewish propaganda to delegitimize Pedro has been researched intensively, see the list of literature given in Irish 2016, 221–222, n. 2; a more current study is Montes Romero-Camacho 2016. On the anti-Jewish discourse in Castile in general, see Irish 2016, 221–261. The building dates are still a matter of debate, mainly due to a lack of documentation. Muñoz Garrido 2014 assumes the building was completed in 1361–1362. Molénat 2001, 275. The original document from 1371 is preserved at the Real Academia de Historia, colección Salazar y Castro, M-36, f. 154v. Martínez Caviró 2006, 383. Salazar y Acha 1998.
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most illustrious ancestors, who had been mayor and alguacil and lived during the reign of Alfonso viii (r. 1158–1214), the victorious king of the Battle of Las Navas de Tolosa (1212).39 Esteban Illán’s lineage had been established in the 12th century with his father, the alguacil Illán Pérez of San Román (d. 1167), whose toponym indicates that he must have lived in the Mozarab parish of the same name.40 Esteban Illán was the forefather of several noble linages that would dominate the city’s political, social and artistic life during the High Middle Ages and blend into other long-established families. His son Illán Estébanez, for instance, would become the progenitor of the García de Toledo, while his other son, Juan Estébanez (d. 1261), married to María Salvadores, would be the ancestor of the Álvarez de Toledo, whose most famous descendants would be the Dukes of Alba (as of 1472).41 The reoccuring presence of their coats-of-arms on the façades of several Mudéjar palaces alone clearly indicates the important role the Álvarez family played in the history of Toledo. Among other estates, they had once also possessed several houses in San Román.42 Of these buildings, to which documents just refer as the “casas principales de San Román,” only one house still exists, today known by the name of Casa de Mesa.43 The rich stucco decorations (yeserías) and the artesonado, in fact the oldest still extant wooden ceiling of the city, both allude to its former glory. Historic documents state that Esteban Illán and his descendants had been the first to live in these houses, to be then followed by members of different branches of the Álvarez family until a secondary branch of the señores de Higares would eventually occupy them.44 Among others, the possession of the houses in San Román is thus also confirmed for aforementioned Juan Estébanez, the señor de Viveros, who was alguacil and alcalde de los adules, and his sons Gonzalo Ibáñez (Yuannes/Yánez) and Alvar Ibáñez (Yuannes/Yánez).45 Because of these official positions he was
39
Porres Martín-Cleto 1972; Porres Martín-Cleto 1981. Cp. Martínez Caviró 1992. The word alguacil is derived from Arabic al-wazīr for ‘minister’. Originally the term would refer to the governor of a city or county, including civic and penal jurisdiction. An alguacil differed from a regular judge in that he would be appointed by the king, while judges would be chosen by the people or community. 40 On the historic parishes of Toledo, see Ramírez de Areallano 1921; Molénat 1980. 41 Molénat 2001, 272. 42 Ramírez de Areallano 1921; Molénat 1980. 43 See Martínez Caviró 1977. 44 Molénat 2001, 273–274. 45 The alcalde de los adules was the head or dean of the notaries. In Castilian, alcalde usually refers to a mayor, but because of its Arabic etymology –it is derived from al-qāḏī (judge) – it can have different meanings, including the head of an administrative body.
116 Conrad closely linked to the royal courts of Alfons viii and Enrique i (r. 1214–1216). He received the mayorazgo for these buildings in 1229,46 the first date confirming the existence of Casa de Mesa.47 Juan Estébanez and María Salvadores had many offspring,48 among them aforementioned Álvaro Yuannes, Juanes, Yánez or Ibañez (spellings differ), who was alcalde mayor de hijosdalgo49 and married to Juana García Carrillo. Their children, García Álvarez i and Juan Álvarez, were both executed in 1289 by the order of Sancho iv (r. 1284–1295) for having sided with his father Alfonso x (r. 1252–1284) during a war of succession. They, together with their parents, are the ancestors of the Álvarez de Toledo. Due to the violent deaths of Carcía and Juan, the succession passed on to García Álvarez ii, Juan Álvarez’s son, who married Mencía de Meneses, the sister of Suer Téllez de Meneses y de Mayor Téllez. The couple lived in the houses of San Román, which by the time had been distributed among several of Esteban Illán’s many descendants.50 However, a will issued in 1328 states that García Álvarez ii and Mencía Téllez de Meneses had by then become the main owners of the “casas principales de San Román.”51 This will is also interesting for its mention of the costs of renovation works, which together amount to a rounded sum of 3,000 maravedíes. Jean- Pierre Molénat assumes that these works were related to the interior of the Casa de Mesa,52 while Caviró Martínez, on the other hand, has analyzed the style of its plasterwork decorations, especially leaf and tendril motifs, leading her to believe that this attribution is probably incorrect. Especially the wine leaf motifs make a later dating more likely, since this decorative element is not found in any of the yeserías of the Alhambra but in later monuments, for instance on reliefs of a stone pillow belonging to Enrique ii’s tomb at Toledo Cathedral (1406) or the entrance to San Pedro chapel commissioned by Archbishop Sancho de Rojas (1415–1422). Therefore, the hall of Casa de Mesa was
46 Martínez Caviró 1992. 47 Molénat 2001, 273. 48 Martínez Caviró 2006, 385. 49 The alcalde mayor de hijosdalgo was the head of the sala de hijosdalgo, which served as a high court during the royal audiences. 50 Martínez Caviró 2006, 385. 51 On the houses of the Meneses, see Rodríguez López 1994. “Otrosi mando e tengo por bien contienda entre mis hijos que por razón de la lavor que yo e mi muger Mencia Téllez fisimos en las casas de mi morada que son en la collaçion de San Roman las cuales son condicionadas e an a ffincar en mi fijo el mayor, que por la meytad de lo que costo faser essa lavor que torne el mi fijo mayor a lor otros hermanos tres mil mrs. e annsi que finque mi parte dessa lavor a él,” Caviró Martínez 2006, 386. 52 Molénat 1991.
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probably not built before the 1360s, that is, during the lifetime of García Álvarez de Toledo iii (d. 1370), the son of García Álvarez de Toledo ii and Mencía de Meneses and Master of the Order of Santiago, who lived around the time when Samuel Ha-Levi erected his synagogue, which is the first building including wine motifs in Toledo that can be dated more precisely.53 The houses in San Román were inherited by García Álvarez de Toledo iii. One of his brothers was Fernán Álvarez de Toledo, “el Tuerto” (d. 1385), Marshall of Castile and alguacil mayor in Toledo, who married Leonor Fernández de Ayala, sister to Pedro López de Ayala (ii, 1332–1407), the famous chancellor and author of the Crónica del Rey don Pedro. Like others of his generation, García Álvarez de Toledo iii was affected by the Civil War between the factions fighting for Pedro i, the legitimate king, on the one side and his contender Enrique on the other. Although he was elected Master of the Order of Santiago in 1359, only those “treçes”54 and commandries aligned with Pedro were willing to follow him. In his place, Enrique’s supporters elected Gozalo Mejía as their head. Pedro supported García and made him mayordomo of Alfonso, the illegitimate son he had with his concubine, María de Padilla. The king later promoted him to capitán general, major general, and appointed García and his brother Fernando Álvarez to guardians of Toledo. However, after Enrique’s successful besiegement of the city, García Álvarez was forced to take an oath of allegiance to Enrique and resign as the Master of Santiago in favor of Gonzalo Mejía. In turn, Enrique bestowed several assets upon him, along with the honorific title of alferéz del Pendón de la Banda, a Cadet of the Banner of the Order of the Band.55 After his death in 1370, Fernando Álvarez de Toledo, second Señor de Oropesa, inherited the houses in San Román. He married Elvira de Ayala, the Señora de Cebolla, another member of the Ayala family, an act stressing how much both families had become entangled by then. 3
Under the Sign of the Dove: The Taller del Moro, the Meneses and Palomeque Families
After more than 15 years of renovation, the Taller del Moro, an urban palace from the first half of the 14th century, reopened its gates on June 14, 2017.56 53 54 55 56
Martínez Caviró 2006, 387. The term treçe refers to a knight elected by the administration of the Order of Santiago. Martínez Caviró 2006, 388. Luna Revenga, “El Taller del Moro reabre sus puertas. Después de 15 años cerrado y tras una rehabilitación del Ministerio de Cultura, acogerá un espacio expositivo”, ABC, June
118 Conrad Also known by the name of Casa del Moro during the 18th century, it today borders on the Palace of Fuensalida.57 During the 19th century, its remains had been used as a dance hall, a match factory, and as a storage for flour and other goods. Due to general neglect, the building had been in very bad shape when it was declared a historic monument in 1931. After subsequent intense renovation works it reopened in 1963 as the Museo de las Artes Constructivas y Decorativas Tradicionales. Implicity referring to the Nasrid palaces of the Alhambra, Basilo Pavón Maldonado called the Taller del Moro “the most Granadinian palace of Toledo (el palacio más granadino de Toledo)” due to its lush and intricately ornamented stucco decorations that both incorporate Arabic and Latin inscriptions as well as figurative symbols.58 The building is the last remnant of a once much larger complex of several buildings organized around a central patio, many of which can still be seen on a map from the 18th century (fig. 6.1). The extant palacio consists of a central, rectangular main hall that on each side ends in two square-shaped halls with pitched roofs. Inside, a freeze with a Latin inscription on the upper end of the walls surrounds the main hall right underneath the artesonado, the elaborate wooden ceiling. The inscription consists of two parts: the text in the main hall is John 1:1–8, while the inscription in the left side hall reads the traditional prayer Visita, quaesumus, domine, a blessing of the house and its owners (fig. 6.2).59 The use of these bible verses emphasizes the builder’s Christian belief, contrasted –and simultaneously accentuated –by the overwhelming presence of countless Arabic inscriptions that often blend into the other decorative elements so that they can hardly be recognized as letters at first glance. Among these, three repeated figurative symbols stand
57 58 59
13, 2017, , (accessed 8/1/ 2019). Pérez Serralvo/Villa Gónzalez 2011. [Restoration Report Taller del Moro 2017]. Molénat 2001, 271. Molénat 2001. Pavón Maldonado 2004, 663. Today, many letters of the inscription have vanished, but from those left, the author was able to identify the text; it is a prayer for Compline, i.e., a night prayer, published in the Breviarium Romanum and already attested for breviaries of the 13th century: Visita, quaesumus, Domine, habitationem istam, et omnes insidias inimici ab ea longe repelle: Angeli tui sancti habitant in ea, qui nos in pace custodiant; et benedictio tua sit super nos semper, in English translation: “Visit, we beseech thee, O Lord, this Habitation, and remove far from it all the Snares of the Enemy; let thy holy Angels dwell in it, to keep us in Peace; and let thy Blessing be always upon us.” Latin original and English translation both in: The Office of the Holy Week According to the Roman Missal and Breviary […]. In Latin and English […], London: T. Meighan, 1752, 95. The Biblical context is 2 Maccabees, ch. 3, v. 39. Van Dijk 1962, esp. 73.
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out most: firstly, the repeated symbol of a hand, which, as Basilo Pavón Maldonado stresses, most certainly depicts the Hand of Fatima and appears as if copied from the Alhambra;60 secondly, the reoccurring image of a dove (fig. 6.3); and, thirdly, a coat of arms whose surfaces today appears uncolored and plain, although it once carried a painted emblem. What makes the identification of the original builder-owners even more difficult is that the exact dating of the building is and has been a controversial issue among art historians ever since they took interest in its existence. Some date it back to the first half of the 15th century, while others believe it was constructed during the second half of the 14th century. Among the various options, Balbina Martínez Caviró has proposed a convincing interpretation wherein she reads the figurative motifs as heraldic symbols, adding that the artesonado, unseen for the usual visitor, furthermore incorporates depictions of castles, the symbol of the De Toledo family. According to her reading, the aforementioned, now smooth and uncolored coat of arms had originally included the blazon of the Meneses family –a plain golden surface, whose paint, however, has vanished in the meantime. Painted coats of arms were common decorative elements in many Mudéjar palaces, including, for instance, the upper freezes in the Salón de Embajadores of Pedro i’s Alcázar in Seville (fig. 6.4). Based on genealogical and art- historical observations, Martínez Caviró concludes that the palace must have been built during the second quarter of the 14th century by Lope González Palomeque (de Toledo), Señor of Villaverde, whose wife was Mayor Téllez de Meneses y Gómez.61 The Palomeque lineage had been established by Rodrigo Ponce (Ruy Ponce i), whose existence is attested for the period between 1206 and 1213 and who had been the grandson of a Mozarab of the name ʿImrām, the alguacil alcalde in 1115. The descendants of Gonzalo Díaz, Rodrigo Ponce’s grandson and alguacil alcalde in 1288–1290, would carry the name of Palomeque throughout the 14th century. Gonzalo Díaz was married to one Sancha Díaz and had three children: Lope González, the builder-owner of the Taller del Moro, Diego González, archdeacon of Calatrava, and María González, wife of Juan Ruiz de Rojas. Like his brother, Lope González became archdeacon in 1334. One of his relatives, Gonzalo Fernández Palomeque, was alcalde mayor of Toledo between 1334 and 1357.62 60 61 62
Achrati 2000, esp. 477. At the Alhambra, the Hand of Fatima was carved into the keystone of the arch of the Gate of Justice. Martínez Caviro 1980, 220. Molénat 1997, 159–162. In cities and towns the alcalde mayor was the mayor of the highest order. He presided over the assembly of all other mayors; see the Diccionario del español jurídico (dej), , (accessed 8/1/2019).
120 Conrad In Martínez Caviró’s opinion, a patronage of Lope González Palomeque could explain the visual coexistence of three heraldic symbols at the Taller del Moro: the dove of the Palomeque, the unicolored coat of arms of the Meneses, and the castle of the De Toledo.63 Basilo Maldonado, on the other hand, remains rather indecisive but corroborates that there are “concordances” between his and Martínez Caviró’s interpretations. Mayor Téllez’s testament, issued on June 4, 1349, does support Martínez Caviró’s case even more: therein she bequeaths her son Gonzalo Díaz all houses located “en Toledo a la collaçion de Sant Saluador,” in the neighborhood of Saint Salvador, to which the Taller del Moro probably belonged as well.64 Lope González’s wife, Mayor Téllez, was the daughter of alguacil mayor Tel García de Meneses i (d. 1323). The Meneses family had its origins in Meneses de Campos, a municipality in the province of Palencia, with the Toledan branch of the widespread family having settled over to the city at the end of the 13th century. It is possible that García Suárez de Meneses i had already lived in Toledo in 1267, yet the first of the Meneses for whom this can be attested with absolute certainty is his son, Tel García de Meneses i. Mayor Téllez was one of seven children Tel had with María Gómez. One of Mayor’s brothers, Suer Téllez de Meneses, had been appointed alguacil mayor by Pedro i and died in January 1360 after having received the mayorazgo for his house in the parish of San Antolín in favor of his niece Marina de Meneses.65 This building was the Palacio de Suer Tellez, which today houses the Seminario Menor. The Museo de Santa Cruz preserves some roof beams from this palace dating to the year 1335 that include an Arabic transcription of Suer Tellez’s name: dūn swār ṭayās.66 A very important and illustrous member of the Meneses was Juan Alfonso de Alburquerque (ca. 1304–1354), who is particularly noteworthy for having been Pedro i’s favorite. However, Juan did not come from the Toledan branch of the family: his father was Alfonso Sánchez, son and heir of an extramarital conjunction between King Dionisio i of Portugal (r. 1279–1325) and Teresa Martínez de Meneses (ca. 1290–1350). Juan himself married his cousin Isabel Téllez de Meneses (d. after 1370), 10th Señora de Meneses, the niece of Alfonso
63 64 65 66
Pavón Maldonado 2004, 663. Molénat 2001, 271; the original document is Real Academia de la Historia (rah), Salazar y Castro, M-171, f. 83. Ramírez de Areallano 1921; Molénat 1997, 173. Martínez Caviró 1980. Amador de los Ríos 1898. Marquer 2012. I would like to thank Rouhollah Amanimehr (University of Zurich) for his help with the transcription from Arabic.
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iii of Portugal (r. 1248–1279). The influence of the Meneses thus reached far, even up to the highest social and political echelons of Castile and Portugal. Referring back to the beginning of this chapter, Juan had been the key figure responsible for introducing Samuel Ha-Levi to Pedro’s court, but in 1353 a fallout between the king and Alburquerque led to him falling from grace and to his sudden death in Medina del Campo the next year.67 In his chronicle, Pedro López de Ayala accuses Pedro of having poisoned Alburquerque and murdering his only son, Martín Gil (ca. 1325–1365), resulting in the extinction of the complete line.68 4
The Ayala Family and the Casa Güena
The building that today houses the institute for translations from the Arabic affiliated with the Toledo-branch of the Universidad de Castilla-La Mancha (named Escuela de Traductores de Toledo in commemoration of its legendary medieval predecessor)69 had originally been the entrance hall to a larger building complex grouped around a central patio. Although Amador de los Rios had already pointed out in the early 20th century that Pedro i had not been neither its patron nor its owner, this building is still often erroneously referred to as the “Palacio del Rey Don Pedro.”70 Instead, to avoid such misattributions, it shall here be referred to by its other name, Casa Güena. From its original situation a magnificent wooden porch roof with the inscription of an Arabic poem from the end of the 14th or early 15th century,71 along with an arch with intricate stucco decorations and two elegant peacocks in its spandrels have survived, all of which indicate the former lavishness of the Mudéjar decoration (fig. 6.5).72 The presence of three different coats of arms above the front door are clues hinting at the real owners and builders (fig. 6.6): we find the coat of arms of the Illán on the left, the aforementioned castle of the De Toledo family in the middle, and the two wolves of the Ayala family on the right. Balbina Martínez Caviró thus concludes that Teresa de Ayala (ii, d. 1433), Señora of Pinto and wife to Fernán Álvarez de Toledo, the Señor of Higares (d. 1439), had been the 67 68 69 70 71 72
Estow 1995, 143–145. Estow 1995, 150. See their homepage, (accessed 4/20/2020). Amador de los Ríos 1845, ii, 302. Martínez Caviró 1981. Passini 2004, 80–81. Martínez Caviró 2006, 394.
122 Conrad original patron. This Teresa is not to be confused with the famous Abbess Teresa de Ayala (i, 1353–1424),73 who had been chancellor Pero López de Ayala’s niece and Pedro i’s concubine, and with whom she had an illegitimate daughter called María (de Castilla).74 Both Teresas were related in that Pedro Suárez de Toledo y Ayala (d. 1385) was Inés de Ayala’s (i) and Diego Gómez de Toledo’s son and therefore the abbess’s brother.75 Through his thorough analysis of historic documents, Jean Passini concludes that the construction of the house must have begun before 1380 and come to an end before 1395. Said documents also mention a “Maester Hamite,” a carpenter, who was involved in its completion.76 Teresa Ayala (ii) had a sister, Inés de Ayala (ii), who was buried at Santa Isabel de los Reyes. Inés married Marshall Diego Fernández de Córdoba, with whom she had a daughter, Marina Fernández de Córdoba (ca. 1394–1431), the grandmother of Fernando ii of Aragón (r. 1475–1504), who would become the famous husband of Isabella i of Castile (r. 1474–1504). The Ayala thus had an enormous political impact on important developments in Spanish history. The family originated from the Basque province of d’Álava.77 In Quejana, Fernán Pérez de Ayala (ca. 1305–1385) established a Dominican monastery that would become the nucleus of the ancestral seat of the Ayala and later evolve into a monastery-palace complex (conjunto palaciego- conventual).78 The initial motivation for settling over to Toledo had been the marriage of Pedro López de Ayala (i, not the chancellor and chronicler), Don Juan Manuel’s (1282–1348) successor as adelantado mayor of Murcia, with Sancha Fernández, the offspring of a local Mozarab family. However, it is Pedro López de Ayala (ii, 1332–1407), the oldest of Fernán’s eleven children, whose biography best embodies the family’s gradual rise to power.79 Pedro López enjoyed a great political career during the difficult transitional period from Pedro i to the Trastámara dynasty. Ayala’s chronicles rate
73 74
75 76 77 78 79
The main source proving this patronage is Archivo Histórico Nacional, Clero, Santa Clara, leg. 7367. Cp. Martínez Caviró 1980. Constable 2012, 437. Estow 1995, xvi-xvii, n. 5. García Rey 1930, 685–779. García Rey claims that the conjunction between her and the king had been violent, but this might be a fabricated story to make Pedro López and his father’s treason seem more acceptable. The monastery Teresa retired to together with her illegitimate daughter was the Monasterio de Santo Domingo el Real in Toledo. Cp. Martínez Caviró 2006, 392–393 and Martínez Caviró 1980. Passini 2004, 80–81. Palencia Herrejón 1995. Palencia Herrejón 1999. He was generally worried about the family’s legacy, which is why he authored a book on its lineage, see Dacosta 2007. Palencia Herrejón 1994, 78.
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as the chief –albeit biased and therefore not always reliable –80 source for this period, especially since most of Pedro i’s documents were destroyed after his violent death in 1369, probably result of intentional damnatio memoriae. Around the year 1353, Pedro López became Pedro’s page (doncel) and in 1363 appointed alguacil mayor of Toledo, an office his father Fernán had held before his promotion to alcalde mayor.81 In 1366, when Enrique’s open rebellion against his half-brother reached its peak, Pedro López and his father switched sides and supported the pretender. This opportunistic move led to Pedro López’s eventual promotion to canciller mayor of Castile under Enrique iii (r. 1390–1406) in 1398.82 Given this brief overview of the historic significance of the Ayala family, it is not surprising that they would possess some great estates in Toledo such as Casa Güena. The building was the object of a legal dispute between Teresa Ayala and her sister Inés that would last for many years. In 1403, an agreement was finally reached, in which Teresa had to transfer the house she had completed only a few years before to her sister. Instead, she and her husband Fernán moved to houses in the parish of San Vicente they had purchased from a Muslim called “Abdalla Mahnaque.”83 From another document we are fortunate to know the names of two other Muslims, both alarifes, Aly Aparicio and Abdalá, “fijo del maestro Aly el Moro,” who could have belonged to a group of architects working on some of the city’s most important Mudéjar monuments,84 and who had been asked to estimate the value of the estate for the legal dispute.85 A very interesting detail of Casa Güena is an arch with delicate stucco decorations, preserved at the Museo de Santa Cruz (currently not on display), whose most distinctive feature are two elegant peacocks in the spandrels that show striking similarities to those of the Salón de Embajadores at Pedro i’s Alcázar in Seville. Another example of a similar peacock motif is a doorway arch that
80
Ayala first served Pedro and was loyal to him longer than many others, yet eventually switched sides in 1366. The later written Crónica thus often tries to portray Pedro in a way impugning his legitimacy, which is why the account should always be read cum grano salis, see Estow 1995, vii-xxii. 81 Estow 1995, xvi. 82 The canciller mayor was the head of the royal chancellery. 83 Martínez Caviró 2006, 393, the original document: rah, Salazar y Castro, M-22, f. 244v-257. 84 Martínez Caviró 2007, 401: “Tal vez en este equipo de alarifes mudéjares, que debió trabajar desde la segunda mitad del siglo xiv hasta comienzos de xv, hallemos a los artíficed de las mejores obras toledanas de este estilo, activos principalmente en los reinados de Pedro el Cruel y Enrique ii, los cuales incorporaron a las tradicionales yeserías el naturalismo gótico, manifestado a través de las hojas de vid y de roble.” 85 From Arabic al-ʿarīf, ‘expert’, usually referring to a craftsman, often a mason.
124 Conrad used to belong to a palace in calle de la Sillería, with the lower surface of its polylobed arch showing the emblem of the Álvarez de Toledo. Underneath the spandrels, there are two remarkable motifs of warriors wearing Phrygian caps and kneeling behind shields, each of them holding a weapon –a sword and a club, respectively.86 The peacock motifs, whose plain surfaces had once been painted, and the vegetal decorations all emulate Toledan and Nasrid models, which prompted Martínez Caviró to assume that contemporaries of Teresa de Ayala and her husband must have built the palace in calle de la Sillería during or shortly before Pedro i’s reign. The coat of arms suggests that the patrons belonged to the Álvarez family, with a likely candidate being Leonor de Toledo, Fernand Álvarez de Toledo’s (d. 1384) daughter, who could have known the Casa Güena from first-hand experience and copied the motif from there.87 Given that Martínez Caviró’s theory is correct, the transfer of the peacock motif would be one of the most persuasive examples found so far for illustrating the horizontal and vertical diffusion between Castile’s royal court and other members of the nobility. It is, by the way, worth mentioning that the motif does not make any appearance in Ha-Levi’s synagogue, indicating that different selective approaches existed with regard to the appropriation processes related to stylistic elements cultivated at the royal court.88 5
A City as Amplifier
In the critical period when the new dynasty of the Trastámara was establishing itself, Toledo saw the suppression of the older urban nobility and the rise of nobles previously limited to local and regional powers, a transition that peaked during Enrique iii’s reign and is best embodied by the rise of Pedro López de Ayala.89 More than members of Toledo’s long-established elites, the 86 87 88
89
Martínez Caviró 2007, 397–398. Martínez Caviró 2007, 401. She also considers her sister Teresa, about whom we know only little, as another possibility. A general study on the history of the Christian nobility in Spain is Gerbet 1997. Of course, another reason is that Ha-Levi’s synagogue was a sacral space; however, as pointed out further above with Jerrylin Dodds, it should be seen as an in-between of religious and palatial architecture, since it also served representative functions, as highlighted by Ha-Levi being addressed as “Prince of Israel.” Palencia Herrejón 1994, 83–84. See also Mitre Fernández 1968 and Moxó 1969. On the crisis of the older and the ascension of the new nobility in Toledo, see also Benito Ruano 1961 and Molénat 1997, 321–364. For more on the artistic and architectonical development during, especially the continuation of previous styles, during this period, see c hapter 14 in this volume.
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aristocratic newcomers felt the urge of having to legitimize themselves by their services to the crown, making them more dependent upon royal grace. In addition, they actively partook in economic enterprises that the older elites regarded as unseemly, such as commerce or making profits from transhumance farming and royal rents. With the liberation from the necessities of vassalage and the management of rural assets came a shift towards more urbanization: the new lineages preferred urban lifestyles, which is why they began moving to cities where they needed representative domiciles, which of course is a reason for the growing number of urban palaces especially in the royal city of Toledo during the second half of the 14th century. This echoed the political strength of the new elites as beneficiaries of royal grace with the capacity to substitute one king by another if they found this necessary.90 By the reign of Enrique iii, the nobility had thereby gradually evolved into a domesticated and closed oligarchy,91 a tendency that has become apparent in the analyzed social networks of powerful Toledan families, whose marital policies resulted in intensified and entangled mutual relationships that made social mobility very difficult for newcomers. In the long run this meant that the long-established families of the Meneses and Álvarez were connected to the upstart Ayala through nuptial bonds, which meant a boost to the power base, to the importance and legitimacy of these families to the effect that some of their heirs would one day become kings themselves. The great increase of Mudéjar buildings in Toledo’s urban landscape indicates that, for a contemporary, the style must have been a rather common sight. By the second half of the 14th century, it had become a well-established and widespread vocabulary for the expression of power not only by the royal family but the higher nobility as well. In this context, Balbina Martínez Caviró reminds us that many Mudéjar interiors in Toledo not only emulated Nasrid models but also integrated local traditions.92 A tendency to imitate the royal court in Seville is most obvious in the example of the double-peacock motif at Casa Güena and at the palace in calle de la Sillería. Here, we can observe a cross-over of vertical and horizontal diffusion: the builder-owner of the Palacio de la Calle de la Sillería copied a motif originating from a house of his peers (horizontal), which they themselves had modelled after a specimen at the royal palace in Seville (vertical). What made the access to the royal court easier for the relevant families was that many of their members held high official positions dependent on royal appointment, such as that of alguacil. Moreover, 90 91 92
Herrejón 1994, 58–59. Herrejón 1994, 60–61. Martínez Coviró 2007, 401–402.
126 Conrad some families were related to royal families directly, as was the case for some members of the Meneses or late Ayala. The link to Seville, however, also draws our attention to the question of the specific channels and transfer media through which such motifs might have wandered into the city –an issue that still awaits further exploration. Traveling motifs could have been part of the oral knowledge of artisans or transmitted through other media, e.g. drawings on paper or parchment. In all observed cases, the existence of social contacts between local families acting as the patrons of urban palaces and members of the royal court could be demonstrated, which of course eased and intensified the appropriation of Mudéjar as the style of noble self-representation. However, due to the nature of the selected examples, the verticality observed in this chapter necessarily stops at that of the higher nobility. For the future, it could therefore be interesting to identify and collect testimonies proving an even deeper vertical diffusion into lower social strata, including the bourgeoisie. Such findings would help to reconstruct the public –colloquial and ordinary –perception of Mudéjar and how much it had become imbued with local Toledan or Castilian identity. Since Toledo was one of Castile’s most important cities, the eastablishment of a new aesthetic of self-representation must have created a greater impact on the realm as a whole. Like an amplifier, the city intensified and accelerated the spatial diffusion and common acceptance of the royal style throughout Castile.
Acknowledgments
I am obliged to Elena Paulino Montero (Universidad Complutense Madrid) for her helpful recommendations regarding additional literature.
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Illustrations
f igure 6.1 José Hernández Sierra, floor plan of the Taller del Moro, 1745, ink on paper, 500 x 352 mm. Archivo Municipal de Toledo (amt), Caja de “Obras privadas”, sig. 6121
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f igure 6.2 Toledo, Taller del Moro, detail of Latin inscription, 14th century source: © foto marburg / thomas scheidt, christian stein
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f igure 6.3 Toledo, Taller del Moro, detail of figurative symbols of stucco decoration, including a dove and the Hand of Fatima, 14th century source: © michael a. conrad
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f igure 6.4 Seville, Alcázar, Palace of Pedro i, Ambassador Hall, ca. 1354 source: © foto marburg / thomas scheidt, christian stein
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f igure 6.5 Toledo, Casa Güena (Palacio del Rey Don Pedro), peacock decoration, 14th century source: photography by casiano alguacil (1832–1 914), ca. 1885. archivo municipal de toledo, ca-4 45
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f igure 6.6 Toledo, Casa Güena (Palacio del Rey Don Pedro), coats of arms above entrance, 14th century, (a. whole entrance, b. detail of coats of arms) source: © michael a. conrad
c hapter 7
Spanish Intellectuals of the 19th Century and Their Role for Knowledge Exchange Across Europe Christian M. Schweizer Although overshadowed by the achievements of their more renowned contemporaries, such as Eugène Viollet-le-Duc (1814–1879) or Gottfried Semper (1803– 1879),1 Spanish intellectuals of the 19th century no less contributed to the debate surrounding the re-valorization of medieval architecture, particularly the Islamic styles of al-Andalus.2 Involved in shaping Spanish national art history and related culture politics, this circle of intellectuals was rather small and exclusive in comparison, with most of them belonging to the same illustrious Spanish institutions, including the Royal Academy of Fine Arts (Real Academia de Bellas Artes de San Fernando, rabasf), the Royal Academy of History (Real Academia de la Historia, rah), the Facultative Corps of Archivists, Librarians and Antiquarians (Cuerpo Facultativo de Archiveros, Bibliotecarios y Anticuarios, cfaba), and the Senate.3 The panorama of art history in 19th-century Spain would be incomplete without discussing parallel developments in other disciplines, including history, archaeology, and Arab studies, which stood under the influence of ideas about nationalism that had emerged after the Napoleonic Wars.4 Despite such issues, which are no less important, this chapter will concentrate on the valorization and theorization of Islamic architecture in Spain, when –as of the late 1850s –the rabasf finalized its reorganization and pursued its ambition to establish a new model of Spanish cultural self-representation.5 Without discussing the efforts made by earlier generations of scholars in response to French or German developments in the area,6 this chapter will argue that in its 1 2 3 4
Martínez de Carvajal 1986, 14. See also chapter 4 in this volume. On the history of the rabasf, see Martínez de Carvajal 1986, 58–83, 102–163. See, for instance, Calvo Serraller 1995, esp. 165–170, 171–177; Martínez de Carvajal 1986, esp. 7– 56, 87–102, 102–114; Calatrava 2011a; Monroe 1970; Arrechea Miguel 1989. 5 Martínez de Carvajal 1986, 76. The impression that the education at this institution was not up to date caused the creation of the separate Escuela de Arquitectura in 1844 and the reform programs of the rabasf. See Navascués Palacio 1973, 95–101. 6 See Calatrava 2011a, esp. 15–23, 35–52; Martínez de Carvajal 1986, esp. 83–86, 102–113; Henares Cuéllar 2009; Rodríguez Ruiz 1992, esp. 13–31.
© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2021 | DOI:10.1163/9789004448582_009
134 Schweizer historiography, Spain not only copied foreign models and trends, but also had a strong impact on the knowledge production of the discipline at home and abroad. Focusing on the personal and scholarly networks of four important intellectuals involved in the revalorization of Spain’s Islamic legacy, it aspires to cast a light on the connections between these individuals and like-minded European and American circles. The four people in question are Antonio de Zabaleta (1803–1864), José Amador de los Ríos y Serrano (1816–1878), Pascual de Gayangos y Arce (1809–1897), and Juan Facundo Riaño y Montero (1829–1901), an illustrious group of Arabists, art historians, archaeologists, museologists, and architectural publicists.7 With their proliferous output of publications, their extensive traveling and far- reaching networks that connected Madrid with Paris, London, Berlin, and even Boston and Washington, they shaped the external perception and self-image of Spain.8 1
Preparing the Ground: Antonio de Zabaleta, José Amador de los Ríos, and the Boletín Español de Arquitectura
Although Zabaleta was, according to Juan Calatrava, a “prototypical figure in the panorama of Romanticism,” only little about his life is known with certainty.9 Born in Madrid in 1803, he received his education there sometime before 1818. His endorsement of the liberal government during the Trienio Liberal (1820–1823)10 resulted in his migration to Paris in 1823, where he remained in exile until 1836. There he got well acquainted with the French discourse on architecture and the prevalent diversity of European ideas and influences.11 He became Jean-Félix Duban’s (1797–1870) student, who at the time was a critical anti-academic voice in the controversial debate between proponents of Classicist and Romanticist architecture theory.12 Zabaleta’s apprenticeship 7 8 9 10
11 12
See also López García 2011, esp. 37–73, 76–127. See also Hellwig 2007; Martínez de Carvajal/Ocón Fernández 2009; Muñoz Sempere/ Alonso García 2011. “Antonio de Zabaleta representa, en el panorama de nuestro primer romanticismo, una figura prototípica,” Calatrava 2011a, 23. See also Arrechea Miguel 1989. The so-called Trienio liberal denotes the years 1820–1823 when Spain was a constitutional monarchy. The absolutist rule of the eras before and after was intersected by this short period within the reign of King Ferdinand vii (r. 1808, 1813–1833) when politics followed the Constitution of Cádiz. See Jarrett 2013; Fehrenbach 1970. Sazatornil 1992; Sazatornil 1997; Aymes 2008. Calatrava 2011a, 23. Sazatornil 1992, 28; Hautecoeur 1955:6, 256; Crook 1987.
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brought him into contact with Henri Labrouste (1801–1875), Jakob Ignaz Hittorff (1792–1867), Guillaume Abel Blouet (1795–1853), and Emile Jacques Gilbert (1793–1874), who all knew each other from Rome and were fervent advocates for reusing antique polychromy.13 In 1831, the rabasf granted Zabaleta a stipend for traveling to Italy. For the first time in his life, he was able to see with his own eyes the polychrome remnants of antique architecture in Sicily and even met Semper in Rome in 1834.14 Upon his return to Madrid in 1836, Zabaleta became a fellow of the rabasf, was appointed professor at the newly established Escuela de Arquitectura and its director from 1854 to 1856,15 where he would become one of the first to introduce the contemporary discourse on ancient polychromy to Spanish audiences.16 He furthermore connected his archaeological studies with his architectural designs. A good example is a study he made during the restoration of the Pantheon in Rome that he would later use as a template for designing a theater in Madrid. Zabaleta also used archeological investigations on the Temple of Concordia in Rome for designing a palace. Both projects would, however, remain unexecuted.17 In the late 1860s, the same approach would find a condensed form in the writings by his student Francisco Jareño Alarcón (1818–1892),18 who was also responsible for designing the new building on Madrid’s Paseo de Recoletos 20–22, which would later house the National Archaeological Museum and the National Library.19 As the director of the Escuela de Arquitectura, Zabaleta also showed great interest in documenting and promoting the Islamic legacy of Spain. He initiated and directed field trips to Toledo in 1849 and 1850 that counted twenty- three and thirty-four students, respectively, who together with their teacher created an abundance of plans, sections, and elevations of Toledo’s most
13 14 15 16 17 18 19
Calatrava 2011a, 25; Sazatornil 1992, 30. On Hittorff and Labrouste’s influence on architects and protagonists of the Moorish Revival such as Karl Ludwig Wilhelm von Zanth, Christian Friedrich von Leins or Émile Boeswilwald, see chapter 8 in this volume. Sazatornil 1992, 32. Semper’s travel companion to Greece, Jules Goury (1803–1834), investigated the Islamic polychromy of the Alhambra together with Owen Jones (1809–1874). Martínez de Carvajal 1986, 229–230; Calatrava 2011a, 23–24. After 1856, Zabaleta’s name only reappears in 1862, in the proposition for a book called El arte del renacimiento en España, Archive of the rabasf, 7-5/2. See also Sazatornil 1992, 150–151. Martínez de Carvajal 1986, 250. On polychromy, see Van Zanten 1977; Middleton 1982; Prater 2004; Del Castillo Herrera/Ocón Fernández 2009. Archive of the rabasf, 10–1/2 and 308–29/3. See also Sazatornil 1992, 72–76. Martínez de Carvajal 1986, 119–120. See also Arrechea Miguel 1989; Sazatornil 1992, 62–65; Del Castillo Herrera/Ocón Fernández 2009. See also (accessed 10/ 11/2018).
136 Schweizer important monuments.20 Continuing the approaches set by José Amador de los Ríos y Serrano’s Toledo pintoresco (1845) and Manuel de Assas y Erreño’s (1813–1880) Album artístico de Toledo (1848), these excursions would later reach national scope. The book series Monumentos Arquitectónicos de España –a collaboration between the Spanish government, the rabasf, and the Escuela de Arquitectura (Juan Bautista Peyronnet succeeding Zabaleta as director) –was issued between 1849 and 1882, and discontinued after José Gil de Dorregaray’s death, who had been its last editor-in-chief since 1875.21 Its objective was to document the architectonic legacy of the nation, to unify Spain’s Pagan, Christian, and Islamic monuments in one and the same publication –ideas all rooted in Zabaleta’s aforementioned educational method.22 It is interesting to note that most of the architects and draftsmen involved in this highly ambitious and influential project were alumni from Zabaleta’s time as the director of the Escuela de Arquitectura, including the aforementioned Jareño Alarcón or Jerónimo de la Gándara (1825–1877).23 As deeply interested as Zabaleta was in ongoing architectural debates, he returned to Paris for some time in 1846 in his function as the co-editor of the Boletín Español de la Arquitectura.24 Before turning to the Boletín in more detail, it seems advisable to first give some more information on its other co-editor, José Amador de los Ríos y Serrano. Although an authoritative account of his life is not available still,25 we know that he was born into the municipality of Baena in the Córdoba region in 1818, and that he later studied humanities and philosophy at the Colegio de la Asunción and the Seminario Conciliar de San Pelagio in Córdoba. After the family moved to Madrid in 1832, Amador de los Ríos continued his studies 20 21
22 23 24
25
Archive of the rabasf, 1-32-4. On the drawings of Islamic architecture in the Monumentos, see Ortega Vidal 2015. For general information on the Monumentos, see the description of this editorial project by the Real Academia Española, (accessed 1/8/2019) and the website of the rabasf on the exhibition of these prints in 2014/2015, (accessed 1/8/2019). See also Navascués Palacio 2015. Ortega Vidal 2015, 45, 52; Navascués Palacio 2015, 71. See Navascués Palacio 2015, esp. 70–74. His primary objective was to inform his home country about Désiré Raoul-Rochette’s report on building churches in the Neo-Gothic style and the vigorous discussion it caused at the Académie Royale des Beaux-Arts in Paris. Martínez de Carvajal 1986, 239–240. See also Raoul-Rochette 1846; Viollet-le-Duc 1846. The name and date of birth in the documents are not consistent. The following biographical note is based on Serrano Reyes 2014 and the critical evaluation of various sources.
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at the Colegio Imperial de San Isidro and studied painting at the rabasf, where he met the influential Spanish painter Federico de Madrazo y Kuntz (1815–1894). He also learned French and Italian at the Ateneo Madrileño, with Federico’s father José de Madrazo y Agudo (1781–1859) as his teacher. In 1837, the family moved again, this time to Sevilla, where Amador de los Ríos researched the collections of the Biblioteca Colombina. His interest in literature, his many subsequent publications on Spain’s literary traditions, and his own poetry yielded fruitful results during the following decade: In 1848, he was appointed professor for literature at the Universidad Central de Madrid and member of the rah (Medalla 16, 1848–1878). Even more noteworthy is Amador de los Ríos’s 1859 inaugural lecture entitled “El estilo mudéjar en arquitectura,” which he delivered at the rabasf in 1859 and in which he revisited the art-historical concept of Mudéjar style he had established in Toledo pintoresco.26 Decades before estilo mudéjar would become the genuine style for representing Spain’s national identity,27 Amador de los Ríos already employed it in a way similar to how French theorists had been using 13th- century Gothic for the representation of their own nation.28 Collaborating with German epigraphist Emil Hübner (1834–1901) and the Spanish orientalist and art historian Manuel de Assas y Ereño (1813–1880), Amador de los Ríos would become the founder of the important Mudéjar section at the Museo Arqueólogico Nacional, by providing its first specimens, and its director the following year. For both Zabaleta and Amador de los Ríos, the Boletín Español de Arquitectura was an important instrument for influencing the public debate on architecture and architectural theory, especially with respect to Spain’s architectural heritage.29 The journal appeared on a biweekly basis as of June 1, 1846, with Ignacio Boix in Madrid being its publisher. Given the scarcity of architectonic journals in Spain at that time, the Boletín would soon turn out to be the semi- official voice of the rabasf, the Escuela de Arquitectura, and the Comisión Central de Monumentos, institutions of which Zabaleta and Amador de los Ríos were either fellows, directors, or members.30 Accordingly, the first number featured an address by the Ministry of Culture,31 whereas the new guidelines of the School of Fine Arts of the Academy of San Fernando (Escuela de 26 27 28 29 30 31
Amador de los Ríos 1872. See also chapter 4 in this volume. Urquízar Herrera 2009–2010, 209. Martínez de Carvajal 1986, 92. Martínez de Carvajal 1986, 81–82, 89. Martínez de Carvajal 1986, 224. Martínez de Carvajal 1986, 229–231, 234, 252. Amador de los Ríos/Zabaleta 1846, 2–4.
138 Schweizer Nobles Artes de la Academia de San Fernando) were published in issues two through six,32 underscoring how intimately related theoretical publications and politics had been. The Boletín itself was little more than an unillustrated eight-page brochure with a two-column layout, originally intended to supplement a lithographed leaflet issued quarterly. To obtain the required lithographs in a high quality not available in Madrid had actually been the objective of Zabaleta’s trip to Paris.33 Yet however poor the Boletín might appear as a print product, its mission was all the nobler. According to the first issue, its objective was to […] bring about the reconciliation of the many that dedicate themselves to the cultivation of the architecture in our peninsula; to enlighten them all by means of the advancements owed to distinguished foreign artists and writers; to rectify cliquey or licentious opinions; and, finally, to effect the formation of a system that embraces and comprises all artistic dogmas, thereby enclosing the truth of all systems and at the same time disposing of their flaws […].34 It is important to recall that these lines were written at a time when architecture and architecture theory were in a transitional state, not to say crisis35 – a fact even more complicated due to Spain’s Islamic legacy that had, until then, been valorized only little. The Boletín strongly supported its revalorization by publishing authors such as Manuel de Assas y Erreño (1813–1880) and Aníbal Álvarez Bouquel (1806–1870), who were in line with theories purported by French philosopher Victor Cousin (1792–1867)36 and promoted by Tomás
32 33 34
35 36
Amador de los Ríos/Zabaleta 1846, 9–10, 17–18, 25–26, 33–34, 41–42. Eventually, only one such lithography, featuring the Cathedral of Burgos, was distributed. Martínez de Carvajal 1986, 225. “[…] procurar la reconciliación de cuantos al cultivo de la arquitectura se consagrar en nuestra península; la ilustración de todos, por medio de los adelantamientos debidos a los insignes artístas y escritores extranjeros; la rectificación de las opiniones exclusivistas o licenciosas; y finalmente la formación de un sistema que abrace y comprenda todos los dogmas artísticos, encerrando así la verdad de todos los sistemas y al mismo tiempo desechando sus errores […],” Amador de los Ríos/Zabaleta 1846, 1–2, translation by the author. Martínez de Carvajal 1986, 227. Victor Cousin introduced his philosophy in the 1818 lecture series called “Du Vrai, du Beau, du Bien,” later published in 1836. It follows an eclectic approach to the history of philosophy by taking into account various schools of the 18th century. See Cousin 1858; Fauquet 1997; Espagne 2004.
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García Luna’s (1800–1880) public lectures on eclecticism given at Madrid’s Ateneo between 1843 and 1845.37 The manner by which the 1846 Boletín portrayed medieval and Islamic architecture is quite instructive, especially since this happened shortly after Amador de los Ríos had published Sevilla pintoresca and Toledo pintoresco.38 In a discussion of José Gimenez Serrano’s Manual del artista y del viajero en Granada, placed under the section Bibliografia of the third issue, one for instance finds a description of the Alhambra as “unequaled in fame and importance,” as an “enchanted palace, attracting knowledgeable travelers from far-away nations.”39 It is quite interesting that this quote, taken from Gimenez Serrano’s book, had not been corrected by the editors, even though their outspoken approach to Islamic architecture was much more rational and aspired to focus on historical matters alone. For example, under the section Parte Polémica of issues four through six, Amador de los Ríos published an article entitled “Arquitectura árabe,”40 wherein he studied examples of Islamic architecture that had so far received only little attention by his Spanish colleagues, even though foreign authors –Amador de los Ríos explicitly mentions Joseph-Philibert Girault de Prangey (1804–1892), Alexandre de Laborde (1773–1842), William H. Prescott (1796–1859), François-René de Chateaubriand (1828–1829), and James Cavanah Murphy (1760–1814) –had already published on them extensively.41 For Amador de los Ríos, it was a national duty to show more care for this legacy, since in his opinion the value of Ibero-Islamic architecture was equal to that of any other medieval building in Spain and thus should not be neglected by Spanish scholars:42 “All periods ought to be studied with the same profoundness and diligence.”43 He lamented the existence of a “systematic aversion” that prevented Spanish scholars from properly studying the country’s Islamic legacy and from incorporating it into architectural practice. He therefore demanded change, for “[…] it still seems only natural that our architects would turn their 37 38 39
40 41 42 43
Martínez de Carvajal 1986, 229, 244; see also Peset/Peset 1974, esp. 636–642. Amador de los Ríos 1844; Amador de los Ríos 1845. “Entre los monumentos que guarda Granada en su seno ninguno iguala en fama e importancia a la Alhambra; ninguno como este encantado palacio atrae de los remotas naciones de los viajeros entendidos […],” Amador de los Ríos/Zabaleta 1846, 22, English translation by the author. Amador de los Ríos/Zabaleta 1846, 26–27, 34–35, 42–44. Girault de Prangey 1837–1839; Girault de Prangey 1841; Laborde 1806–1820; Laborde 1809; Prescott 1838; Chateaubriand 1826; Murphy 1815. See also Calatrava 2011a, esp. 32–34. Amador de los Ríos/Zabaleta 1846, 26. “Todas las épocas deben estudiarse con la misma profundidad y esmero,” Amador de los Ríos/Zabaleta 1846, 18, translation by the author.
140 Schweizer gaze toward this precious genre of architecture that had been condemned without [even] knowing it.”44 In his text, Amador de los Ríos therefore corrected the theories proposed by the aforementioned non-Spanish authors and reclaimed the discourse on Spain’s Islamic legacy for Spanish academics, hoping that he could this way encourage his colleagues to invest more efforts into research related to the topic. After this mission statement and a more general introduction, an account of Islamic history ensued, explaining how the artistic traditions of the territories under Islamic rule had informed Islamic art before their conquest by the Christian kingdoms.45 In the second part of his article, Amador de los Ríos addressed Islamic buildings in Spain, including the Mosque-Cathedral of Córdoba or the residence city of Madīnat az-Zahrā, once more highlighting that Umayyad art and architecture in the peninsula had greatly relied on non-Muslim know-how that later evolved from a stage of “imitation” to one of “transition.”46 In the third part of his article, he then turns to what “some writers call the Golden Age of Arabic architecture,” and refers to the Alhambra and the Generalife as prime examples of this period of “originality.”47 He then concludes his history of Ibero-Islamic styles with the changes added by Mozarabic and Morisco architects. Recapitulating the historic developments in Islamic architecture, in the final paragraph he proposes a four-part model (“imitation,” “transition,” “propriety,” and “decadence”) and uses these very terms for qualifying four styles he labels as “Arab-Byzantine,” “Arab-Mauritanian,” “Arab- Andalusian,” and “Mozarabic or Morisco.”48 44 45 46 47
48
“[…] natural parece sin embargo que nuestros arquitectos vuelvan la vista sobre ese precioso género de arquitectura que se ha anatemizado sin conocerlo […],” Amador de los Ríos/Zabaleta 1846, 26, translation by the author. Amador de los Ríos/Zabaleta 1846, 27. As for the impact of the interreligious, often conflictual, coexistence of Christians, Jews, and Muslims on the architecture of medieval Iberia, see, for example, chapters 2, 3, 5 and 6. Amador de los Ríos/Zabaleta 1846, 35. “[…] esta época, pues, a la cual han llamado algunos escritores el siglo de oro de la arquitectura árabe […] presentándose verdaderamente original, segun demuestran los suntuosos restos de la Alhambra y del Generalife […],” Amador de los Ríos/Zabaleta 1846, 43, translation by the author. “[…] la arquitectura arábiga tuvo cuatro períodos distintos, en los cuales apareció con diversos caracteres. Estos períodos que hemos señalado como de imitacion, transicion, propriedad y decadencia ó imitacion cristiana, pueden distinguirse en nuestro concepto con los siguientes nombres: 1° arquitectura áraba-bizantina; 2° arquitectura árabe- mauritana; 3° arquitectura árabe-andaluza y 4° arquitectura mozarabe ó morisca,” Amador de los Ríos/Zabaleta 1846, 44, translation by the author.
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In spite of the apparent formal brevity and inconsistency of his terminology, Amador de los Ríos’s approach should in no way be undervalued. He proceeds as follows: he first contextualizes Islamic building styles within the framework of Spanish architecture, then adds a model originally introduced for classifying Greco-Roman, Renaissance, as well as Baroque art and architecture, yielding a representation of Islamic architecture as an equivalent to Western European art and architecture. Another goal of his terminology was to appeal for more engagement in the protection of Ibero-Islamic monuments, at a time when they faced an “imminent risk of vanishing.” Studying Spain’s historic monuments therefore was “not merely a scholarly endeavor, but a way to interfere with the battle between the spirit and the gross materialism of modernity.”49 Zabaleta’s and Amador de los Ríos’s Boletín would become one of the most influential architecture journals in Spain and pave the way for scholarly debates on Islamic architecture, while at the same time avoiding the prejudice and chauvinist narratives of earlier generations. The articles on topics related to architecture theory, art history, or archaeology published in the Boletín Español de Arquitectura, be it either individually or in collaboration, set the thematic foci and the tone of debate for decades to come. 2
Forging a Bridge between Madrid and the English-Speaking World: Pascual de Gayangos y Arce
Pascual de Gayangos y Arce followed an agenda similar to that of the Boletín. He was born to a military family in Sevilla, where his father had been posted to.50 Gayangos, however, never considered himself a true Sevillian.51 The family moved to Madrid in 1820, and, two years later, Gayangos was sent to a college in Pont-Le-Voy, which was close to his mother’s hometown Blois.52 One year later, Gayangos moved back in with his mother, who now lived in Paris, and started studying Arabic at Silvestre de Sacy’s (1758–1838) Ecole spéciale des langues orientales vivantes in 1825.53 Two years into his studies, Gayangos met
49 50 51 52 53
“Trazar la historia de la arquitectura española no es, para nuestro autor, un mero afán erudito, sino un modo de intervenir en la gran lucha entre el espíritu y el grosero materialismo moderno,” Calatrava 2011a, 33. A tentative biography was published by one of Gayangos’s disciples. See Roca 1897/1898/ 1899; Álvarez Millán 2008, 3. Álvarez Millán 2008, 3. See also Vallvé 1997. Álvarez Millán 2008, 4; Vallvé 1997, 464. See Petit-Dutaillis 1938; Dussaud 1938.
142 Schweizer Frances, the daughter of John Revell, a famous British liberal politician, and married her in London in May 1828. Throughout the following years, Gayangos established himself in Madrid,54 where he forged links to important Spanish intellectuals, including Serafín Estébanez Calderón (1799–1867), Basilio Castellanos de Losada (1807–1891), and to foreign diplomats, such as William Mark (1782–1849), the British consul in Málaga.55 Disappointed with the politics of a Spain plunging into civil war, in 1837 Gayangos settled over to London,56 where he got in touch with the Holland House Circle.57 At said Holland House, he befriended English travel writer Richard Ford (1796–1858), renowned for his books on Spain,58 the Whig politicians Francis Palgrave (1788–1861) and Henry Hallam (1777–1859), the American Hispanist George Ticknor (1791–1871),59 and the American historian William H. Prescott (1796–1859),60 whom he met through Ticknor, as well as the Belgian minister Sylvain van de Weyer (1802–1874),61 Henry Bulwer (1801– 1872),62 Prime Minister Lord Melbourne (1779–1848), and Home Secretary Lord Russell (1792–1878).63 Gayangos’s entry into this illustrious circle was aided by Lord Holland’s earlier hospitality to Spanish refugees after the Trienio Liberal and his enthusiasm for Spanish literature.64 The climate of liberal London spurred Gayangos’s productivity, and he quickly gained scholarly and social prestige, with the result of becoming the first Spanish member of the Royal Asiatic Society, one of many memberships
54
55 56 57
58 59 60 61 62 63 64
Among other things, he was Professor for Arabic at the Ateneo de Madrid (1836–1837), cataloguer for the inventory of the manuscripts at the British National Library (1834), and researcher at the library of the Escorial (1834 and again in 1837). Álvarez Millán 2008, 4–6; Roca 1897/1898/1899; Vilar García 2004, 231–249, esp. 236, 242. See also Gómez-Pantoja 2004, esp. 244–247. See Hitchcock 2008; Escribano Martín 2011. Holland House was a political, literary, and social center in Kensington. The host was Henry Richard Vassall-Fox, 3rd Lord Holland (1773–1840), a collector of Spanish books and manuscripts, and author of a work on Lope de Vega, published in 1806. Álvarez Ramos/ Heide 2008, esp. 35–38. See also Chisholm 1911b; Mitchell 1980; Moreno Alonso 1997. Ford 1845; Ford 1846. See also Heide 2008; Glick 2008. See also Gardiner 2008; Heide 2008; Glick 2008. Van de Weyer’s father-in-law was the American banker Joshua Bates, who enabled Ticknor to found the Boston Public Library in the early 1850s. Chisholm 1911a. Bulwer later became an official of the U.S. and responsible for intensifying the contact between Gayangos and Ticknor. He was appointed ambassador in Madrid after Gayangos returned to Spain. Álvarez Ramos/Heide 2008, 39. Álvarez Ramos/Heide 2008, 39. Álvarez Ramos/Heide 2008, 38–39.
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of esteemed scientific societies he entertained worldwide.65 Apart from many publications for British journals, Gayangos’s key work is The History of the Mohammedan Dynasties in Spain. Commissioned by the Royal Asiatic Society, he started working on this project in 1834 and eventually published it as two volumes in London in 1840 and 1843.66 Also in 1840, he contributed to Prescott’s publications on Spanish history by publishing an essay on Granada’s history and the Arabic inscriptions of the Alhambra, as depicted in Jules Goury and Owen Jones’s groundbreaking publication Plans, Elevations, Sections, and Details of the Alhambra (1836–1845).67 The publishing projects of this period in his life, especially the many articles for The Penny Cyclopaedia, mainly focused on transforming the Romantic attitude towards Spain into a more rational approach, which is why he put a lot of emphasis on the significance of Spain’s Islamic legacy, its investigation, and revalorization.68 Accordingly, Álvarez Millán writes that “[…] Gayangos’ concerns […] remained constant throughout his life, such as the improvement of Spanish libraries and archives […], the development of Islamic studies in Spain, the preservation of national heritage, and the modernization of his country.”.69 In his preface to The History of the Mohammedan Dynasties in Spain, Gayangos links the project of modernizing Spain’s culture and science to its Islamic legacy: “The followers of Mohammed […] are certainly entitled to a prominent place in the annals of modern Europe,” since “in Spain once shone the first rays of that civilization which subsequently illumined the whole of the Christian world […]. It is to Arab sagacity and industry that we owe the discovery or dissemination of many of the most useful and important modern inventions.”70 Rejecting tendencies of earlier historiography (“[…] they compiled their histories chiefly from one-sided national authorities”) and assuming that “The history of Spain during the Middle Ages has been –and still is, notwithstanding the efforts of modern critics –a hotchpotch of legends and contradictions,”71 65 66
67 68 69 70 71
Apart from Spanish and British societies, his network extended to others in Boston, Paris, Vienna, Lisbon, Paris, Stockholm, and Santiago de Chile. Álvarez Millán 2008, 9, n. 37. The History is an abridged and reedited translation of the first part of al-Maqqarī’s (1577– 1623) 17th-century biography of Ibn al-Khaṭīb (1313–1347). Ginger 2008, 55–58. Gayangos’s edition was criticized by Dutch Arabist Reinhart Dozy (1820–1883), with whom Gayangos exchanged manuscripts. Marín 2008, 71–74, 78–79; Monroe 1970, esp. 58–60. Kamen 2007, 80. Álvarez Millán/Claudia Heide 2008, viii. See especially Hitchcock 2008. Álvarez Millán 2008, 5. Gayangos 1840/1843, vii, translation by the author. Gayangos 1840/1843, viii, translation by the author.
144 Schweizer Gayangos demonstrated his ambitions to establish a rational European approach for Islamic studies in Spain.72 For this end, with his book he claims to have written “the only text that offers a continuous history of the conquests and settlements of the Mohammedans in Spain”,73 thus devoting it to the objective of providing a general overview and laying the foundation for future, much more elaborated studies on the topic.74 As pointed out earlier, it is important to recall that this was a time of great uncertainty in respect to “the borders of the Spanish imagined community, as regards both its historical roots and its actual frontiers at any given time.”75 This context allows for a better estimation of the historic value of Gayangos’s preface. Again, his aim was to overcome Romantic stereotypes of Spain, especially in terms of its “enchanted” Islamic architecture. Instead, he intended to draw the public’s attention to the reality of country’s monumental remains and demonstrate how they were crucial for the identity-making of Spain as a modern nation and why it therefore was necessary to protect them, especially since throughout Spain’s history, many archives and libraries had become destroyed, dispersed, or sold to foreign collectors,76 with the result that many other sources testifying the Islamic presence on the Iberian Peninsula had been lost. In many ways, the original manuscript of The History became a kind of archive itself, as it preserved source materials that would have otherwise been lost for future generations. At the same time when Zabaleta and Amador de los Ríos were changing the discourse of art history, Gayangos raised Arabic studies in Spain to new heights. Tirelessly searching original manuscripts at libraries and private collections at home and abroad, he paved the way for collaborations between scholars in Spain, Europe and the Americas. His prolific output of publications during his voluntary exile in London promoted more scholarly research on Spain’s Islamic legacy, especially across the English-speaking world. Gayangos furthermore shared a close relationship with his son-in-law, Juan Facundo Riaño y Montero, related to both his personal and professional affairs. In 1869, they traveled to Egypt for the opening of the Suez Canal, joined 72 73 74 75 76
Álvarez Millán 2008, 8. Gayangos 1840/1843, xiii. Álvarez Millán 2008, 8; Manzanares de Cirre 1972, 89; Monroe 1970, 73. Álvarez Millán/Heide 2008, viii. See Glendinning 1959–1963; Monroe 1970. Gayangos secured manuscripts from the library of José Antonio Conde y García (1766–1820), which dispersed in 1824. Álvarez Millán 2008, 12–13, fn. 48. Libraries of the church and aristocracy were disentailed in 1835, with many books crossing the Atlantic and reaching members of Ticknor’s circle and the public libraries established by them, s. Glick 2008, 159–161.
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by Adolfo Rivadeneyra (1841–1882) and Eduardo Saavedra (1829–1912). Gayangos furthermore bestowed his house at Calle Barquillo 4 in Madrid upon his daughter Emilia and her husband,77 an address that would soon after become an important private museum and salon for intellectuals and diplomats,78 and remain a place of scholarly exchange for the next generation. 3
A Monumental Career –Juan Facundo Riaño y Montero
Having studied philosophy, literature, and law at the University of Granada, his hometown, Juan Facundo Riaño played a very active role in its cultural life and became a member of the so-called Cuerda Granadina.79 This circle emerged around 1849 and included notable intellectuals, writers, musicians, and poets.80 As was the habit of this group, they nicknamed Riaño “London,” due to his study trips to Great Britain, Germany, and Italy in 1851.81 Riaño later received a doctor’s degree in law at the Universidad Central de Madrid, where he also studied Arabic.82 However, he still maintained strong ties to his hometown. Many members of the Cuerda Granadina had moved to Madrid and continued meeting there under the name of Colonia Granadina.83 Later, Riaño entertained a base in each city: In 1861, he became professor of art history at the Escuela Superior de Pintura in Madrid and professor of Arabic at the University of Granada.84 He furthermore became an appointed member of the rabasf in 1880, the rah in 1894, an elected senator for the Province of Granada,85 and the Minister of Education (Director General de Instrucción Pública).86 77 78 79 80
81 82 83 84 85 86
Trusted 2006, 226. López-Ocón Cabrera 2012, 65. On the importance of private museums for the diffusion of the Moorish Revival in Europe, see chapter 17 in this volume. López-Ocón Cabrera 2012, 49–74. As of 1850, the Cuerda Granadina gathered in the house of Mariano Vázquez Gómez (1831–1894), alternating with Pablo Norbeck’s residence at the inn San Francisco at the Alhambra, and, later, the house of Venetian singer Jorge (or Giorgio) Ronconi at the Carmen de Buenavista. Lara Ramos 1991, 32–33. See also Palacio 1902; Gay Armenteros/ Viñes Millet 1982:4, 65; Jiménez-Landi Martínez 1996:2, 663–665. López-Ocón Cabrera 2012, 60. López-Ocón Cabrera 2012, 60. Lara Ramos 1991, 31. Trusted 2008, 207; Trusted 2006, 225. For the first of many times in 1886, see (accessed 8/30/2018). Trusted 2008, 206.
146 Schweizer Between 1864 and 1888, Riaño also taught art history at the Escuela Superior de Diplomática,87 with many of his students later being instrumental for archaeology and art history in Spain, including people such as José Mélida y Alinari (1865–1913).88 In April 1867, the faculty of the Escuela Superior de Diplomática was incorporated into the cfaba,89 and Riaño, together with Pedro Felipe Monlau (1808–1871) and Juan de Dios de la Rada (1827–1901), were delegated to its museum.90 Riaño’s career, however, was not limited to the Iberian Peninsula alone. His marriage with Emilia, Gayangos’s daughter, in 1863,91 allowed him to tap into his father-in-law’s international network, who would later also promote the diplomatic career of Juan and Emilia’s son, Juan ‘Juanito’ Riaño y Gayangos (1865– 1939).92 From 1870 to 1877, Riaño was adviser to the South Kensington Museum for Spanish antiques,93 succeeding John Charles Robinson (1824–1913). Henry Cole (1808–1882), the director of the South Kensington Museum, had offered him this position after they had been introduced to each other by British ambassador Austen Layard (1817–1894).94 Riaño kept the same position even under Cole’s successor, Francis Cunliffe-Owen (1828–1894), the museum’s director from 1874 to 1893.95 It was an essential part of Riaño’s job to recommend additions for the general collection or the acquisition of photographs for the innovative collection of documentary photography. For that purpose, Riaño would often contact French photographer Jean Laurent (1816–1892), who was based in Madrid and Paris.96 Moreover, Riaño would commission plaster casts for the museum’s 87 88 89 90 91 92
93 94 95 96
López-Ocón Cabrera 2012, 60–61; Trusted 2006, 225; Peiró Martín/Pasamar Alzuria 1996, 141–142. Álvarez-Ossorio 1934, 2; Peiró Martín/Pasamar Alzuria 1996, 145; López-Ocón Cabrera 2012, 64. López-Ocón Cabrera 2012, 61. López-Ocón Cabrera 2012, 61. Emilia Gayangos’s fluency in foreign languages, her translations of scholarly and literary works from German and French, and her importance as a salonière are much overlooked. See Quisano 1985; Simón Palmer 1991. ‘Juanito’ became secretary of the Spanish Embassy in London, an important diplomat for negotiating the American-Hispanic peace treaty of 1898, a diplomatic secretary in Washington –where he married Alice Ward in 1904 –, culminating in his posting as Spanish ambassador in Denmark and as the first Spanish ambassador in the Americas in 1914. Sánchez Sanz 2005, esp. 247, 260, fn. 16. See also Álvarez Ramos 2008, 185–205. Trusted 2006, 225. Trusted 2008, 205; Trusted 2006, 226. Even though Riaño’s monthly reports stopped with the one from July 31, 1877, some important Spanish artefacts were still bought afterwards by his wife Emilia. Trusted 2006, 225–226. Trusted 2006, 229. See also Piñar Samos/Sánchez Gómez 2007.
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growing Architectural Courts, today known as the Cast Courts (begun in 1868 and opened in 1872).97 In 1871, Riaño purchased an extraordinary cast of one of the archways of Santa María la Blanca in Toledo by José de Trilles y Badenes (1827–1894).98 Although the sea transport of such fragile goods from Spain to Britain was no simple endeavor –in fact, some medallions broke during transport99 –the plaster cast collection nonetheless thrived. During his stay in Granada in 1873, Riaño also recommended the museum to acquire casts of the Alhambra by Rafael Contreras Muñoz (1824–1890),100 but the museum refused. Notwithstanding, it later acquired some casts by Owen Jones through his student, the sculptor Henry Alonzo Smith,101 and through an exchange with the rah.102 Inspired by the pioneer work of the South Kensington Museum, Riaño co- founded Madrid’s Museo de Reproducciones Artísticas in 1877 and would remain its assistant director until his death.103 As the director of the rabasf, Riaño, together with Eduardo Saavedra (1829–1912), director of the Comisiones Provinciales de Monumentos, continued a book project originally launched in 1844 by the Asturian politician Pedro José Pidal (1799–1863) that was as monumental as its name –the Catálogo Monumental y Artístico de la Nación, a complete catalog of all of Spain’s monuments and artistic heritage. A royal decree, signed on June 1, 1900, ordered its compilation, which from now on was called the Catálogo Monumental de España.104 Manuel Gómez-Moreno Martínez (1870–1970) eventually published the first volume on the Province of Ávila.105 The agenda of this publication project was quite similar to that of the other e xamples –to revalorize Spain’s cultural heritage, including its Islamic 97
98 99 100 101
1 02 103 104 105
Layard and Cole communicated about exchanging plaster casts between institutions in Spain and England. The Spanish were interested in casts of the Parthenon marbles at the British Museum; see the letter from Henry Cole to Layard 17 January 1870, Add. ms 38997, British Library, London. However, we do not know what the Spanish offered in return. Trusted 2006, 228; See also (accessed 1/17/2018). Register of casts, inv.no. 1871-61; Trusted 2006, fn. 25. The museum bought twenty-six reduced models in 1865 from the Contreras workshop. Trusted 2006, fn. 30; Raquejo Grado 1988, 225–228. See also chapter 12 in this volume. Trusted 2006, 229; Piggott 2004, 91. His exact life dates are not secured, but he does appear in the Post Office London Directories of 1843 (modeler, at 42 Upper Norton Street, Fitzroy Square) and 1860 (at 3 Camden Cottages, Camden Town). See (accessed 8/23/2018). Raquejo Grado 1988, fn. 30, 229–234. Trusted 2006, 226. López-Ocón Cabrera 2012, 54. López-Ocón Cabrera 2012, 55. See also Rodríguez Mediano 2013; López-Yarto Elizalde 2012.
148 Schweizer legacy, and to call for its protection so that it would be preserved for future generations.106 A closer look into Riaño’s inaugural lecture, given at the rabasf in 1880, allows for more insight as to this revalorization. Therein he calls for a severe criticism of Romanticist writers, asking them to undo their “incomplete judgements” of the Islamic architecture in Spain and for an immediate correction thereof in future studies.107 Highlighting the rationality underlying Islamic architecture,108 he requests scholars to follow a similarly rational approach when dealing with it. In the introduction to his Palacio árabe de la Alhambra (1882), Riaño reinforces his demands and –after briefly recapitulating the history of Ibero–Islamic architecture along the four-part model established by Amador de los Ríos –109 expounds his method, presenting it as a paradigm for future inquiries into the matter: To achieve possible perfection in the study of this most important monument [the Alhambra], to appreciate its history and its artistic value in relation to the general culture of the time in which it was constructed, it is necessary to start by exposing systematically the writings that deserve consultation […]. Once this foundation is laid, one has to determine the state of the Moors in Granada during the period of its artistic bloom, to describe the palace rationally by pointing out its history, to study the origin and development of Muslim architecture by analyzing and comparing the elements that appear in the Alhambra, and list how many antecessor and successors might share and connect those main aspects.110 1 06 López-Ocón Cabrera 2012, 55. 107 “[…] que así responden a refinamientos extraordinarios como a degradaciones groseras, sin obedecer a más criterio, en ocasiones, que a exageradas simpatías. […] ha sido natural que a ellos transciendan los errores de juicios incompletos y de impresiones malamente sentidas que alteran la verdad, y que necesitan, lo mismo en el extranjero que en España, de eficaz e inmediato corrective,” Riaño 1880, 102, translated by the author. For his lecture at the rabasf, see also Martínez de Carvajal 1986, 98–101. 108 Martínez de Carvajal 1986, 99–100. 109 Riaño 1882, 1–2. 110 “Para conseguir la perfección posible en el estudio de este importantísimo monumento, apreciando su historia y su valor artístico, en relación con la general cultura del tiempo en que se construye, es necesario comenzar exponiendo ordenadamente los escritos que merezcan consultarse con éxito […]. Una vez asentada esta base, habrá que determinar el estado de los moros de Granada en el período de su florecimiento artístico: describir razonadamente el palacio, apuntando su historia: estudiar el origen y desarrollo de la arquitectura musulmana, analizando en particular y comparando los elementos que aparecen en la Alhambra, y consignar cuantos antecedentes y consiguientes pertenezcan ó se enlacen con estos capitales asuntos,” Riaño 1882, 2, translated by the author.
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After this, Riaño turns to a more detailed analysis of the Alhambra, discussing its name, location, history, and architectural features, thereby re-evaluating theories and findings by previous scholars, including those of Amador de los Ríos and Gayangos. Yet even though Riaño’s Palacio árabe de la Alhambra did appear in the Monumentos in both English and Spanish language, he is not mentioned as one of its contributors. Belonging to a generation of academics that followed in the footsteps of the three other authors discussed further above, Riaño continued the work of his predecessors. Similar to Gayangos, his father-in-law, he used his position at the South Kensington Museum to popularize a brand of Spanish art historiography that was still new, thereby leaving his mark on how Spanish culture would be perceived at home and abroad. Not only did he re-evaluate the theories of previous scholars in his contribution for the Monumentos arquitectónicos de España; he also made use of his political leverage to bring about the Catálogo Monumental de España as a monumental project for cataloging and protecting Spain’s historic monuments, including those of Ibero-Islamic provenance. 4
Making an Exemplary Case for the Re-Valorization of Spain’s Islamic Legacy
As theorists and prolific writers in the areas of art history, archaeology, Arabic studies and history, Antonio Zabaleta, José Amador de los Ríos y Serrano, Pascual de Gayangos y Arce, and Juan Facundo Riaño y Montero had an enormous impact on the cultural debates and politics of their time. With their publications and collaborations with their peers, most of which were affiliated with some of the most prestigious institutions, they promoted the modernization of Islamic art history in Spain. Rendering Pagan, Islamic, and Christian monuments as equally important, they furthermore laid the foundations for a more generalized approach toward legal monument protection. Their expertise as art historians and archeologists helped disentangle Spain’s complicated relationship with its Islamic past –which has remained an ongoing academic debate ever since. In addition, their political acumen allowed them to reach the highest ranks of society and to shape the institutions where art history was taught and practiced, enabling them to change art historiography itself and to influence future generations of theorists and practitioners. Together they created and established ideas of national identity that no longer left out Spain’s Islamic heritage but incorporated it, and furthermore sought ways for promoting and popularizing this identity, for instance,
150 Schweizer by representing the country at the 1878 Paris Universal Exhibition through a neo-Moorish pavilion.111 Once again faced with tendencies of growing chauvinism, we should therefore feel somewhat indebted to the pioneering work of these Spanish intellectuals and their international collaborations for promoting and protecting their national heritage and might even draw some inspiration from it. 111 The 1878 pavilion was designed by Agustín Ortiz de Villajos (1829–1902), a former student and assistant of Jareño’s. See Sánchez Gómez 2011. On Spanish self-fashioning in this context, see especially Martínez de Carvajal 1986.
c hapter 8
Mentors, Patrons and Social Networks The Trajectories of Architects in a Globalized Century Francine Giese As one of the main pillars of the snsf research project Mudejarismo and Moorish Revival in Europe, this chapter studies the relevance of social networks for the career of young architects, the assignment of commissions and eventually the diffusion of the Moorish Revival across Europe. During the 19th century, the formation of architects was reformed: internships at important workshops were added to the academic education at Fine Arts and Architectural Schools. As apprentices, the relationship between master and disciple allowed students to learn the practical and organizational matters related to architecture, while additional study tours allowed them to gain historical knowledge by examining architecture on site. In his 1833 Lehrbuch der höheren Baukunst für Deutsche, the influential architect and professor at Stuttgart’s Gewerbeschule, Karl Marcell Heigelin (1798–1833), describes in detail how contemporary architects should be educated.1 Starting with preparatory mathematical courses, natural sciences and drawing at public schools, students would become well-acquainted with the theoretical as well as the practical aspects of drawing geometrical figures, sections, perspective views, light and shadow, and, at a later stage, plants, animals and the human body. Their training would then continue at the workshops of architects and higher educational institutions that offered courses in art and architectural history, art theory or aesthetics. Heigelin asserted that students of architecture would benefit from this dual system of practical and theoretical learning: after demonstrating the quality of their skill sets at design competitions (Preis-Konkurs), they would be asked to enhance their knowledge during extended study trips across Europe and, in some cases, even North Africa and the Middle East. In the eyes of Heigelin, it were these at times adventurous journeys, which allowed promising young architects to study architecture in situ instead of having to rely on visual sources, that would distinguish them from their more average colleagues and their “dilettante work,” their “Dilettanten-Arbeit.”2 1 Heigelin 1833, 51–60. 2 Heigelin 1833, 51.
© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2021 | DOI:10.1163/9789004448582_010
152 Giese 1
Young Architects and Influential Mentors in the Cultural Metropolis of Paris
One of these promising young architects was Christian Friedrich von Leins (1814–1892), who from 1829 to 1833 studied with Heigelin at the aforementioned Gewerbeschule in Stuttgart.3 Apart from that, Leins received his training at Heigelin’s workshop. Besides, the young architect also worked at Ludwig Wilhelm von Zanth’s (1796–1857) atelier and got involved with the project for the Wilhelma-Theater in Stuttgart-Bad Cannstatt, for which Zanth, the most influential representative of the Moorish Revival in Wurttemberg, had chosen a neo-Pompeian style and which would be built between 1837 and 1840 by order of King Wilhelm i of Wurttemberg (r. 1816–1864).4 As discussed in another contribution,5 Leins’s collaboration with Zanth would be the beginning of a life-long friendship. Moreover, as his teacher and mentor, Zanth would have a great impact on Leins’s further practice and success as an architect. Taking advantage of his close ties with the German architect Jacob Ignaz Hittorff (1792– 1867), who at the time lived in Paris and was well-acquainted with members of the city’s cultural and political elite, Zanth introduced his protégé to these exclusive circles by recommending him to Hitorff in 1837.6 Hittorf made Leins known to Paris’s architectural scene, and may also have provided him with internships at the workshops of engineers Christophe-Eugène Flachat (1802– 1873) and Jules Alexandre Pétiet (1813–1871), as well as the renowned architect Henri Labrouste (1811–1878).7 Labrouste, who had opened his workshop at rue des Beaux-Arts on August 1st, 1830,8 was well-known throughout Europe for offering practical training to young architects. Providing an alternative to the educational program of the École des Beaux-Arts, Labrouste took the teaching at his workshop, which remained open until May 1857, very serious and invested a lot of time into the education of his students.9 Labrouste’s correspondence, parts of which were posthumously published by his children in 1928, confirms the affection his former students had for their master and how deeply attached they felt to him. While most of Labrouste’s students were French, 3 On Leins’s biography, see Seng 1995, 1–112; Schmidt 2006, 22–26. As for Heigelin’s influence on Leins’s career, see esp. Seng 1995, 9–15, 20–44. 4 Schulz 1976, 41–48; Scholze 1996, 14–16; Grimm 2016, 62–66. 5 Giese 2018a. 6 Undated letter from Zanth to Hittorff, Stadtarchiv Stuttgart, Autographen 263, 3671, 4. 7 On Leins’s training in Stuttgart and Paris and his later career, see Seng 1995, 1–111; Breig 2004, 530–531; Fuchs 2004, 134–137; Schmidt 2006, 22–24. 8 Souvenirs 1928, 25. 9 Souvenirs 1928, 21–39; Echt 1984, 23.
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with some of them being involved in important restoration projects in the country, including Eugène Emmanuel Viollet-le-Duc (1814–1879), Eugène Louis Millet (1819–1879) and Jean-Baptiste-Antoine Lassus (1807–1857), Leins was not the only one with origins in the German-speaking world. Another example is Theodor Zeerleder (1820–1868), a young architect from the Swiss town of Berne, who had started his education in Karlsruhe before entering Labrouste’s workshop between 1843 and 1845.10 Yet more important for the subject of this chapter is Emile Boeswillwald (1815–1896), who entered Labrouste’s workshop in 1838 after having studied at the École des Beaux-Arts the year before. Born into a German-speaking family from the Alsace, Boeswillwald had been raised in Strasbourg. After completing his apprenticeship as a stonecutter in 1835, he started his formal training as architect in Munich, before coming to Paris. It seems very likely that Leins and Boeswillwald have worked together at Labrouste’s workshop for some time. Their teacher’s predilection for historic styles, constructive aspects and new building materials, certainly had a strong impact on their further development,11 since traits thereof are found throughout their architectural oeuvre. Likewise, the deep relationship and vivid interaction that Labrouste tended to entertain with his students will certainly have left its mark on the young architects, who should maintain similar relationships to their mentors –Zanth and Mérimée –and, in the case of Leins, to his own students. In fact, Leins could rely on his friendship with Zanth, who after the young architect’s return to Stuttgart in 1840, would reemploy him for designing the Moorish Villa (Maurisches Landhaus), the centrepiece of the Wilhelma complex, built between 1842 and 1846.12 Boeswillwald, on the other hand, who should enfold his main activity as monument conservator,13 received his first assignment for the restoration of the Gothic Chapel of Mary at St. Germer-de- Fly in August 1842, on behalf of the Commission des monuments historiques (cmh). It is not known, if above-mentioned Proser Mérimée (1803–1870), the influential Inspécteur general de monuments, who since 1837 was a member of the cmh, has been involved in the assignment of Boeswillwald. However, the French writer, which between 1834 and 1860 held the position of Inspécteur 10
11 12 13
Zeerleder’s stay in Paris was followed by two study trips through Europe and the Islamic World in 1847–1848 and 1849–1850. Drawings and watercolors he made during his travels are held at the Burgerbibliothek in Bern; his neo-Mamlūk Selamlik, executed in 1854, still exists on site at Oberhofen Castle, see Bäbler/Bätschmann 2006; Giese et al. 2015; Giese 2016b; Giese 2019a. Echt 1984, 23; Schmidt 2006, 162. Zanth 1855–1856; Schulz 1976, 3–41; Koppelkamm 1987, 64–75; Scholze 1996, 17–20; Grimm 2016, 26–32. On this aspect of Boeswillwald’s professional life, see Echt 1984.
154 Giese general, should become the young architect’s mentor and close friend. He not only recommended Boeswillwald to the other members of the cmh for various restoration projects but would even entrust him in 1843 with the inspection of the Meuse department in north-eastern France, which actually was the monument inspector’s own duty. Moreover, in 1860, when Mérimée was looking for a successor, it was Boeswillwald and not Viollet-le-Duc, which he proposed as new monument inspector.14 In fact, Viollet-le-Duc also belonged to Mérimée’s circle of close friends, and in 1854 all three would embark on a journey through Switzerland, Austria and Germany that would at some point even bring them to Prague.15 As Boeswillwald’s mentor, Mérimée this way would provide his protégé with orders coming from the cmh and, like Hittorff, also introduce him to some of the most important architects and monument conservators of his time. 2
The Spanish Journey
Another element connecting Leins and Boeswillwald is that they both had collected first-hand knowledge of Spain and its architecture during their journeys to the country in the 1850s –although both architects travelled for different reasons. Leins, who went on an extended journey with Stuttgart writer Friedrich Wilhelm Hackländer (1816–1877) and Munich-based painter Theodor Horschelt (1829–1871) in the winter of 1853–1854 that led him through Italy, Spain and North Africa, had been inspired by Heigelin’s ideas to broaden his architectural knowledge by studying monuments on site. This motivation becomes tangible in Hackländer’s 1855 travelogue Ein Winter in Spanien, which gives a clear account of the companions’s itinerary, activities and observations.16 Whereas Horschelt sought new motifs for extending his portfolio, Leins was interested in recording the country’s architecture to improve his knowledge of historic styles.17 Judging from his sketches, some of which are held at the library of Stuttgart University, Leins was particularly fascinated by Ibero-Islamic architecture, which he certainly will have encountered already before in illustrated books and through plaster casts at Zanth’s workshop.18 14 Echt 1984, 23–24. 15 Echt 1984, 24. 16 Hackländer 1855. 17 Hackländer 1855, vol. 1, “Vorrede.” 18 In fact, Zanth never traveled to Spain, which is why he based his drafts for the Wilhelma mostly on contemporary publications, among them the richly illustrated books by Alexandre de Laborde (1806), John Frederick Lewis (1835) or Girault de Prangey (1833,
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A pencil drawing of a capital of the Alhambra’s Court of the Lions, where the three companions spent several days depicting the architecture and ornamentation and observing the ongoing restorations of the stuccowork,19 along with various sketches of the Mosque-Cathedral of Córdoba attest to Leins’s deep understanding of the architectural heritage of al-Andalus and his skill in creating precise representations (fig. 8.1). On their way from Barcelona to Andalusia the three travelers stopped in Aranjuez to visit the Royal Palace, which left them rather disappointed. Quite surprisingly, in his travelogue Hackländer does not even mention its Alhambresque interior that had made Rafael Contreras Muñoz (1826–1890) famous.20 It nonetheless seems as if during their journey, the Stuttgart writer and his friends had developed an affinity for Spanish patios, which they had observed during their stay in Barcelona, Córdoba, and Seville, where Hackländer would pay a lot of attention to the interior courtyards of residential buildings, among them the patio of the Fonda de la Europa, where they lodged.21 A two-story patio with a glass-iron roof, obviously inspired by the examples of Seville, would later become the conceptual center of Leins’s proposal for a neo-Moorish building that was either intended as a part of the Wilhelma or as a freestanding structure for the eastern side of the Schloßplatz in Stuttgart (fig. 8.2).22 Either way, the palatial structure that remained without execution, has a historic value in that it demonstrates how instructive the Spanish journey had been for Leins. The interior view of this building, as depicted in an undated watercolor, confirms that the architect was not only well-acquainted with Ibero-Islamic and Mudéjar patios but also with their early modern and contemporary reinterpretations.23
19 20 21 22 23
1841), which Hittorff had at his private library, see Quarg 1993, 36, 56, 61, 107; Kiene 2013, 20–21; Giese 2018a. For an overview of 19th-century publications on Islamic architecture in al-Andalus, see esp. Galera Andreu 2011; Talenti 2011; Giese/Varela Braga 2017b; Galera Andreu 2018, as well as c hapter 21 in this volume. Hittorff furthermore possessed ten Alhambra plaster casts, which he had ordered at the replica workshop of the Louvre on November 8, 1854, and which Zanth will have known from his frequent visits to Hittorff, see Rionnet 1996, 364. Giese 2018a, 230–232. Hackländer 1855, vol. 2, 97–101. Hackländer 1855, vol. 1, 131–142, vol. 2, 347–349, 386. It is difficult to locate the depicted building, especially because the respective indications were added later. According to Hackländer’s travelogue, the three travelers also visited Pedro’s Mudéjar palace at Seville’s Alcázar, and report on the early modern additions of the Patio de las Doncellas and Patio de las Muñecas, as well as the spectacular Renaissance courtyard of Casa de Pilatos from the 16th century, see Hackländer 1855, vol. ii, 395–397. As for
156 Giese 3
Emile Boeswillwald and the Montijo Family
Emile Boeswillwald’s six-week journey to Spain in October 1859 had another purpose as it was not intended as a study trip to Andalusia.24 Instead, his mission was to accompany his mentor Prosper Mérimée, who would spend most of the time in Carabanchel, at the property of the Countess of Montijo (1794– 1879), the mother of the French Empress Eugénie (r. 1853–1870). María Manuela Enriqueta Kirkpatrick de Grevignée, Countess of Montijo, was a close friend of the French writer, with whom she corresponded vividly. Between 1835 and 1839, the Countess had lived in Paris with her two daughters, whom Mérimée, together with Marie-Henri Beyle (1783–1842), better known under his pseudonym Stendhal, gave lessons in literature and history.25 Mérimée’s letters to the Countess of Montijo, written between 1839 and 1870, allow for a unique look into the restricted world of the political and cultural elites of 19th-century Europe,26 as do the family letters by María Manuela’s famous daughter María Eugenia de Guzmán, Countess of Teba –the later Empress Eugénie of France.27 Whereas Leins and his companions were driven by their wish to improve their artistic skills, Mérimée’s correspondence with the Countess proves that Boeswillwald travelled to Spain as his mentor’s personal attendant, whereby the French architect has been introduced to the country’s aristocracy. In fact, after their stay in Carabanchel, the name of Boeswillwald comes up frequently in their letters. The young architect acted even as a mediator between the French writer and the Countess.28 When her daughter Eugénie decided to add a private chapel to the Imperial Villa in Biarritz, commonly called the Villa Eugénie, which had been executed between February 1864 and September 1865, it was Boeswillwald whom she appointed architect, and not Alphonse Durand (1814–1882), who had executed the villa between 1855 and 1856, or Jakob Ignaz Hittorff, who between 1853 and 1856 built the Fondation Eugène Napoléon in Paris, a school for impoverished girls funded by the Empress.29 It therefore
24 25 26 27 28 29
the characteristics and formal evolution of Ibero-Islamic patios in Christian Spain, see chapter 18 in this volume. Echt 1984, 24. Lettres de l’impératrice 1935, vol. ii, 4. Lettres de Mérimée 1936. Lettres de l’impératrice 1935. Lettres de Mérimée 1936, vol. ii, 148, 168, 180, 209, 211, 213, 260, 353. Eugénie used the amount of 600,000 francs she had received from the city of Paris as a gift for her engagement with Napoleon iii to finance her charity organization that she named after their son, McQueen 2011, 10–14.
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seems likely that either Mérimée or the Countess of Montijo or maybe even the Empress herself had ensured that Boeswillwald would receive the prestigious order, while it is less likely that his reputation as an architect got him the job, since at the time he had been mostly known as a monument conservator.30 Therefore, what gave him an advantage over his famous colleagues was his social network, which he had been able to strategically extend during his stay in Spain. For if, as suggested by Alison McQueen,31 the knowledge of historic styles and their application in contemporary architecture would have been the important criteria for Eugénie, Hittorff would have been the better choice, given his comprehensive historicist oeuvre that included neo-Moorish designs, among them an unexecuted Hippodrome at the Bois de Boulogne in Paris (fig. 8.3). Besides, the Empress could have engaged Rafael Contreras, who had been employed by her sister and mother for creating Alhambresque interiors at the Liria and Montijo Palaces in Madrid during the 1850s.32 That Eugénie abstained from engaging Contreras may be related to the complex narrative she intended for the Imperial Chapel. The eclectic interior with its strong neo- Moorish allusions (fig. 8.4) demonstrates that Eugénie was not interested in a faithful reproduction of Ibero-Islamic architecture and ornamentation, but in getting across personal and political messages through architecture. Considering that Biarritz was the place where Eugénie regularly met her Spanish relatives and friends, including Mérimée, McQueen persuasively interpreted the chapel and its interior as the establishment of a “Hispanic space” on French soil to build bridges between Eugénie’s roots in Granada and her official duties as the Empress of France.33 Whereas the ceramic dado reminding geometric alicatado, the Nasrid capitals and the wooden armadura of the ceiling relate to Eugénie’s nostalgic attitude towards her homeland, the painting of the Virgin of Guadalupe that dominates the gilded apse alludes to contemporary French ambitions in Mexico, which succeeded in the foundation of the Austro-French Empire in Mexico (1864–1867). Ironically, its short-lived existence mostly coincided with the construction of the Imperial Chapel and its consecration in September 1866.34
30 31 32 33 34
For an overview of Boeswillwald’s restoration works between the 1840s to 1890s, see Echt 1984, 27. McQueen 2011, 243. The mentioned interiors are analyzed in chapter 11 of this volume. McQueen 2011, 244. McQueen 2011, 248.
158 Giese 4
Building a Neo-Moorish Palace in Madrid
Even though the Imperial Chapel in Biarritz was without doubt the most prestigious building Boeswillwald planned during his architectural career, Xifré Palace in Madrid, built on behalf of the Catalan businessman José Xifré Downing (1822–1868), would become his best-known work, especially due to its emblematic qualities. A typical example of the luxurious residences erected alongside the new boulevards of the Spanish capital during the second half of the 19th century, Xifré Palace has received much attention by scholars since its dismantling and destruction in the 1950s.35 However, the focus here will be less on the history of the building and the changes introduced by later architects –a point currently studied by Javier Ortega and Miguel Sobrino at the Escuela Técnica Superior de Arquitectura de la Universidad Politécnica de Madrid (etsa-u pm). Instead, the question here is what influence Boeswillwald’s network had on decision-makers to award him the assignment and what approach he followed for designing the building. The palace’s construction started in 1862, slightly before Eugénie’s commission in Biaritz, and was finished the same year as the Imperial Chapel in 1865. Again, Boeswillwald may have profited from the new contacts he had made in Carabanchel and his good relations to Mérimée, who happened to also entertain a life-long friendship with the Xifré family, about which we are informed through his correspondence with the Countess of Montijo. The latter was well-acquainted with the Xifrés too, as José’s mother would occasionally undertake financial tasks for the Countess, which earned her the nickname of being her Paris banker, “votre bancaire à Paris,” by Mérimée.36 Within this Franco-Spanish network developed around three protagonists –a famous French writer and state official, a Spanish aristocrat and the family of a rich Catalan entrepreneur –Boeswillwald played a significant role too. Mérimée’s letters confirm that he was not only responsible for planning the three-story palatial building arranged around a central Alhambresque patio, but also guided its realization process on site. During his inspection tours to Madrid, Boeswillwald maintained the established contact to the Countess of Montijo by visiting her on behalf of his mentor. In a letter from April 26, 1862, for example he announced his visit,37 whereas another one from October 8, 1864, states 35 36 37
Navascués Palacio 1973, 265–266; Navascués Palacio 1983, 28–29; Rodríguez Domingo 1996, vol. ii, 163–164, 175; González-Varas Ibáñez 2010a, 172–173; González-Varas Ibáñez 2010b, 88–91. Letter from Mérimée to the Countess of Montijo, March 20, 1847, see Lettres de Mérimée 1936, vol. i, 219. Lettres de Mérimée 1936, vol. ii, 209.
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that Mérimée would even join his protégé on one of his trips to the Spanish capital.38 Despite Boeswillwald’s involvement in the social life of Madrid and his apparent familiarity with the country’s artistic heritage, Xifré Palace differs significantly from contemporary architectural practice in Spain as discussed in a previous chapter.39 In direct comparison to the Classicist or neo-Renaissance exteriors of the majority of Madrid’s urban palaces, among them the aforementioned Liria and Montijo Palaces, with which Boeswillwald and Xifré must have been quite familiar due to their close relations to the Montijo family, Xifré Palace clearly broke away from local building conventions (fig. 8.5). Instead of restricting neo-Moorish elements and surface ornamentation to the interior spaces, Boeswillwald created a Gesamtkunstwerk, which was considered the most exotic of the Spanish capital’s palaces. At the same time, there are notable similarities with a watercolor of an unexecuted palace for Stuttgart (fig. 8.6), which most probably depicts the exterior view of Leins’s aforementioned draft.40 By comparison, the bi-chromatic treatment of the façades of both palaces, as well as the window apertures and arcades can be identified as the basic elements of a generic artistic language of the time associated with Islamic architecture. In both cases, the multi-story building is accentuated by projecting, turret-like annexes that resemble Nasrid miradors. The eclectic and somewhat unprecise reception of Ibero-Islamic architecture on the exterior may surprise at first sight, given that Leins had direct knowledge of the artistic heritage of al-Andalus, whereas Boeswillwald must have known its Alhambresque replicas in Madrid’s 19th-century palaces. Given the fact that contemporary Spanish architecture almost never adopted Ibero-Islamic elements for complete façade designs, Xifré Palace was perceived by most contemporaries as a foreign interpretation of the country’s own Islamic heritage. The same can be said about its interior, which was completely covered with neo-Nasrid surface ornamentation (fig. 8.7). Whereas in the Spanish examples discussed before, Alhambresque decor would be limited to selected interior spaces, here Boeswillwald would apply it to every surface, even for the monumental staircase that otherwise follows Western building traditions (fig. 8.8). In this regard, José Manuel Rodríguez Domingo speaks of an epidermic evocation, an “evocación epidérmica,”41 whereas Ignazio González-Varas, who 38 39 40 41
Letters from Mérimée to the Countess of Montijo from September 30 and October 8, 1864, Lettres de Mérimée 1936, vol. ii, 260–262. See chapter 4 of this volume. Dr. Eberhard Hanfstaengl from Munich donated both watercolors (interior view, B 3185 / exterior view, B5250) independently to the Stuttgart Stadtarchiv in 1954 and 1963. Rodríguez Domingo 1999, 279.
160 Giese describes Madrid’s Alhambresque interiors as acts of masking, “operaciones de ‘enmascaramiento’,”42 emphasizes the decorative abundance of Xifré Palace in comparison with other Spanish examples. Returning to Boeswillwald’s training at Labrouste’s workshop, the characteristics of Xifré Palace much depended on his master’s teachings, which he never compiled in a treatise, yet whose outlines he explained in a letter to his brother Théodore dated November 20, 1830: “I often repeat to them [the novices] that the arts have the power to embellish everything; but I insist that they [have to] understand that form, in architecture, must always match the intended function.”43 Bearing this in mind, the peculiarities of Xifré Palace are clearly rooted in Labrouste’s ideas: its general architectural layout, especially the form of the building, is based on 19th-century European conventions, whereas the decorative program is neo-Moorish. Accordingly, Boeswillwald did not adopt the architectural layouts of historic reference buildings, such as their plans, elevations or spatial sequences, but instead chose the basic form of a Western palace and adapted it to the requirements of contemporary life –i.e. the function of the building –, “clothed” in neo-Islamic surface ornamentation –i.e. the embellishment. This process of clothing architecture in a decorative skin recalls a description of the Court of the Lions made by Washington Irving in 1832. Regarding the at the time poor state of the Alhambra’s preservation, he writes that “The peculiar charm of this old dreamy palace is its power of calling up vague reveries and picturings of the past, and thus clothing naked realities with the illusion of the memory and the imagination.”44 This idea of a naked architecture calling to be literally clothed by the spectator’s imagination was an important aspect of 19th-century historicist architecture, where the built fabric and the ornamentation remained two separate entities, with the latter being interchangeable and flexible as to the building’s function and the taste of the patron. 5
Emil Otto Tafel and the Emergence of Artistic Hubs on the Peripheries
The Wilhelma in Stuttgart-Bad Cannstatt is the building in Europe that shows the most similarities with Xifré Palace, along with the same duality of 42 43
44
González-Varas Ibáñez 2010b, 89. For this aspect, see also Staschull 1999. “Je leur [les débutants] répète souvent que les arts ont le pouvoir d’embellir toute chose; mais j’insiste pour qu’ils comprennent que la forme, en architecture, doit toujours être appropriée à la fonction qu’on lui destine,” Souvenirs 1928, 24, English translation by the author. Irving 2006 [1832], 99.
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architectural disposition and decorative skin.45 As said before, after his apprenticeship at Labrouste’s workshop Leins had returned to Zanth’s studio, where he would assist the works on the Moorish Villa. In his later years, Leins would not only become a renowned architect and founding figure of historicism in Wurttemberg; moreover, he would also dominate the Polytechnic School of Stuttgart between the years of 1857/1858 and 1892.46 At the same time, Leins became a key figure of the local architects’ association (Architektenverein), which played a significant role in establishing and maintaining professional networks and the dissemination of new architectural trends such as the Moorish Revival.47 Nicknamed by his students “Papa Leins”,48 the charismatic German architect would, just as Labrouste, maintain close ties with his students and unfold a strong influence on their later architectural practice, and even attract students from all over Europe and the USA.49 One of his students was Emil Otto Tafel (1838–1914), who attended Stuttgart’s Polytechnic School from 1854 to 1859. Following in his teacher’s footsteps, Tafel went to Paris in 1864, where he stayed until the following year, during which he was appointed professor at the School of Decorative Arts (Kunstgewerbeschule) in Stuttgart. In 1867, he embarked on a one-year study trip through Italy, after which he became professor at Suttgart’s School of Architecture (Baugewerkschule) in 1869.50 Apart from being a teacher, Tafel also worked as an architect in Wurttemberg and the Lake Constance region, planning and executing several neo-Moorish buildings. One of them was Villa Schönleber on Jahnstrasse 18 in Karlsruhe (built in 1888), which included a staircase inspired by Umayyad architecture. Another example is the Moorish Hall at Hotel Halm in Constance (built 1887–1888), whose design Tafel largely based on that of an earlier hall (established in 1881) at Hotel National in Zurich (today Hotel Schweizerhof) by architects Heinrich Honegger-Näf (1843–1907) and Julius Bosshard (1849–1924).51 Only two years later, Adrian August Gonzalvo Maximilian (Max) von Scherer (1848–1901), a member of a rich Swiss patrician family, commissioned Tafel with planning a much more ambitious Moorish Hall for Castell Castle in the Swiss town of Tägerwilen (fig. 8.9).52 45 46
See Giese 2018c, 135–137. Fiechter 1929. Seng 1995, 98–105; Schmidt 2006, 22–26. As for architectural education in Stuttgart, see Joedicke 1994. 47 For this point, see Giese 2018a, with further references. 48 Seng 1995, 103. 49 Fiechter 1929, 104; Schmidt 2006, 24–26. 50 Tafel 1914. 51 Miller-Gruber 1990; Giese 2018c, 144. For the Moorish Hall at Hotel National in Zurich, see Abegg 2019, 24–26, with further references. 52 For more on Tafel’s Moorish Hall at Castell Castle, see Meyer 1903; Abegg/Erni/Raimann 2014, 340–360; Giese 2018a, 235–236; Giese 2018c, 144–148; Giese 2019a, 67–73.
162 Giese As a student, Max von Scherer had spent some time in Dresden, Zurich and Paris before setting out to explore the world, including a journey to Spain.53 This stay definitely inspired his later predilection for neo-Moorish style. In 1878 he began extending the family’s mansion from the early 18th-century, a project for which von Scherer and Tafel conceived a Moorish Hall to be installed in the new main tower (executed between 1889 and 1894).54 According to Johannes Meyer, historian and personal friend of Max von Scherer, the Swiss aristocrat had very precise ideas concerning the design of his Moorish Hall. For this purpose, he and his architect even traveled to Spain in 1891, to study Ibero-Islamic architecture on site. During their two-month journey through Andalusia, they finally chose the Hall of the Two Sisters of the Alhambra as the model for the Moorish Hall,55 which by the time had received international acclaim after it had been depicted in illustrated books as well as reproduced in Rafael Contreras’s famous architectural models and his Arab Cabinet at the Royal Palace of Aranjuez. As will be discussed in more detail in chapter 11, the Alhambresque hall of Aranjuez has been executed by means of plaster casts, a reproduction technique introduced into Spanish architectural practice in 1844, which had been used by Contreras for his famous Alhambra models too.56 At some point during their stay in Granada, the Swiss travelers must have become acquainted with this technique, as from their tour they did not only bring along detailed plans but also Alhambra models and casts (fig. 8.10).57 The analysis of other orientalizing interiors in Switzerland, such as Henri Moser Charlottenfels’s fumoir arabe, installed between 1907 and 1909 in Charlottenfels Castle near Schaffhausen,58 has proven that the final execution stage of wall decorations would usually be executed by local craftsmen.59 This was also the case in Tägerwilen, where Rolf Zurfluh, who was in charge of the latest restoration of the Moorish Hall, was able to identify the signatures of various painters from the Zurich company Witt & Ott.60 Moreover, the hall’s stuccowork could recently be attributed to the painting and plaster workshop Schmidt & Söhne in 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60
Meyer 1903, 167–169, 171–172; Giese 2019a, 60–63. Meyer 1903, 175. Meyer 1903, 177. Herráez Martín/Gómez 2015. Tafel 1914. On the use of plaster casts in Castell Castle, see Giese 2019a, 70–72. Giese 2015; Giese 2016c; Giese/Varela Braga 2019, esp. 122–127; Giese 2019a, 73–79. Johannes Meyer speaks of masters from Zurich, Meyer 1903, 177. The Studio for Decorative Art (Atelier für decorative Kunst) was led by Johann Witt and Eugen Ott, who after working at Castle Castell, were in charge for painting other neo- Moorish buildings in Switzerland, among them the spectacular synagogues of St. Gallen (1880–1881) and Zurich (1884) by Chiodera & Tschudy, see Seidel 2019.
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Zurich.61 A telegram from November 1896, sent by Schmidt & Söhne to Royal Court Plasterer Eugen Rau in Stuttgart, confirms that the eccentric Prince of Urach, Count Karl of Wurttemberg (1865–1925),62 who established several Orientalizing style rooms at Palais Urach in Stuttgart between 1893 and 1925,63 valued Tafel’s Moorish Hall as source for his own Alhambresque interior. Even though Karl would eventually change his mind regarding the prototype of his neo-Moorish room, he did contact Emil Otto Tafel some years later, who would become one of his advisors.64 This can be read as proof that, by then, Tafel had become a local authority and was valued as an expert of the Alhambresque style due to his education at the Stuttgart Polytechnic School, his neo-Moorish assignments and his first-hand knowledge of Ibero-Islamic architecture and ornamentation. Moreover, he belonged to a network of architects and affluent patrons that spanned the cultural capitals of Paris, Madrid or London, and it was not least thanks to Zanth’s and Leins’s international reputation that Stuttgart could establish itself as a new artistic center. This did not mean that local architects were bound to the city. Instead, the case study of Emil Otto Tafel’s life and work proves that in a century of increased mobility its protagonists had to be just as mobile. 6
Networks and Mobility of 19th-Century Architects
In 19th-century Europe, architects were crucial key players for the dissemination and implementation of new artistic trends. This was especially true for the Moorish Revival. Polytechnic Schools and architects’ associations were the starting points for the establishment of personal and professional networks, which architects could expand through apprenticeships and study trips. As has been shown in this chapter, their outreach depended on other factors as well. Representatives of the European aristocracy were responsible for preparing the ground for the growing demand for neo-Moorish architecture, among them high-ranking personalities such as Wilhelm I of Wurttemberg or members of the Montijo family. With their important assignments in Stuttgart and Madrid they were able to establish contemporary prototypes that would have a great impact on local architecture. In addition, influential mentors, such as Zanth or 61 Giese 2019c. 62 For convenience only, the abbreviated name ‘Karl von Urach’ will be used in the following. 63 These rooms will be examined in more detail in chapter 16. 64 Hand-written letter from Emil Otto Tafel to Karl von Urach, Stuttgart, November 28, 1902, HStAS gu 120 Bü. 161.
164 Giese Mérimée, supported young promising talents in building their careers, proving themselves on international stage and receiving prestigious assignments. Reconstructing their trajectories has turned out to be a helpful means for reconstructing their social networks as well, as this can provide researchers with important clues concerning the mobility of 19th-century architects. Moreover, this can also tell us something substantial about how much the social networks of relevant international key players intersected in a truly globalized world. Accordingly, Leins and Boeswillwald’s neo-Moorish palaces in Stuttgart and Madrid (figs. 8.8–8.9) are architectural manifestations of how standardizing the educational practice at a few exclusive schools and workshops had led to an equal standardization of artistic practices across Europe.
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Illustrations
f igure 8.1 Christian Friedrich von Leins, Córdoba, Mosque-Cathedral, maqsura, 1853/1854, pencil drawing on tracing paper, 22 x 17 cm source: © universitätsbibliothek stuttgart, inv. no. lein060
166 Giese
f igure 8.2 Christian Friedrich von Leins, interior view of a neo-Moorish palace (unexecuted), watercolour, 17.7 x 21.7 cm source: © stadtarchiv stuttgart, b 3185
f igure 8.3 Jakob Ignaz Hifforff, Neues Hippodrom des Bois de Boulogne (unexecuted), undated, pencil and pen wash, 38.5 x 86.7 cm source: © köln, wallraf-r ichartz-m useum, inv. no. pl.e. 115
Mentors, Commissioners and Social Networks
f igure 8.4 Biarritz, Imperial Chapel, interior view, Emile Boeswillwald, 1864–1866 source: © ville de biarritz
167
168 Giese
f igure 8.5 Madrid, Xifré Palace, exterior view, Emile Boeswillwald, 1862–1865, historic photograph from 1900–1920 source: © madrid, fot. lacoste, biblioteca regional de madrid, 728.8(460.271) palacio de xifré (084.12)
f igure 8.6 Christian Friedrich von Leins, exterior view of a neo-Moorish palace (unexecuted), watercolour, 16 x 22 cm source: © stadtarchiv stuttgart, b 5250
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f igure 8.7 Madrid, Xifré Palace, central hall of the right wing, Emile Boeswillwald, 1862–1865, historic photograph from 1900–1920 source: © madrid, fot. lacoste, biblioteca regional de madrid, 728.8(460.271) palacio de xifré (084.12)
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f igure 8.8 Madrid, Xifré Palace, vestibule and staircase, Emile Boeswillwald, 1862–1865, historic photograph from 1900–1920 source: © madrid, fot. lacoste, biblioteca regional de madrid, 728.8(460.271) palacio de xifré (084.12)
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f igure 8.9 Tägerwilen, Castell Castle, Moorish Hall, interior view, Emil Otto Tafel, 1891–1894 source: © amt für denkmalpflege des kantons thurgau / alexander troehler
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f igure 8.10 Tägerwilen, Castell Castle, Alhambra model, undated source: © private collection
c hapter 9
Il Gusto Moresco
Amateurs and Artists in Florence and Rome during the Second Half of the 19th Century Ariane Varela Braga As a historical contact zone between the East and West, Italy has always entertained a special relationship with the Islamic World, its architecture and artworks. Traces of these numerous, century-old cross-cultural interactions are still observable. Since the Middle Ages, trade between the Levant and the maritime Republics of Venice, Pisa or Genoa contributed to the introduction of Islamic artefacts into the Italian peninsula, many of which are still preserved at its many churches and museums.1 Apart from these well-known historical facts, more recent studies highlight Italy’s role for the reception and collection of Islamic artefacts during the second half of the 19th century, bringing to the fore the impact of Venice, Florence and Rome on the broader European artistic panorama.2 This chapter considers the role of Florentine and Roman amateurs and artists for the collection of Ibero-Islamic art –generally referred to as Moorish art (arte moresca) during the 19th century3 –and the reception of its architecture in Italy. Both cities were consecutive capitals of the newly founded Kingdom of Italy –Florence (1865–1871) was followed by Rome in 1871 –and as such had a strong political influence on the country’s unification process. Apart from offering different artistic and cultural milieux, they provided fertile grounds for developing the taste for Islamic art and collecting, which corresponded to the prevalent international fascination for the East. However, this begs the question of how this general interest of Italian collectors transformed into the more specialized one for Ibero-Islamic artworks.
1 Curatola 1993; Howard 2000; Damiani/Scalini 2002; Carboni 2007; Curatola 2018. 2 Curatola 1985; Spinazzè 2010; Colonna 2012; Querci 2012; Cecutti 2013a; Cecutti 2013b; Stasolla 2013. 3 See, for instance, the receipts at the Panciatichi or Stibbert archives: ASFi, pxa 151, f. 124, as, Epistolario, c. 1514; as Patrimonio fs, Giustificazioni di cassa 1889, c. 390. For more general examples, see: Boito 1897, 38; Melani 1886, pl. 26.
© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2021 | DOI:10.1163/9789004448582_011
174 Varela Braga In order to answer this question we will first have to consider two Florentine art amateurs, Frederick Stibbert (1838–1906) and Ferdinando Panciatichi Ximenes d’Aragona (1813–1897), who stand out for their contributions to the diffusion of the Alhambresque style in Italy.4 Then turning to Rome’s cosmopolitan artistic scene and its vogue for Ibero-Islamic art promoted by Spanish artists, more specifically by the Catalan painter Mariano Fortuny y Marsal (1838–1874), we will examine their role on the collecting of Ibero-Islamic art in Rome. 1
Florence and Rome: Islamic Art at the Periphery?
The time between the second half of the 19th century and the early 20th century is usually regarded as a period marking the emergence of European historiography of Islamic art and architecture, when collectors, scholars and exhibitors together shaped this new discipline.5 Guided by the question of how imperialism and colonialist expansion had influenced the diffusion, collection and display of Islamic art in Europe, later historians have more focused on centers such as Paris and London.6 In contrast, recent research provides a more refined analysis based on an examination of the transnational ramifications of the amateurs and collectors involved. In addition, they address not only the centers of this movement, but their peripheries as well.7 In this regard, Daniela Cecutti demonstrated that the large exports of artworks from the Italian peninsula between the end of the 19th century and the turn of the 20th century included Islamic specimens.8 It therefore appears to be particularly interesting to concentrate on Florence and Rome for exploring what role amateurs and artists played in the reception and diffusion of Islamic art, and, more specifically, of Ibero-Islamic art. The presence of Islamic artefacts in Dante’s hometown can be traced back to the 14th and 15th centuries. Under the rule of the Medici family, the first 4 See Morrish Hall at Villa Stibbert (1889) and Panciatichi’s villa-castle of Sammezzano. Both are treated in more detail in chapters 16 and 21 in this volume. On Stibbert’s Moorish Hall, see also Becattini 2014c; Varela Braga 2016. On Sammezzano, see: Tonelli 1982; Cerelli 2000–2001; Masiello/Santacroce 2014; Varela Braga 2018. 5 Komaroff 2000. 6 Roxbury 2000; Kive 2015. 7 On the notions of center and periphery, see the seminal contribution by Castelnuovo/Ginzburg 1981 and Campbell 2014 for a discussion on the subject. For a recent contribution on collecting and displaying Islamic art in a broader context see Giese/Varela Braga 2019. 8 Cecutti 2012; Cecutti 2013a; Cecutti 2013b.
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oriental printing press in Europe was established in 1584. The city was affected by the general fascination for the East that emerged during the aftermath of Napoleon Bonaparte’s (1769–1821) 1798 Egyptian Campaign. Leopold ii, the Grand-Duke of Tuscany (r. 1824–1859), also shared a passion for this country, and not only did he found Florence’s Egyptian Museum (1824–1828) but also helped finance Ippolito Rosellini’s (1800–1843) 1828–1829 expedition to Egypt.9 Thanks to the creation of the Regio Istituto di Studi Superiori in 1859 and scholars such as Michele Amari (1806–1889) or Angelo de Gubernatis (1840–1913), Florence furthermore changed into an important center for oriental studies during the second half of the century. Its relevance in the area was further underlined by succeeding Paris, London and St Petersburg as the host of the – then fourth –1878 International Congress of Orientalists. The same year, the Esposizione Orientale, a first major exhibition specifically dedicated to Oriental Art, was organized at the Palazzo Medici Riccardi.10 It thus seems justified to say that the fascination for the East was not limited to the special interest of scholars alone; it manifested itself in shows, popular festivals, the arts and architecture as well as private collections.11 The exhibition Islam e Firenze at the Galleria degli Uffizzi and the Museo del Bargello12 highlighted Florence’s crucial role for the international market for Islamic artworks, especially due to local art dealers such as Stefano Bardini (1836–1922).13 Moreover, the city was home to several private collections, among which the one assembled after 1860 by the Italo-British amateur Frederick Stibbert should be mentioned in the first place, followed by Ferdinando Panciatichi Ximenes d’Aragona’s collection that the latter started in the middle of the century and that has become dispersed in the meantime.14 Both collections were the results of purchases made all over Europe, specifically in Paris and London, but also in Florence, where an increasing number of art dealers met the growing demand for Islamic artefacts.15 Donations given to the Museo 9 Stasolla 2013. 10 However, it included a variety of ‘oriental’ objects, ranging from Islamic items to Chinese, Indian, and Japanese artefacts. See Lowndes Vincente 2012, 75–76. 11 Guarneri 2012. 12 The exhibition Islam e Firenze took place in Florence from June 22 to September 23, 2018 (see Curatola 2018). 13 Bardini supplied Berlin-based curator Wilhelm von Bode (1845–1929) with several oriental carpets. On Bardini and Bode, see Niemeyer Chini 2009. 14 The only reference to Panciatichi’s Islamic collection I could find was Cecutti 2013b, 251– 52. See Varela Braga 2019b. 15 On Stibbert’s collection, see Becattini 2014b and 2014a, as well as Di Marco 20082008. On Panciatichi, see.
176 Varela Braga del Bargello between the end of the 19th and the beginning of the 20th century by people such as Costantino Ressman (1832–1899), the brothers Louis- Hilaire (1821–1899) and Jean-Baptiste Carrand (1792–1871), or Giulio Franchetti (1840–1909) ensured that Islamic art received a fixed place in the city’s public museums.16 For Rome, on the other hand, Islamic art might not be an immediate association. However, not unlike the rest of the Italian peninsula, throughout its history the city has always been the site of intense encounters between East and West, albeit in often dramatic ways. For instance, several Arab invasions during the 9th century devastated the Eternal City and its environs, including a sack of the basilicas of Saint Peter and Saint Paul in 846, leading Pope Leo iv (r. 847–855) to fortify the Vatican Hill. Across centuries, Islamic artefacts and manuscripts were integrated into papal collections, including the Wunderkammer installed by the Jesuit Athanasius Kircher (1602–1680) at the Collegio Romano.17 Sabrina Spinazzè demonstrated that after the fall of the Papal States, the city’s annexation to the new Kingdom of Italy (1870), and the promotion to its capital in 1871, the local art market had reoriented itself and opened up for artefacts from the Islamic World.18 One reason for this transition was the city’s international artistic community, in particular, a circle of Spanish artists around Mariano Fortuny y Marsal. As the center of a broad network of fellow artists, antiquarians and collectors, Fortuny introduced Orientalist taste to Rome, especially for paintings and art collections. 2
Two Florentine Amateurs of Islamic Art –Ferdinando Panciatichi Ximenes d’Aragona and Frederick Stibbert
Among the persons affiliated with the art scene of 19th-century Florence, Ferdinando Panciatichi Ximenes d’Aragona and Frederick Stibbert stand out for their deep fascination for Islamic art, especially the Alhambra, which they expressed through their architectural and decorative creations. This is rather astonishing, given that Panciatichi had never traveled to Spain nor any other regions of the Islamic World. Instead, he had been to Paris and London, where he visited the Crystal Palace of Sydenham in 1864 and certainly also saw Owen Jones’s Alhambra Court, which would, at least partially, later affect the designs for his villa-castle in Sammezzano, renowned for its Orientalizing aesthetics 16 Diana 2018. 17 Lo Sardo 2001; Colonna 2012. 18 Spinazzè 2010; Querci 2012; Querci 2016.
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(figs. 9.1–9.2).19 Stibbert, on the other hand, did experience the Nasrid palaces first-hand: he had visited them in the summer of 1861 during an extended journey across the Iberian Peninsula. While in Granada, he had acquired a series of plaster casts from Rafael Contreras’s (1824–1890) famous workshop,20 which he later used as templates for the 1889 Moorish Hall at Villa Stibbert, a space inside his private museum devoted to the display of his collection of Islamic armory (fig. 9.3). Although Sammezzano and Stibbert’s Moorish Hall cannot be compared neither in terms of their function nor of their spatial dimensions, they both do represent important examples for the spread of the Alhambresque style across Tuscany. Panciatichi was not hindered by his apparent reluctance to travel, since he could rely on an extensive knowledge of Islamic architecture and ornamentation acquired by means of his rich private library, which contained many state-of-the-art publications on the subject.21 The lack of private letters or diaries, however, makes it quite difficult to evaluate what impact his social network might have had on the creation of the Villa. What we do know for sure is that the architectural and decorative designs go back to Panciatichi himself, who had acted as both its designer and architect, and used the services of local craftsmen for implementing his ideas.22 Although his workmen created the ornamentation and decorative details in situ, Claudia Cerelli mentions several receipts, attesting that he had ordered the tessera mosaics for the pavements directly from Spain, in particular, from Madrid.23 There nonetheless are good reasons for assuming that Panciatichi’s social and professional network reached far out, at least during the 1860s, when he took on different political and social roles in Florence. In 1865, he for instance was the head of the committee for the Mostra dei Tempi di Mezzo e del Risorgimento (Exhibition of the Middle Ages and the Renaissance) that took place at the Palazzo del Podestà on the occasion of the sixth centenary of Dante Aligheri’s birthday,24 and for which he provided several artworks, including Islamic artefacts.25 National 19 20 21 22 23 24 25
See Cerelli 2000–2001; Cerelli 2014; Cresti/Sottani/Cresti 2017; Varela Braga 2018 and c hapter 21 in this volume. See Varela Braga 2016 and chapter 12 in this volume. See chapter 21 in this volume. Cerelli 2001–2002; Varela Braga 2018. For the years from 1873 to 1874, Cerelli mentions several receipts by the Sociedade Ispano- Americana and by a certain “M. Lopez” from Madrid, although I have not been able to locate them in the pxa archives. . On the 1865 exhibitions, see the groundbreaking work by Barocchi/Gaeta Bertelà 1985. See also Bertelli 2015, 44–48. Varela Braga 2019b.
178 Varela Braga and international art collectors contributed to the event, among them British painter and art dealer William Blundell Spence (1814–1900), an agent for the South Kensington Museum, who provided sculptures, but also majolica and Ibero-Islamic ceramics to the museum’s curator, John Charles Robinson (1824– 1913).26 Spence himself belonged to an international network of art collectors and was a close friend to Orientalist Henry Austen Layard (1817–1894), the discoverer of Nineveh and Mshatta, who would soon after become ambassador in Madrid.27 He furthermore sold and bought paintings for Panciatichi, yet which seemingly did not include any Islamic artefacts though.28 A letter from the Orientalist painter Stefano Ussi (1822–1901), dated September 21, 1870, allows for a small glimpse into Panciatichi’s contacts. In his letter, Ussi thanks Panciatichi for having received photographs of Sammezzano that he had visited shortly before.29 Ussi had, in contrast to Panciatichi, some first-hand experience of the East, as he had traveled to Egypt in 1869 to see the opening of the Suez Canal, and been to Morocco in 1870 and 1875. One can only speculate as to the contents of the conversations both men had back then. Although conceived as a private space, Sammezzano undoubtedly piqued the curiosity of contemporaries, who would read about its marvels in local newspapers.30 On occasion of the aforementioned Fourth International Congress of Orientalists in Florence, the popularity of Sammezzano reached its peak, when, on the 15th of September, 1878, all delegates, including Angelo de Gubernatis and maybe even Frederick Stibbert, were taken on a special tour to the Villa.31 A wealthy and fashionable gentleman with Italian and British roots,32 Stibbert had been part of Florence’s cosmopolitan scene since his earliest years and always maintained strong ties with the city throughout his life, spending many months a year there. Despite Stibbert and Panciatichi’s shared interest for the East and Eastern art collections, there is no indication as to them being close acquaintances, even though they were certainly aware of each other’s existence. Given the small size of the artistic milieu in Florence, not to buy from the same 26
Fleming 1979b, 571. On Spence, also see Fleming 1979a and Levi 1985. Spence also provided the V&A with modern, Alhambra-inspired vases by Ginori (see Frescobaldi Malenchini/ Rucellai 2012, 208–211). 27 Howarth 2007; Troelenberg 2016. 28 For instance, a receipt dated Jan 19, 1854, refers to two paintings sold to Panciatichi (ASFi, pxa 150). 29 ASFi, pxa 164. 30 See, for instance, Consani 1867; Jarro 1878; Fazio 1878. 31 A letter from his mother, mentioned in Aschengreen Piacenti 2014, 81–82, strengthens this assumption. 32 On the history of the family see Clearkin/Di Marco 2009.
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local art dealers was as good as impossible.33 Moreover, in 1865, they were both engaged in the organization of the Mostra dei Tempi di Mezzo. A frequent traveler, Stibbert spent half the year in London and other European cities. His local and international network thus must have been large, yet due to the absence of diaries or private letters in the archives we again lack any further information as to how and which of his social contacts might have influenced the execution of the Moorish Hall and its reception.34 Ulisse Cantagalli (1839–1901), a Florence-based producer of ceramic goods, was connected to the Italian revival of the Alhambresque style in a much more direct manner; he furthermore collaborated with Stibbert for building a Loggia at Villa Stibbert and provided the colored tiles for the Moorish Hall (fig. 9.4).35 Inspired by the international revival of glazed ceramics, Cantagalli’s repertoire included wares that imitated Ibero-Islamic prototypes, some of which are still found in Stibbert’s collection.36 Despite their shared fascination for the Alhambra, it is rather striking to note that Panciatichi and Stibbert’s choice of Islamic artefacts for their respective collections does not reflect this aesthetic preference at all. Both collectors showed no interest in the pan-European vogue for Ibero-Islamic ceramics,37 the lack thereof apparently confirmed by the circumstance that their personal library did not, for instance, include the Histoire des faïences hispano-moresque à reflets métalliques (1861) by ceramic connoisseur baron Jean-Charles Davillier (1823–1883).38 3
The Artists-Collectors of Rome –Mariano Fortuny and the Spanish Connection
During the second half of the 19th century, in spite of the migration of artists to more modern metropoles such as Paris, Rome’s century-old tradition 33 34 35 36 37
38
For Panciatichi, see Varela Braga 2019b. For Stibbert, see Becattini 2014b, 19–23; Becattini 2014a, 25. The guestbook of his private museum indicates that most visitors were British (as, Book of Guest). A transcription of the names in the book is work in progress. Becattini 2014c, 67–68. See Frescobaldi Malenchini/Rucellai 2012, 208–219. However, both men were not indifferent to ceramics. Panciatichi did collect Chinese and Japanese porcelains during the 1860s and 1870s, as attested by numerous receipts at the family archives. This highlights a general awareness of this type of art that corresponded to the international interest for the Far East at the time. For Stibbert, see Frescobaldi Malenchini/Rucellai 2012. On the impact of Davillier, see Baillot 2012.
180 Varela Braga of attracting artists from all over the world was still alive. Artists continued to flock to the city to learn lessons about the past, forming a cosmopolitan community in perpetual movement and contact with other cultural centers. In this milieu, artist studios were essential and powerful devices of self-promotion:39 apart from the function of presenting their artistic production, many studios transformed into spaces for the display of art collections between the end of the 19th and the early 20th century. The auction catalogs of many such studios testify this practice. The objects on display were often related to the artists’ personal styles, of which those related to the Orientalist movement often also supplied the art market with Islamic objects. A central figure of said movement was the Catalan painter Mariano Fortuny y Marsal (fig. 9.5). A “brilliant meteor,”40 as he was called by contemporaries, he did not only create paintings inspired by the Near-East but also gathered an important collection of Islamic artefacts that would in turn influence the diffusion and awareness of Islamic art in Rome and beyond.41 In spite of his modest upbringings, Fortuny would eventually become the son-in-law of Federico de Madrazo (1815–1895), the court painter and director of the Prado Museum. Living and working between Rome, Madrid and Paris, Fortuny owed his commercial success to the Parisian art dealer Adolphe Goupil (1806–1893), the father of Albert Goupil (1840–1884), who would be later renowned for an Oriental cabinet.42 As mentioned before, Fortuny was the center of a widespread and very international network of artists that included French Orientalist painters Jean-Louis Gérome (1824–1904) –whose wife was Adolphe Goupil’s daughter –, Henri Regnault (1843–1871), George Clairin (1843–1919), and Swiss sculptor Adèle d’Affry (known as Marcello, 1836–1879), who shared a studio in Rome with Eduardo Rosales (1836–1873) and Fortuny.43 Fortuny furthermore maintained close relations with a circle of art connoisseurs, among them the Swiss Walther Fol (1832–1890), who lived in Rome for some time and shared a strong interest for the decorative arts,44 or the aforementioned baron Davillier, with whom he often corresponded about his acquisitions.45 39
Famous examples outside Rome include Frederick Leighton’s studio in London or Hans Makart’s in Vienna. On the subject in general see Wat 2013. 40 “In Roma abbiamo avuto una brillante meteora,” from Odescalchi 1881, 34. On Fortuny’s life, see Davillier 1875. 41 For a recent contribution on the subject see Querci 2016. 42 Volait 2016. 43 Extermann 2014. 44 Natale et al. 1976; Extermann 2018. On Fol’s Museum in Geneva, see Magnin 2015. The Museum’s catalog does not mention any Ibero-Islamic artefacts. See also Fol’s contribution on Fortuny, Fol 1875. 45 Davillier 1875, 69–71; González López 1978; Navarro 2017.
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After arriving in the papal city in 1858, Fortuny quickly associated himself with other fellow countrymen, such as Eduardo Rosales, but also Italians, such as Achille Vertuni (1826–1897), and Attilio Simonetti (1843–1925),46 who were both not only impressed by Fortuny’s prowess as an artist but also intrigued by his taste for antiques and Islamic artworks. Fortuny’s journey to Morocco in 1860, when the Deputation (Diputación) of Barcelona appointed him to paint scenes of the Spanish-Moroccan military campaign, had been crucial for the Orientalist turn in his paintings.47 On the other hand, his two-year stay in Granada from 1870 to 1872, which he mostly spent at the Alhambra –thanks to his friendship with Rafael Contreras (1824–1890), the conservator of the monument –would later have an enormous impact on the creation of his collection of Ibero-Islamic artworks.48 During his stay, he acquired some of the most famous pieces of his collection, including the so-called Fortuny Vase (St. Petersburg, Hermitage Museums) or the decorative tile known today as Azulejo Fortuny (Madrid, Fundacíon Don Juan de Valencia).49 Fortuny displayed all these objects in his studio at Villa Martinori in Rome, which would later become famous after being popularized through a series of photographs realized between 1873 and 1874 that were largely diffused after the artist’s death (fig. 9.6).50 These photographs allow to identify many of the pieces that helped Fortuny establish his fame as a collector of Ibero- Islamic art: apart from the aforementioned vase and tile, one recognizes the so-called Monzón Lion (Paris, Musée du Louvre), a cast bronze lion that used to be a fountain spout, as well as several examples of glazed ceramics of Ibero- Islamic descent. Together with Ricardo de Madrazo y Garreta’s (1852–1917) 1874 painting of the studio in its state after the artist’s death, these photos furthermore demonstrate that the many Oriental carpets on display had added much more to the studio’s Orientalizing atmosphere than any other architectural or decorative element. Fortuny’s studio consisted of a gathering of the most heterogeneous objects: Roman sculptures, Renaissance and Islamic weapons, Flemish tapestries, Renaissance and Baroque furniture had been placed next to Japanese armory and masks, Murano glassware and Ibero-Islamic ceramics. 46 Sagramora 2008; Spinazzè 2010. 47 Navarro 2017. 48 Navarro 2017, 384. 49 Navarro 2017, 384-187. Fortuny possessed three vases (jarrons), including the Fortuny- Simonetti, today at the Alhambra Museum. The collection has been studied quite well, but surprises are still possible. For instance, a casket from the Fortuny collection has been only recently identified in the Museo Nazionale del Bargello. See Diana 2018, 179–180. 50 The artist had several studios in Rome, but the most famous is his last one in via Flaminia. See, for instance, Barón 2017, 398–403.
182 Varela Braga The original pieces served as a source of inspiration for his paintings, which he also displayed on the walls. The result was overwhelming, setting an Orientalizing atmosphere mostly based on the great quantity of objects, whose mingle- mangle resembled a bazaar, but not on a conscious choice of a special architectural frame or decoration. Benjamin Constant’s studio in Paris51 or Achille Vertunni’s Arab Room, which both have been studied by Eugenia Querci and Valentina Colonna, showed much more coherent interiors and represent alternative realizations of Orientalizing environments.52 Contrary to Fortuny’s atelier, which was frequented by a circle of privileged acquaintances, Vertunni’s Arab Room, whose elements did not however directly refer to al-Andalus, served as a meeting place for Rome’s fashionable society.53 The style of the home and atelier of Spanish artist José Villegas Cordero (1844–1921), on the other hand, sought to establish a direct connection to the Alhambra and the painter’s Andalusian roots. Born in Seville and considered Fortuny’s heir, Villegas was very successful in selling his Orientalist compositions all around the world; he also was the director of the Spanish Real Academia in Rome between 1898 and 1901.54 The Sicilian architect Ernesto Basile (1857–1932), familiar with Orientalizing styles, designed his residence, the villino Villegas, built between 1887 and 1890. Demolished in ca. 1950, it was located at viale Parioli, no. 11, in a newly established, elegant residential area north of the city’s ancient walls. In his study of the building, Rosario de Simone stressed the importance of the artistic circles in Rome for its existence and suggested the 1887 ‘patio andaluso’ on via Margutta, created for the local carnival of the Circolo Artistico Internazionale, as a possible model.55 Although the interior of the house, with rooms decorated in Louis Quinze, Gothic and Japanese styles56 can be characterized as truly eclectic, the exterior, with its muquarnas arches and Nasrid capitals, clearly alludes to al-Andalus (fig. 9.7). A contemporary once described it as “a large Moorish-style building […], a kind of fake Alhambra with curved doors […] whose whiteness gleamed […] with a sort of insolent sumptuousness”.57 This account makes a clear reference to Villegas’s cultural origin while also emphasizing his artistic tendencies and 51 Font-Réaux 2014. 52 Querci 2012, 217–218; Colonna 2019. 53 Colonna 2019. 54 See Tabbal 2019. 55 De Simone 1999, 117. 56 Uriel 1890, 2 (quoted from De Simone 1999, 120). 57 Described by Bourget in his Cosmopolis, Bourget 1893, 179–181, as “une grande bâtisse de style Moresque […] espèce de faux Alhambra aux portes cintrées […] dont la blancheur brillait […] avec une sorte d’insolente somptuosité,” quoted in De Simone 1999, 120.
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successes. However, that the building also housed Villegas’s private art collection is even more important. Scholars have shown that its artworks comprised of several textiles, many of which originated in the Islamic World, including a Safavid specimen now at Isabella Stewart Gardner’s (1840–1924) Museum in Boston.58 Villegas also bought two items at Fortuny’s auction, a “caftan” and a “Hispano-Moorish plate.”59 The lack of a comprehensive catalog of the whole collection, however, limits our knowledge of its original composition. There were many artists who purchased items from Fortuny’s collection at one of the two auctions after his death,60 with the first taking place in Rome (February-March 1875) and the second –containing the most important pieces –in Paris (April 1875). The Parisian auction catalog published a text by Fortuny’s friend baron Davillier, which contributed to the building of a legend surrounding Fortuny’s ceramic collection. As noted by other scholars, a closer look at the auction catalogs demonstrates that several objects, including many of those described as ‘Hispano-Moorish,’61 were purchased by fellow artists, in particular, by Achille Vertuni and Attilio Simonetti. Originally a painter too, Simonetti’s acquaintance with Fortuny had convinced him to engage in the art market. In 1883, Simonetti auctioned his own important collection of altogether 1,282 lots and established himself as an antiquarian.62 Besides other Islamic artefacts, the auction catalog distinguishes many items as glazed “Hispano- Moorish” ceramics.63 Sabrina Spinazzè has proven that Simonetti was also a very active figure in the general movement for the revaluation of the decorative arts and their revitalization, which was, to a great extent, being promoted by Prince Baldassare Odescalchi (1844–1909) and the Museo d’Arte Industriale, founded in Rome in 1874.64 The original nucleus of the museum’s collections consisted of items that had originally belonged to Simonetti, Odescalchi, and Fortuny. Its first catalog from 187665 does not mention any Ibero-Islamic objects explicitly, although it does list eight plaster casts from architectural and decorative elements of the Alhambra that had been donated by Alessandro Castellani 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65
Cecutti 2013a, 365. Mentioned in Colonna 2014–2015, 216. According to Simonetti, Fortuny’s original intent had been to donate everything to a museum. See Navarro 2007–2008, 325, and Atelier Fortuny 1875. Quoted from Colonna 2014–2015, 172–174: “caffettano” and “piatto hispano-moresco”. Spinazzè 2010, 109–110. A second auction was organized after Simonetti’s death, in 1932. Mentionned in Colonna 2014–2015, 198. In the 1932 Simonetti auction, other pieces are also indicated as “hispano-moorish.” On the museum, see Borghini 2011; Colonna 2012; Varela Braga 2020 (forthcoming). Erculei 1876, 66–69.
184 Varela Braga (1823–1883),66 an art collector and one of the founders who belonged to an established Roman family of goldsmiths. In his practice, his brother Guglielmo (1836–1896) had revived Ibero-Islamic patterns and pottery techniques.67 The catalog also mentions an architectural model by Rafael Contreras that Prince Marcantonio Colonna (1808–1890) had donated to the Museo d’Arte Industriale,68 which highlights how crucial the Alhambra and Ibero-Islamic art had become for the revitalization of the decorative arts during the 19th century. 4
Viewing the Alhambra from South of the Alps
This chapter discussed the importance of Florence and Rome for the diffusion of Ibero-Islamic art in Italy, which took place on different levels for each city. The contributions to the diffusion of the Alhambresque style by Florentine amateurs Frederick Stibbert and Ferdinando Panciatichi Ximenes d’Aragona, on the one hand, was based on their individual knowledge of ongoing developments in other European centers, particularly, in Paris, London and Granada. Their aspirations for collecting Islamic artworks were not driven by any particular interest for Ibero-Islamic objects, which is why they are mostly absent in their collections. Rome’s artistic circles, on the other hand, played a major part in promoting the collection of Ibero-Islamic artworks and the diffusion of their style. However, this fascination was mostly sparked by one single f igure – Fortuny, who had an exceptional impact on local and international art markets. This way, Fortuny’s personal taste for Ibero-Islamic artefacts launched a more global trend, which, through his widespread international network that encompassed artists, patrons and connoisseurs alike, would soon be recognized all over Europe. 66 67 68
Giese/Varela Braga et al. 2016, 1334–1335. Alessandro Castellani’s 1884 auction included several wares described as “hispano-mauresque,” Colonna 2014–2015, 230. Benocci 2012, 332 and Colonna 2014–2015, 161. Item number 309, in Erculei 1876, 69. The model is now preserved at the Galleria Nazionale d’Arte Antica at Palazzo Barberini. My thanks go to Valentina Colonna for this information and to Michele di Monte who gave me access to the model.
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Illustrations
f igure 9.1 Regello, Villa of Sammezzano, view of the entrance hall taken from the first floor, 1850s source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / rabatti & domingie photography
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186 Varela Braga
f igure 9.2 Regello, Villa of Sammezzano, Hall of Mirrors, Ferdinando Panciatichi Ximenes d’Aragona, after 1870 source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / rabatti & domingie photography
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f igure 9.3 Florence, Villa Stibbert, Moorish Hall, 1889 source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / rabatti & domingie photography
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188 Varela Braga
f igure 9.4 Florence, Villa Stibbert, details of the tiles at the Moorish Hall, 1889, Cantagalli manufactures source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / rabatti & domingie photography
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f igure 9.5 Portrait of Mariano Fortuny, ca. 1876, woodburytype source: courtesy of the getty’s open content program
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190 Varela Braga
f igure 9.6 View of Fortuny’s studio in Rome. L’Illustrazione Italiana iii.15, 6 February 1876, 252
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f igure 9.7 Rome, Villegas’s House. La Illustración Española y Americana, 30 January 1913, 68
pa rt 3 Artisans and Architects as Protagonists of Transcultural Exchange and Artistic Transfer
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c hapter 10
An Interconnected World
Mudéjar Artisans and the Aristocracy in 15th-century Castile Luis Araus Ballesteros The aim of this chapter is to analyze different aspects of the artistic culture of the 15th century in the Crown of Castile, which was highly influenced by the presence of Muslim communities within a Christian society. The main focus is on the predilection for the artistic vocabulary of al-Andalus that spread to all social groups but was especially visible among the Castilian aristocracy, whose members maintained close ties with Mudéjar artisans and workmen, and who would commission them to construct and decorate many buildings. Several examples of this collaboration between Muslim artisans and some of the most important aristocratic families will be outlined in the following. However, despite the temporal coincidence between the peaking taste for Islamic visual culture in Castilian society and the presence of Muslim architecture, it is not possible to establish any direct relationship between the two, since the works of Muslim artisans included a vast variety of styles. 1
The Mudéjar Environment in 15th-Century Castile
The long Islamic presence on the Iberian Peninsula clearly shaped the social and cultural environment from the eighth century onwards, leaving its profound mark on its societies and the arts. By the 15th century, Muslim forces no longer posed a political threat to the Christian Kingdoms, whereas their influence on other aspects of everyday life had by no means ceased. Among the kingdoms of the Peninsula there were Muslim communities to be found that would be called ‘Mudéjars’ (mudéjares), ‘Saracens’ (saracenos) or simply ‘Moors’ (moros) and consisted of either the descendants of the population that had lived there before the Christian conquests or of immigrants from other territories. Similar to the Jews, they were allowed to practice their religion under certain conditions, as long as they paid additional taxes; however, this would only be the case until 1502, when they were forced to conversion. At that point, the ‘Moriscos’ emerged, the group of Muslims who had, under the new pressure, converted to Christianity. The members of Mudéjar communities, which
© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2021 | DOI:10.1163/9789004448582_012
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were widely spread across the entire territory of the Crown of Castile, thus had different origins. While some communities, such as those of Andalusia, Murcia or Toledo, consisted of the descendants of Muslims that had remained after the Christian conquests, other regions, especially around the Northern Plateau (the Meseta Norte), had been without any previous Andalusí settlements. The Muslims who lived there had come from territories that had already been captured in the 12th and 13th centuries, and, in contrast to the prisoners or slaves captured in military campaigns, therefore enjoyed political freedom.1 Even though the Christian faith had already been largely re-established in the Peninsula, the Muslim communities of the Crown of Castile and the neighboring Nasrid kingdom of Granada had not ceased to diffuse novelties and fashions from the rest of the Islamic World. Judging from written sources and preserved objects, these fashions had been embraced by Christians with delight, and scholars have repeatedly claimed that this predilection for Islamic styles emerged during the rule of the Trastámara dynasty (1369–1516).2 Even though this opinion should not be discarded entirely, the contemporary attitude seems to have been quite the opposite, as the Count of Tendilla expressed in 1514: “Well, Sir, before the arrival of King Henry the Bastard [Enrique ii], what clothes and hairdos did we [the Spanish] wear, if not Moriscan, and on what tables did we dine? Did the kings cease to be Christians and saints because of that? No, for God’s sake!”3 By using the term morisco, the Count intended to refer to everything related to the Islamic, to the Andalusí world. Yet it is quite obvious that the Islamic influence on Castile cannot really have been perceived as a novelty at the end of the 14th century, when the Trastámara began their rule, since it had already been very present throughout previous centuries. Vicente Lampérez has therefore pointed out that the true difference might rather consist in that people would not start writing about it until the late Middle Ages.4 Texts written at the time reveal a true affection for Islamic aesthetics, something that becomes especially tangible among the highest ranks of society. Indeed, chronicles and travelogues repeatedly mention celebrations, receptions,
1 A complete survey of the Islamic minorities in the Christian Kingdoms of the Iberian Peninsula can be found in Echevarría Arsuaga 2004. 2 Pérez Higuera 1996, 131. 3 “Pues nosotros, señor, en España hasta la venida del rey don Enrique el Bastardo [Enrique ii], ¿qué ábito, qué cabello traýamos syno el morisco y en qué mesa comíamos? ¿dexavan los reyes de ser christianos y santos por esto? No, ¡por Dios!” Moreno/de la Obra/Osorio 2007, 196. 4 Lampérez y Romea 1993/1922, 154.
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customs and clothing in Andalusí style. The chronicle of Constable Don Miguel Lucas de Iranzo (d. 1473), for instance, narrates the magnificent festivities celebrated in Jaén during the middle of the 15th century, which abounded of such elements.5 In these writings, along with inventory lists and the accounting books of the court, there are many references to Islamic clothes and fabrics, including embroideries, ribbons with Arabic script, or silks from Granada.6 In these cases, the artistic language of al-Andalus was a form of expressing power, since the richness of the materials, the complex designs and vivid colors would highlight the importance of their owners. The preference for Mudéjar style in private homes was so distinct at the time that in the high Middle Ages it became a symbol of luxury itself.7 Furthermore, the use of Morisco clothing was one of the preferred ways for expressing the magnificence of the ruler whenever he received ambassadors or held a speech at the frontier, in front of the troops.8 By the 15th century, the people of the Iberian Peninsula had adopted the taste for Morisco style to such an extent that it had become an essential part of their identity, so much so that one could even speak of a Mudéjar or Morisco ‘pride’.9 The importance of Islamic fashion, garments and customs, together with their attributed value is indicated in that they were gifted to other European kings and appreciated as showpieces for visitors. Enrique iv (r. 1454–1474), for instance, sat on the floor when he received the Bohemian Baron of Rosmithal, which was identified as a Muslim tradition.10 Similarly, when Archduke Philip the Fair (Felipe el Hermoso) (1478–1506), the later King Philip i (1506), arrived at court in 1502, several noblemen wore turbans and were accompanied by an entourage on horseback, dressed in Islamic garments and riding in a typically Islamic manner.11 Moreover, the juegos de cañas (game of canes), a characteristic form of knightly combat games, were extremely popular. During such
5 6 7
8 9 10 11
Gayangos 1855, 123. For example, see Torre 1955, 166–167. The number of luxurious palaces –some of them still extant –was extremely high, since not only monarchs but even affluent aristocratic families would decorate their homes with lacework, stuccowork or tiles, an ornamental tradition that Elie Lambert calls the Mudéjar [style] ‘de cour et de luxe’, Lambert 1933, 27–28. Bernáldez 1962, 170. A reason for the preservation of Andalusí buildings and customs in Christian Castile was that were often regarded as ‘trophies’ representing the triumph over Islam, Fuchs 2009a, 48. García Mercadal 1999, 278. Porras Gil 2012, 424. Antoine de Lalaing, a member of Philip the Fair’s entourage, even qualified this reception as “in the Spanish way” (“a la manera de España”), García Mercadal 1999, 423.
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combats, one of the altogether two groups of knights would disguise as Muslims, thereby creating a rather grotesque stereotype of the ‘Moor’ as explained in the chronicle of Constable Iranzo: And when the night came, Commander Montizón, the brother of the constable, came from one side, with almost two hundred Christian knights, and from the other side came his assistant Fernando de Villafañe with another two hundred Muslim knights, with false beards dyed with soot, with many trumpets and kettledrums and añafiles [Islamic trumpets] […].12 The blackened faces and the false beards did not reflect the real appearance of the Muslims who lived in Castile, who with great certainty could hardly be told apart from the Christians, as contemporary testimonies13 and repeated orders demonstrate, which would command Muslims to distinguish themselves from Christians by wearing other garments than Christians.14 However, not only did Christians adopt customs from their Muslim neighbors; in turn, the people of Granada would also copy many aspects of Castilian fashion. The Alhambra, for instance, incorporated elements of Christian art and architecture, such as the paintings in the Hall of the Kings (Sala de los Reyes) or the four galleries of the Court of the Lions (Patio de los Leones).15 Moreover, similar to how Christian kings would dress up in Islamic garments, the Castilian influence on the Nasrids became apparent in their way of clothing as well. A robe that once had belonged to Muhammad xi (also known as ‘Boabdil’, r. 1482–1483/1487–1492), for example, had been made from Christian velvet and perhaps gifted to him by the Castilian rulers themselves, which makes it stand out against the few other garments that have been preserved.16 This connection between the Castilian and Nasrid royalties is little surprising, given that several members of the dynasty of Granada spent long periods of time in Castilian exile.17 12
13 14 15 16 17
“Y desque vino la noche, el comendador de Montizón, hermano del dicho señor [Condestable], del un cabo, con fasta dozientos caballeros christianos y de la otra parte el asistente Fernando de Villafañe, con otros dozientos caballeros moriscos, con barbas postizas y tiznados, con muchas tronpetas e atabales e añafiles […],” Gayangos 1855, 263. Porras Gil 2012, 395. Carrasco Manchado 2012, 176–178, doc. 52. Almagro Gorbea 2008, 81. Torre 1955, 47. Muley Hacén, for instance, was a long-time hostage at Arévalo around 1454 and accompanied by a large Muslim entourage, see Tapia Sánchez 2016, 430.
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The Castilian Nobility and al-Andalus: An Ambivalent Relationship
The Castilian aristocracy had immense power during the 15th century, and their interventions into the domains of political and economic life were enormous. Despite the monarchs’ repeated attempts to strengthen royal power since the times of Alfonso xi (r. 1312–1350), the aristocrats remained major players at the beginning of the Modern Age and commissioned the creation of very expensive and highly fashionable buildings and other objects. As mentioned before, ‘maurophilia,’ or the taste for Morisco style, penetrated the entire society of late-medieval Castile but was most prominent among its nobility.18 Consequently, common people made an effort to imitate the customs and tastes considered characteristic of the aristocracy, in their aspirations to reach higher social positions. Aforementioned Constable Iranzo, for instance, was a person of humble origins, who had not become part of the nobility through his lineage but by the grace of Enrique iv. Due to the lack of any prestigious ancestry, Don Miguel strived for imitating the customs and tastes of the nobility, by showing off a strong passion for the artistic vocabulary of al-Andalus and through his engagement in military campaigns at the border to Granada.19 During the 15th century, the attitude of the Castilian nobility towards Islam was nonetheless ambivalent. It would officially distinguish itself from Muslims and still show an obsession with Granada, thus enthusiastically supporting the occasional royal campaigns against the Emirate. The domestic policies of the kingdom reflected the effects of these crusades in its legislation against religious minorities, most importantly in the legal orders of 1412 and 1480.20 On the other hand, the nobility would protect the Mudéjars and employ them for a variety of tasks, thereby once more following the lead of the monarchs. Indeed, the service of Muslims at court was a constant feature throughout the 15th century. From the beginning of his reign, Juan ii (r. 1406–1454) entertained a guard of Muslim and Morisco knights, a tradition that his son Enrique iv (r. 1454–1474) would continue. Its members consisted of both renegades from Granada and some of the kings’ Mudéjar slaves.21 The chronicler Alonso de Palencia turned to exactly this guard in his attempt to criticize Enrique iv,22 while at the same time ignoring the Muslim servants of his own lords, the Catholic Kings. Even though the latter did not maintain a similar guard, they did not 18 19 20 21 22
Fuchs 2009a, 62–72. Gayangos 1855, 33. Ladero Quesada 1989, 56–59. Echevarría Arsuaga 2001, 78. Palencia 1904, 173.
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hesitate to surround themselves with Muslim servants, such as Fernando v’s (r. 1474–1516)23 farriers and Queen Isabella i’s (r. 1474–1504) favorite carpenter, Mahoma de Palacios.24 In the case of the rest of the nobility, the presence of Muslim servants is much more difficult to trace back, but it seems they were not against having Muslims in their closest circle. The case of Alí de Bisjueces (fl. 1387) is particularly noteworthy here, who was a valet in the service of Don Pedro Fernández de Velasco (d. 1384) at the end of the 14th century.25 Jews were also frequent among the entourage of the nobility, presumably to represent their power over the subdued vassals in their territories.26 In addition, the number of Mudéjars in regions under the rule of nobility increased during the 15th century, as many Muslims who had before lived under royal protection were now suffering new forms of persecution and therefore sought the protection of the nobility.27 3
Muslims at the Service of Noble Families
Among the Mudéjars who were in the service of the Castilian aristocracy, those with professions related to building stand out the most. It is known that among two of the main communities of the Crown of Castile, that is, in Ávila and Valladolid, about a third of all Muslims were carpenters or bricklayers,28 something that certainly influenced the rate of employment of Mudéjar workers by the nobility.29 Yet the reasons for this building activity were much more complex, and in order to identify them, the relationship of four aristocratic families and their Mudéjar artisans will be further discussed. Four of the major lineages of Castilian aristocracy were chosen for this purpose, namely, the Manrique, the Enríquez, the Velasco and the Fonseca families, whose main assets were located in the Northern Plateau, the richest and most densely populated area of the Crown of Castile, where also the largest Mudéjar communities had settled during the end of the Middle Ages.30 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30
Gamero Igea 2017, 104. Domínguez Casas 1993, 75–81. Jular Pérez-Alfaro 2013, 71. Gamero Igea 2017, 105. Ladero Quesada 1989, 23. Tapia Sánchez 1991, 70; Rucquoi 1993, 73. A brief inventory of several buildings constructed by Mudéjars for members of the Castilian aristocracy is found in Araus Ballesteros 2017, 76–77. Ladero Quesada 1989, 91–100. Various historians have intensively studied the Mudéjar communities of the Duero River basin in the last decade, the most prominent being
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The Enríquez Family: A Church
One of the most important lineages of the Trastámara era were the Enríquez, the Admirals of Castile and close relatives of the royal family. Hardly any of the buildings commissioned by them in the 15th century are still extant, but among those that are we find the Convent of Santa Clara de Palencia (1411– 1431), for which very innovative elements had been incorporated into late Gothic architecture.31 Around the same time, Saint Andrew’s Church (dated 1405–1430) was built in Aguilar de Campos, a town in the Valladolid region that had been the main residence of the family until 1421 (fig. 10.1).32 This unique place of worship stands out among others in the region and can only be compared to Saint Michael’s Church in Villalón (1406–1418), which is also located close to Valladolid and for which the same bricklayers were employed.33 The style of both churches, especially their façades, show clear influences of Nasrid architecture, which is why the style clearly differs from any other in the region.34 The reason for its use may be that Admiral Alfonso Enríquez (1354– 1429) and his wife Juana de Mendoza (1352–1431) had been the patrons of Saint Andrew’s Church, which is clearly expressed through the coats of arms found all over the place. Furthermore, Juana’s will mentions that she had inherited several captive Muslim bricklayers from her husband.35 The existence of these Muslims might have been related to a campaign against Granada led by Prince Don Fernando, Lord of Villalón and royal regent (r. 1406–1412), in 1410.36 Their mention in Juana’s will further indicates that these highly skilled servants were perceived as precious goods and treated as luxurious objects. As a result of said military campaigns against Granada, the number of Islamic captives such as these would be especially high during the end of the 15th century,37 although the majority of Castile’s Muslims did not consist of slaves but Mudéjars, free Muslims.
31 32 33 34 35 36 37
Serafín de Tapia Sánchez, Ana Echevarría Arsuaga, Javier Jiménez Gadea and Olatz Villanueva Zubizarreta. Alonso/Martínez de Aguirre 2011, 134–137. Duque/Pérez 2004, 336. Duque/Pérez 2004, 347. Duque/Pérez 2004, 355. Duque/Pérez 2004, 351. Muñoz Gómez 2016, 89–99. Gamero Igea 2017, 106.
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The Manrique Family: A Monastery
Although not as powerful as the Enríquez or Velasco family, the Manriques’ relationship with the Mudéjars was equally intense. Among them, the most interesting figure is Gómez Manrique (c. 1356–1411), an illegitimate child who nonetheless came to occupy important positions such as Adelantado Mayor of Castile.38 As a child, he had been held hostage in Granada, where he converted to Islam, but would, after his release, return to Christianity years later.39 Perhaps this experience laid the foundation of his life-long embrace of Islamic culture. For his final resting place, he chose the Hieronymite Fresdelval Monastery, which he himself had commissioned in 1404 (fig. 10.2). The Hieronymite Order, which had been founded in Gómez’s lifetime, belonged to one of the main pillars of a religious reform that had been promoted by the Castilian Crown and nobility since the end of the 14th century. However, what can be gathered from Gómez Manrique’s will is that in 1410 a certain Master Brahen, undoubtedly a Muslim, was in charge of the works, and that Manrique left him a significant amount of money for his services.40 In addition to Master Brahen, four other Muslim artisans worked at the building site of the monastery: three slaves who Gómez had bought in Córdoba, and a fourth called Muça, whom he had kept in Fromista (Palencia), a town of his lordship.41 In exactly this town, Doña María Manrique (d. 1441), one of Gómez Manrique’s daughters, founded a monastery of reformed Benedictines in 1437, next to the Jewish quarter.42 Even though this building has not survived, it is known that in 1475, Muslim artisans from Palencia had created a wooden choir loft with pews for the monks. The cost of the pews aside, which amounted to more than 60,000 maravedís,43 little more is known about the building process and the workers involved. The most powerful branch of the Manrique family were the Counts of Paredes, who were responsible for the Convent of Calabazanos near Palencia, where two daughters of Count Don Pedro Manrique (1435–1481) became nuns between 1468 and 1490.44 During that time, a Mudéjar master builder 38 The Adelantado Mayor has no direct equivalent in English but is more or less similar to a governor. It was a title directly granted by the king and encompassed the right to become governor and judge of a specific region that usually involved conquering and was thus often related to a frontier. 39 Franco Silva 2018. 40 ahn, Clero Secular-Regular, Leg. 1053. 41 ahn, Clero Secular-Regular, Leg. 1053. 42 Zaragoza i Pascual 1998, 89. 43 ahn, Clero Secular-Regular, Leg. 16808. 44 Lavado Paradinas 1977, 32.
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named Braymi, who also carried out works in the nearby monastery of Astudillo, decorated parts of the church and cloister with plasterwork (fig. 10.3). It is possible that this artisan is identical with Master Abrahim,45 who in 1480 pled for several of his co-religionists working for the Count by writing a letter to the Catholic Kings in which he requested the latter’s freedom, an occurrence that demonstrates the complexity of the relations between artisans and their superiors. In 1480, Don Pedro Manrique ordered two Mudéjars from Valladolid, Audalla, the son of Master Juçaf, and one Farax Buenaño, to work at several castles located on the border to Granada, which was far away from their hometowns.46 They were held hostage at the castles of Beas, Yeste and Úbeda, where Rodrigo Manrique (d. 1518), one of the Count’s brothers, would chain them to force them to work. This way they went from being free Mudéjars, who lived under royal protection, to being equated with the captured slaves in the borderlands. 6
The Velasco Family: A Palace
Among the Castilian aristocrats of their time, the Velasco family stands out for its extraordinary wealth and power. Not only had the aforementioned valet Alí de Bisjueces been a faithful servant to the family; apart from that, several family members, including the Buen Conde de Haro (1390–1470), were renowned for their predilection for Islamic aesthetics, while also being extremely devout Christians.47 In the last third of the 15th century, the Velascos, who were the Counts of Haro and became the Constables of Castile as of 1474, established their main residence in Burgos, where they erected a magnificent palace, the Casa del Cordón, at the city’s main square. Popular tradition attributed the planning and the beginning of the building to a master builder named Mahomad de Segovia, but there is no evidence for this claim. Today, at least the façade and the central courtyard can be attributed to Simón de Colonia, whereas the participation of the Mudéjar artisan has been ruled out completely in the meantime.48 However, it is still plausible that several Mudéjars could have collaborated during the building process, since a series of master builders named Segovia, including Abdurramen de Segovia, had in fact been working
45 46 47 48
“Brayme,” “Abrahim” and “Brahen” are different Spanish variants of the same Arabic name. ags, Registro General del Sello, Leg. 148010, 165. García Mercadal 1999, 275. Ibáñez Pérez 1987, 198.
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for the kings from the beginning of the 15th century onwards.49 At the time when the Casa del Cordón was being constructed, Mahomad de Segovia, who had followed in his father Master Lope’s footsteps as of 1483, became the master builder of the Alcázar in Madrid.50 In this regard, it is very likely that such a renowned artisan in the service of the kings would have also been asked to collaborate in the construction of the Constable’s palace. During the subsequent decades, the Casa del Cordón was the chosen setting for many celebrations, such as the wedding of Crown-Prince Don Juan (1478– 1497) in 1497. As becomes clear from preserved financial records, Muslim servants were frequently hired for the festivities that took place in the palace. Among those servants, the two most outstanding ones were Mahoma de Palacios51 and Alí de Francia.52 Palacios was Queen Isabella i’s carpenter, whereas Alí was the Constable’s favorite, who would serve him for many years, even after his baptism in 1502 and after he had taken on the name of Juan de Francia. He was proud of his position, which can be gathered from his testimony at a trial around 1520, wherein he highlights his close ties to the Velasco family, thereby revealing details that had little to do with the subject matter of the trial itself.53 By explaining that he had been working for the Constable for almost three decades and had lived in his house, he might have sought to shield himself from any possible accusations that could have emerged during the trial. Nevertheless, the servant’s positive stance towards his master is in stark contrast to the sentiments of those Mudéjars chained by the Count of Paredes. In a petition to the Catholic Kings, they highlighted their legal status as free Muslims and denied entertaining any other relation with the nobleman than that of a purely economic nature.54 The monarchs, however, were far away, and royal support was not always sufficient. Consequently, the Mudéjar population started to relocate from areas under royal to those of noble control,55 spurred by the social climate, which had become increasingly hostile against Jews and Muslims, who sought for more effective protection from persecution, while the nobility, for its part, was eager to benefit from them as highly skilled and profitable vassals.
49 50 51 52 53 54 55
Guilbeau 2012, 104. Domínguez Casas 1993, 62; ags, Escribanía Mayor de Rentas, Mercedes y Privilegios, Leg. 76, Nº 41. Andrés Díaz 2005. Domínguez Casas 1993, 305. López Mata 1951, 349. ags, Registro General del Sello, Leg. 148010, 165. Ladero Quesada 1989, 23.
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The Fonesca Family: A Castle
The Fonseca family deserves our attention for having commissioned the construction of Coca Castle, “the best castle built during the 15th century,” at least according to Rayo Gruss (fig. 10.4).56 This ingenious and truly outstanding work, started in 1488, was built ex novo and is the only building of this dimension whose initial conception and most of its execution can be safely attributed to Mudéjars. It stands in the midst of an architectural landscape dominated by late Gothic master builders, such as Simón de Colonia or Juan Guas,57 setting the backdrop against which the two figures responsible for Coca Castle, Master Farax and Alí Caro, would appear onto the surface.58 It is possible that Mudéjar intervention into other buildings, such as Mota Castle at Medina del Campo, was equally decisive, but there is not enough documentation for confirming this assumption.59 The fortress of Coca was commissioned by Alonso de Fonseca (d. 1505), who not only provided substantial resources but followed the progress of the construction with great interest.60 The major part of the work was carried out by a group of Muslim bricklayers from Ávila, who also worked on constructions for other nobles, such as the castle of Casarrubios del Monte (Toledo) (1496–ca. 1500), the property of Gonzalo Chacón, or the – now lost –castles of Ávila, Torralba and Foncastin.61 In these buildings, many technological improvements for the artillery were incorporated alongside significant aesthetic innovations, as they, in addition to the purpose of defense, served palatial and representative functions.62 Given the great importance the construction of the castle had for Alonso de Fonseca, it might be little surprising that he chose the most renowned master builders for his project. About one of them, Master Farax, we know as good as nothing, but what we do know is that Alonso de Fonseca dressed him in a scarlet hood after having laid the first stone of the castle,63 thereby defying royal laws that commanded Mudéjars to wear yellow or green clothing only.64 About 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64
“El mejor Castillo construido durante el siglo XV,” Rallo Gruss 1996, 13. Alonso Ruiz 2016, 281. Vasallo Toranzo 2014, 68. Apart from a few references to a certain Maestre Abdalla and an engineer Alí de Lerma, there is no further documentation, Cooper 1991, 202. Vasallo Toranzo 2014, 63. Vasallo Toranzo 2018, 152. Like the Alcázar of Segovia, the interiors of Coca Castle and Alaejos Castle (today destroyed) served palatial functions and included magnificently decorated rooms with elements imitating those of the Kingdom of Granada, Vasallo Toranzo 2018, 118–126. Vasallo Toranzo 2014, 68. Carrasco Manchado 2012, 177.
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Alí Caro, another Muslim bricklayer, we know that he was baptized in 1502 and adopted the name Alonso de Fonseca in homage to his lord.65 This choice of name indicates that the Lord of Coca most likely had been the godfather, which would imply a special relationship between him and his artisan. From the perspective of Christian theology, baptism establishes a permanent spiritual bond with the godchild, which allowed the nobility to become actively involved in the spread of Christianity. It indeed seems as if the propagandistic value of such baptisms was crucial, so that even Felipe el Hermoso, whose first visit to Castile coincided with the Edict of Conversion of 1502, did not miss the opportunity of becoming godfather to several Mudéjars.66 In addition to Master Farax and Alí Caro, another bricklayer, who worked in Coca and appears in payrolls of the year 1500, is particularly interesting here. This ‘Maestre Patón’ bore a surname that was very unusual among Castilian Muslims.67 In fact, only one worker with this name is known, one Omar Patón, a Mudéjar from Ávila who went on a pilgrimage to Mecca between 1491 and 1495, and who left an account of his voyage,68 which had led him through North Africa, Egypt and the Middle East.69 We know that he was not merely a bricklayer but celebrated as a master builder, for in 1491, before embarking on his pilgrimage to Mecca, he was contracted for working on the walls of Mota Castle at Medina del Campo, which was a costly project that required experience and a high skillset.70 The surname, profession and geographical origin therefore suggest that Omar Patón was the master builder of Coca. 8
The Mudéjars and the Taste for Ibero-Islamic Aesthetics
The relationship between the Mudéjar artisans and works in Islamic styles is not always straightforward. Due to the fragmentary nature of the documentation preserved, it is very rare that a complete work can be attributed to Muslim workers with certainty. Additionally, it is often unclear who was responsible for what particular part of the construction, especially in relation to larger buildings, where many people would work together. As should have become clear from the works discussed in previous subchapters, the biographical 65 66 67 68 69 70
Cooper 1991, 186. Porras Gil 2012, 470. Vasallo Toranzo 2014, 71. The account was published by Casassas Canals et al. 2017. Casassas Canals et al. 2017, 47–54. ammc, Histórico, c. 276-1, Libro de Acuerdos (1489–1490), f. 110v.
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circumstances of artisans and the style of their constructions were extremely diverse. For some cases, for instance, Saint Andrew’s Church of Aguilar de Campos (1405–1430), the existence of a direct connection with Islamic art is obvious. Its monumental façade follows models from Granada, such as the Alhambra’s Puerta del Vino or the Puerta de la Justicia,71 which had been built almost a century before, while there is hardly any similarity to other Castilian buildings, the reason of which being the presence and participation of captive Moors. In the case of other constructions, for example Coca Castle (1488– 1504), it is not possible to identify any clear reference to any particular style. Whereas the use of elements such as turrets was common for fortresses of that time, at Coca Castle they were used with such profusion that they are reminiscent of the ornamentation of older Gothic churches, such as that of the late-13th-century dome of Évora Cathedral.72 Even though different modes of bricklaying can be found among other buildings, the combination of different techniques and styles is what distinguishes Coca Castle from any other predecessor. Numerous constructions for which the participation of Muslim artisans is documented have not survived. This is, for instance, the case for the aforementioned Casa del Cordón, on whose construction Alí de Francia and perhaps even Mahomad de Segovia worked. The only parts that have survived are the courtyard and the exterior façades, which however have experienced severe modifications. The interior of Casa del Cordón was sumptuous, and several rooms included opulent ceilings –probably a la morisca –such as the great hall, the antechamber, the main staircase and, possibly, the chapel.73 Another example of a poorly preserved building is Fresdelval Monastery, today largely a ruin and therefore inaccessible. The walls that have passed the times show Gothic features without any influence of Islamic aesthetics, even though the will of its founder assigns a leading role in the construction to Master Brahen, who might have directed or administrated the work. Therefore, the presence of late Gothic style in the building alone cannot be an argument for discarding any intervention of Muslim labor. In the convent of Astudillo, for example, the plasterworks from the end of the 15th century, signed by the Muslim artisan Braymi, consist of crochets, pinnacles and other motifs very similar to those found in Christian altarpieces of the time. Moreover, the participation of Muslim artisans is also documented for the pews of Segovia Cathedral from
71 72 73
Ruiz Souza 2012, 158. Espanca 1966, 19. Paulino Montero 2013, 530–534.
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1463,74 which clearly show similarities to those executed around the same time by masters of Central European provenance.75 Lastly, the few still extant works that Mudéjars had either helped construct or commissioned themselves should be taken into account as well. Among them, the funerary stelae of Ávila certainly belong to the creations that call for most of our attention (fig. 10.5). These pieces are made of large granite blocks and include a decoration identical to that of the large churches built in the city at the same time, including the tower of the Monastery of Santo Tomás.76 9
The Mudejars: Muslim Craftsmen at the Service of Christian Customers
In conclusion, what could be demonstrated is that the impact of Islamic culture on the Crown of Castile remained very profound throughout the 15th century, with three major historic sources being the Islamic past of the Iberian Peninsula, the neighboring kingdom of Granada, along with the rest of the Islamic World. The Castilian Mudéjars acted as mediators between both worlds, firstly, because of their role as the direct successors of Hispano-Muslim tradition and, secondly, because of their close ties to the Kingdom of Granada and the Islamic East, thanks to their pilgrimages and travels. The artistic commissions they received from the aristocracy and other groups of Castilian society forced them –in a good way –to adapt their cultural and artistic backgrounds to the demands of their Christian customers. Therefore, these Muslim artisans should not be considered as merely passive transmitters, but –on the contrary –as important players who, as we have seen, actively participated in the two cultural worlds of Christianity and Islam and in re-elaborating their traditions. 74 75 76
López Díez 2005, 180. Heim 1995, 133. Jiménez/Villanueva 2011, 381–384.
Mudéjar Artisans and the Aristocracy in 15-century Castile
Illustrations
figure 10.1 Aguilar de Campos (Valladolid), Iglesia de San Andrés, 1405–1430 source: © luis araus ballesteros
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figure 10.2 Burgos, ruins of the Monastery of Fresdelval, first third of the 15th century source: © luis araus ballesteros
figure 10.3 Astudillo (Palencia), Convent of Santa Clara, stuccowork, Braymi, last third of the 15th century source: © luis araus ballesteros
Mudéjar Artisans and the Aristocracy in 15-century Castile211
figure 10.4 Coca (Segovia), Castle, Maestre Farax and Alí Caro, 1488–1504 source: © luis araus ballesteros
figure 10.5 Islamic funerary stele, granite, end of the 15th century. Museo de Ávila, nº inv. 00/29/m f/131 source: © museo de ávila
c hapter 11
Reproducing the Alhambra
Monument Conservators and Artisans in Granada Francine Giese and Alejandro Jiménez Hernández In his 1996 study on Islamic Revival architecture in Spain, José Manuel Rodríguez Domingo presented a first comprehensive catalog on the subject, wherein he not only included 19th-century buildings and interiors but also contemporary restoration works, which he furthermore classified as neo-Islamic (neoárabe).1 Although this assignation will not be followed here, it is still important to note that, by using it, Rodríguez Domingo draws the reader’s attention to one of the most important driving forces behind the development and global diffusion of neo-Nasrid architecture and interior design in 19th-century Europe: the interconnectedness of the emergence of a new architectural style based on Nasrid prototypes and the restoration works executed at the Alhambra after 1837. 1
The Restoration of the Alhambra and the Revitalization of Local Practices
The revival of Nasrid surface ornamentation had not only been initiated by formal transfers based on visual sources, as discussed in more detail in c hapter 21, but was, to an even greater extent, the result of the revitalization of the Nasrid stucco technique that experienced a rationalization under Muḥammad iii (r. ah 701–708 / ad 1302–1309), when Ibero-Islamic stuccoworks would be produced through molding. Before, they had been mostly carved on site in a time-consuming technique. The new practice allowed for producing ornamented stucco panels and many other decorative elements in series, by using so-called master models from which an infinite number of positive copies could be yielded.2 The revival of this 14th-century technique some 500 years later was facilitated by several factors. Special emphasis has to be placed on 1 Rodríguez Domingo 1996, vol. 2. 2 On the Nasrid molding technique, see Pavón Maldonado 2004, 723; Rubio Domene 2010, 190–218.
© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2021 | DOI:10.1163/9789004448582_013
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the interventionist restoration policy of Juan Parejo y Darrac (1836–1843), who was appointed governor of the Alhambra on May 22, 1836.3 It was under Parejo y Darrac’s direction that a French delegation from the Musée de Versailles was given access to the remains of the Nasrid stuccowork. Louis Philippe i (r. 1830–1848) had ordered the delegation, presumably led by Isidore Justin Séverin Taylor (1789–1879), better known as “Baron Taylor,” to obtain plaster casts of the Alhambra and the tombs of the Capilla Real for the royal cast collection.4 For this purpose, members of the French delegation would cast molds on site using clay imprints, which allowed them to produce faithful copies of architectural decorations in series.5 Juan Manuel Barrios Rozúa recently recalled that it were the Spanish artisans and architects involved in the restoration works at the Alhambra that had originally begun already in 1818, who started standardizing the reproduction techniques the French delegation had introduced in 1837 and thereby launched a new era in the history of the Alhambra’s conservation, which in current Spanish art historiography is known as the etapa adornista (decorative phase).6 Today, this phase is considered very controversial due to the interventionist approach of the responsible architects and conservators, who followed a Royal Order of Regent María Cristina de Borbón (r. 1833–1840) from August 5, 1840 that caused a shift from the restoration of the dilapidated walls to the restitution of the fragile stuccowork.7 Architect José Contreras Osorio (1795–1868), appointed monument conservator of the Alhambra in autumn 1840, and whose first intervention into the Alhambra dates to 1831,8 understood how to use the new reproduction technique to his advantage. Following the restoration criteria that governor Juan Parejo y Darrac had established –José Contreras would replace the fragmentary stuccowork with re-integrations consisting of repeated sequences of plaster casts taken from a limited number of Nasrid originals, a practice evidenced
3 Barrios Rozúa 2016, 32–33, 62–69. 4 Rodríguez Domingo 1998, 110; Barrios Rozúa 2016, 63–65. It has been impossible so far to locate the casts of the Capilla Real, yet the vast collection of the Louvre do include several Alhambra casts, see Rionnet 1996, 317. As for the possible involvement of Baron Taylor, see Rionnet 1996, 16. 5 Barrios Rozúa 2016, 63–65; Rodríguez Domingo 1998, 110. For more on the reproduction technique, see esp. Rubio Domene 2010, 116. 6 Barrios Rozúa 2016. For further reading, see Barrios Rozúa 2008; Barrios Rozúa 2009; González Pérez 2017, vol. 1, 123–146. 7 Panadero Peropadre 2010. 8 Rodríguez Domingo 1998, 41–42; Barrios Rozúa 2016, 70–103.
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by several restoration projects of José’s son Rafael as well as by contemporary travelogues.9 Even though the restitution of entire wall surfaces is considered controversial today, this method constituted a technical revolution for 19th-century restoration practice in Spain. Its transfer to contemporary architecture happened after the complete destruction of the western part of Granada’s Alcaicería during a fire that had broken out in the early morning of July 20, 1843.10 The Alcaicería, which dates to the Nasrid period and whose gates would be locked during night times, had been the city’s silk bazaar. The responsibilities for reconstructing the historic landmark were delegated to the architects José Contreras, Salvador Amador, Juan Pugnaire and Baltasar Romero, who at the time were also involved in the restoration of the Alhambra. According to several hand-written documents, Ramón López Vázquez, the secretary of the city council, ordered José Contreras and his colleagues to draw a topographical map of the destroyed parts of the Alcaicería, to straighten its streets, to demar cate neighboring properties and design a new façade decoration (fig. 11.1).11 The result was a regularization of the bazaar’s ground plan and elevation that changed its appearance as a whole, especially due to the use of plaster casts on the façades of the shops that had been serially produced from Estudio Contreras, the workshop owned by the Contreras family.12 Despite expressed criticism by José’s son, Rafael Contreras Muñoz (1824–1890),13 the reconstruction of the Alcaicería plays a key role in the phenomenon examined here. While the use of plaster casts had before been restrained to conservation works only, they would, from then on, increasingly infiltrate contemporary building practices, 9
10 11 12
13
See for instance the restoration project by José Contreras’s son, Rafael Contreras Muñoz, “Relacion de los trabajos de restauracion de adornos, hechos en el Palacio árabe durante el mes de Septiembre ultimo”, Real Alhambra de Granada, 3 October 1856, Granada: Obras de reparacion de la Real Alhambra, 1855, agp 10762. For the report of a contemporary observer, see Hackländer 1855, 291. Hand-written letter by Ramón López Vázquez, Granada, 22 July 1843, AHMGr C. 00003, Leg. 3, Pieza 129. For further reading, see Rodríguez Domingo 1998, 118–119; Barrios Rozúa 2010, 295–300; Sánchez Muñoz 2016. On the Nasrid silk bazaar, see Garzón Pareja 1972. Para le reedificacion de las tiendas y Almacenes en la Alcaycería, 1843–1845, AHMGr C. 00003, Leg. 3, Pieza 129. Sánchez Muñoz 2016, note 21. For further reading, see Rodríguez Domingo 1998, 118– 119; Casado Alcalde 2008; Serrano Espinosa 2012; Barrios Rozúa 2016, 94–96. According to Tonia Raquejo, the color scheme of the newly executed stucco decoration of the Alcaicería followed the Nasrid polychromy of the Alhambra Jules Goury and Owen Jones had proposed in their Plans, Elevations, Sections and Details from the Alhambra (1836– 1845), see Raquejo Grado 1989, 75. Contreras Muñoz 1885 [2007], 337.
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especially in relation to neo-Nasrid interiors and patios such as those planned and executed by Rafael Contreras after 1847.14 2
Rafael Contreras Muñoz and Madrid’s High Aristocracy
As the son of the monument conservator of the Alhambra, it is certain that Rafael Contreras had known the Nasrid palaces since his early childhood. In 1847, he was appointed conservator for the ornamental decorations (restaurador adornista) of the Alhambra, which meant that he had full access to the building’s stuccoworks.15 This allowed Contreras to study the design principles of Nasrid ornamentation first-hand and to improve techniques for reproducing them at the taller de arabescos, the Alhambra’s official restoration workshop that Rafael had founded in 1847 after his father José had successfully submitted a request to Queen Isabel ii (r. 1833–1868) the year before.16 Rafael Contreras had many talents: apart from his Alhambra-related activities, he also led the aforementioned Estudio Contreras, one of Granada’s most important reproduction workshops. The family had established it at their official residence next to the Puerta del Vino, today simply known as the Casa del Arquitecto, the House of the Architect. The family-owned studio had received international acclaim especially for Rafael’s spectacular Alhambra models,17 which were not only admired by prestigious travelers such as Alexandre Dumas,18 but also by the Spanish Queen, Isabel ii, who in September 1847 invited Contreras to Madrid to present his model at her court. This event marked the starting point of Contreras’s third career as an interior decorator. The Queen was so impressed by Rafael’s polychrome plaster model of the Alhambra’s Sala de las
14 15 16 17
18
For biographical information on Rafael Contreras Muñoz, see Ossorio y Bernard 1975 [1868–1869], vol. 1, 146–147; Panadero Peropadre 1994; Rodríguez Domingo 1998, 45–47; González Pérez 2017, vol. 1, 161–185. On Rafael Contreras’s restoration activities, see Rodríguez Domingo 1998, esp. 122–147; Barrios Rozúa 2016, 137–156; Giese 2017b. On Rafael’s reproductions, the mentioned ornamentation workshop of the Alhambra and the Estudio Contreras, see Rodríguez Domingo 1996, vol. 1, 312–327; Rodríguez Domingo 1998, 155–163; Giese/Heller 2017, esp. 127–135; González Pérez 2017, vol. 1, 188–205. On Contreras’s Alhambra models, see esp. González Pérez 2017; Giese/Varela Braga 2017c; González Pérez 2018, as well as Ekaterina Savinova’s study of Contreras’s Alhambra models at the Scientific-Research Museum of the Russian Academy of Arts, St. Petersburg in the following chapter. Dumas 1989 [1847], 214.
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Dos Hermanas in a scale of 1:919 that she acquired it for the Prado collection and commissioned Contreras to execute a life-size replica of the same hall at the Royal Palace of Aranjuez (fig. 11.2). In her close study on Rafael’s work for the Palace of Aranjuez, Nieves Panadero Peropadre asserts that various members of the Contreras family had been involved in the implementation of the Arab cabinet (gabinete árabe).20 Because of the specificities of the chosen room, a number of adjustments were made so that there are noticeable differences between the original Hall of the Two Sisters and its replica in Aranjuez. Contreras’s initial idea had been to adapt the rectangular room to the octagonal outline of the muqarnas dome of the Sala de las Dos Hermanas and to eliminate the intermediate, stuccoed zone so that the four squinches would be aligned above the dado. However, this plan could not be carried out fully. Due to the exorbitant costs and ongoing conflicts between Contreras and court architect Narciso Pascual y Colomer (1808–1870), the works got delayed and even suspended between January and October 1849. During this process, Contreras’s project underwent significant changes introduced by court architect Domingo Gómez de la Fuente (1809–1856). These transformations notwithstanding, the Arab cabinet of Aranjuez, finally completed in April 1851, still is a milestone in the history of neo-Nasrid interiors. Earlier examples in the Spanish capital, such as the Alhambresque cabinet at calle Alcalá designed by painter Luis Frasquero for José Manuel Calderón (1844, later destroyed), a bath at Palacio Viejo de Vista Alegre by painter Francisco Aranda y Delgado (1844–1846, later destroyed), or the Arab hall and antechamber by painters Joaquín Espalter and Antonio Bravo for José Buschental (1846, later destroyed) would incorporate painted Nasrid decorations,21 whereas Rafael Contreras would use plaster casts based on newly carved specimen and executed by stucco artisans for the Aranjuez cabinet.22 Whereas José Contreras had introduced the casting technique to contemporary building practices at the Alcaicería, his son
19 20
21 22
Today preserved at the National Archaeological Museum of Madrid, 1842–1847, 194 x 109 cm, inv. 50555, see González Pérez 2017, vol. 2, 82–89. The execution of the Arab Cabinet of Aranjuez has been closely studied by Nieves Panadero Peropadre, who based her observations on archival material from the Archivo General de Palacio in Madrid, see Panadero Peropadre 1992, 871–878; Panadero Peropadre 1994, 34–37. Panadero Peropadre 1992, 867–869; Panadero Peropadre 1994, 33; Rodríguez Domingo 1996, vol. 2, 162, 171–172. Panadero Peropadre 1992, 872.
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would pioneer in using the same technique for prestigious commissions by the Spanish aristocracy in Madrid, which, apart from the Palacio of Aranjuez, included an Alhambresque cabinet (gabinete árabe) at Palacio de Liria for the Duchess of Alba (completed in 1855, later destroyed), who also happened to be the sister of French Empress Eugénie (1826–1920), the wife of Napoleon iii (r. 1852–1870) (fig. 11.3).23 Even though the cabinet was private, the local press had been able to publish a description of its interior on March 23, 1855, wherein special mention was made of Contreras’s stuccowork and that it imitated Nasrid examples from Granada.24 After the works at Liria Palace had been completed, the Countess of Montijo, mother of the Duchess of Alba, asked Rafael Contreras to create an Alhambresque patio, known as La Serre, for her palace at Madrid’s Plaza de Angel.25 According to contemporary reports, this interior courtyard, executed between 1855 and 1858, had been inspired by the slender twin-columns and rich stucco decoration of the Patio de los Leones. Similar to other examples discussed in later chapters of this volume,26 a roof construction of iron and glass would cover the patio. The neo-Nasrid interiors Rafael Contreras created after 1865 for the Dukes of Sesto,27 a close relative of the Countess of Montijo and her daughters,28 confirm the strong influence the Montijo family had on the local aristocracy, which would subsequently adopt their predilection for the Alhambresque style. In 1876, Contreras would return to Madrid to create another replica of the famous Court of the Lions for Juan de Anglada y Ruíz.29 Just like Rafael’s previously mentioned interiors of Aranjuez and Madrid, the patio árabe at Anglada Palace would be decorated with lavish stuccowork executed by means of plaster casts.30
23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30
Panadero Peropadre 1992, 878–879; Rodríguez Domingo 1996, vol. 2, 163, 172. See also chapter 8. Crónica de la Capital 1855. El nuevo domicilio 1886; Panadero Peropadre 1992, 879–880; Panadero Peropadre 1994, 37; Rodríguez Domingo 1996, vol. 1, 341, vol. 2, 163, 173. See chapter 18. Panadero Peropadre 1992, 881; Rodríguez Domingo 1996, vol. 1, 341-341, vol. 2, 163, 176. It is noteworthy that José Osorio y Silva, Marqués de Alcañices and Duke of Sesto (1825– 1909) had close ties and amorous intentions to the Countess’s daughters, being the unfortunate admirer of the duchess de Alba and the unhappy love of her sister Eugenia. On the Anglada Palace, see Panadero Peropadre 1992, 878–881; Casado Alcalde 2008, 553– 554; Ordieres Díez 2015. Concerning the stucco technique used for the Alhambresque interiors of the Sesto Palace, see Rodríguez Domingo 1996, 176; for Juan de Anglada’s patio árabe, see Mélida 1895, 363.
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Antonio Santisteban and the Institutionalization of Local Practices in Granada
Among Granada-based artisans, Rafael Contreras and his workshop certainly belonged to the best known abroad, but they were not the only ones. In 1856, when Rafael was working on the neo-Nasrid patio of Montijo Palace, another workshop based in Granada known as the Casa Rus was asked to design an Alhambresque patio for a residential house on calle Cañizares 6 in Madrid (fig. 11.4).31 The uniform and repetitive character of the stuccowork indicates that the artisans of Casa Rus had based their designs on a limited number of standardized casts, further implying that they had applied the same technique as Contreras. Whereas the available information on Casa Rus is very limited,32 more is known about the Santisteban family, which was active in Granada since the end of the 19th century33 and would succeed the Contreras in leading the restoration workshop of the Alhambra in 1907 after Rafael’s son Mariano Contreras Granja (1853–1912) had been replaced by architect Modesto Cendoya Busquets (1856–1938) as the Alhambra’s monument conservator.34 In addition, Antonio Santisteban (b. 1870) established a family-owned reproduction workshop specialized in plaster casts at Gran Vía de Colón 31 in Granada. Even though Antonio’s son Ángel Santisteban González and his grandson Antonio Santisteban Martín would continue the family business, it is Antonio’s work that can best be compared to Rafael Contreras’s. Antonio was equally recognized on international scale for his Alhambresque interiors and patios, among them those for the iconic Grand Hotel Alhambra Palace that overlooks the city of Granada.35 Its architect was Modesto Cendoya, who followed plans set out by British architect Lowet (life dates unknown), a close friend of the renowned patron Julio Quesada-Cañaveral y Piédrola, the Duke of San Pedro de Galatino (1857–1936), who after the premature death of his parents had been raised in Madrid by the Dukes of Sesto and would become a key figure for the economic 31 32 33 34
35
Panadero Peropadre 1992, 882. It is for instance unknown if the Casa Rus was somehow related to Rafael Rus Acosta’s studio, which was famous for its Alhambra models, see González Pérez 2017, vol. 1, 298–303. On the various activities of the Santisteban family, see euiea 1927, 354–355; Rodríguez Domingo 1997; Fernández Navarro et al. 2012; González Pérez 2017, vol. 1, 316–320. Rodríguez Domingo 1996, vol. 1, 326–327. On Mariano’s Alhambra-related activities, see Rodríguez Domingo 1998, 199–226. Modesto Cendoya was heavily criticized for his unfinished excavations and restoration works carried out at the Alhambra between 1907 and 1923, see Álvarez Lopera 1977, esp. 56–124. Rodríguez Domingo 1996, vol. 2, 7, 35; Rodríguez Domingo 1997; Hontoria Puentes 2018. For its latest remodeling, see Ramos Puertollano 2017.
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and touristic development of the Granada region.36 The construction works for the hotel started in 1905 and King Alfonso xiii (r. 1886/1902–1931) would inaugurate it on January 1, 1909. Monumental reproductions of Rafael Contreras’s controversial dome for the eastern pavilion of the Court of the Lions and of Seville’s Almohad Torre de Oro dominate the hotel’s exterior.37 Contemporary critics praised the neo-Moorish building as an embodiment of Spanish modernism, and it would be frequented by members of Europe’s aristocracy, as well as its cultural and political elites.38 The hotel’s interior design followed the same established tradition of covering the walls with meticulous stuccoworks based on plaster casts as observed in other examples related to the patron, such as the Sesto Palace in Madrid, where the Duke of San Pedro de Galatino was raised, or his Nasrid castle in Láchar (Granada), remodeled by Modesto Cendoya in Alhambresque style during the 1880s (fig. 11.5). In 1910, Antonio Santisteban would have the opportunity to again collaborate with Cendoya on a much more ambitious project. Spanish industrialist and financier Nicolás de Escoriaza y Fabro (1869–1937), in charge of the Spanish section at the 1910 World’s Fair in Brussels, had asked both to design a national pavilion in neo-Islamic style.39 The collaboration turned out a boost for Antonio’s career: for his re-creation of the Court of the Lions based on plaster casts he was awarded the jury’s Grand Prize (Gran Premio del Jurado) and Honorary Prize (Premio de Honor), as well as a gold medal as exhibitor.40 The Belgian Government even purchased the patio after the World’s Fair,41 which in the meantime has been disassembled, with only a few fragments surviving at the storage of Brussel’s Royal Museums of Art and History (rmah). Apart from this patio, in 1916 Antonio created another architectural reproduction of the Patio de los Leones for his father’s estate in Granada’s Albaicín, today known as the Carmen de la Media Luna (fig. 11.6).42 Located opposite to its historic reference building, the Alhambra, this well-preserved Alhambresque patio attests the then still uninterrupted popularity of neo-Nasrid interiors in Granada 36 37 38 39 40 41 42
Titos Martínez 2018. Rafael Contreras’s reconstruction of the eastern court pavilion has become an influential reference for contemporary architects, see Giese/Varela Braga 2017c, esp. 98–105 and chapter 18. Durán Caffarena 2018, 79–91. Rodríguez Domingo 1997; Depelchin 2018. Profesorado de la Escuela de Artes y Oficios Artísticos de Granada. Hojas de Servicios, p. 2, aeag. See also euiea 1929; Rodríguez Domingo 1997, 130; Fernández Navarro et al. 2012. Profesorado de la Escuela de Artes y Oficios Artísticos de Granada. Hojas de Servicios, p. 2, aeag. Rodríguez Domingo 1996, vol. 2, 36.
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and elsewhere, which may also have motivated Alfonso xiii’s decision to institutionalize the formation of stucco artisans by founding a workshop specialized in Islamic decorations (Taller de Decoración Árabe) at the School of Arts and Crafts (Escuela de Artes y Oficios Artísticos) in Granada in 1916.43 The king’s initiative had been spurred by the international success of Spain’s 1910 pavilion, which is also why Antonio Santisteban would play a crucial role in developing and implementing the new educational program. Appointed head of workshop (maestro de taller) by Royal Order on February 23, 1917, Antonio was first in charge of the Islamic ornamentation department ad interim (from November 1920 to May 1921), and thereafter until 1940 as its official head.44 The position would be inherited within the Santisteban family: Antonio’s son Ángel thus succeeded his father in 1941 for another three decades, followed by Ángel’s son Antonio Santisteban Martín, who started his training at the same school in 1939/1940 and would seize the position in 1970. After Antonio Santisteban Martín’s retirement in 1989, the era of the Santisteban family came to an end. For almost seven decades, its members had trained several generations of stucco artisans. Additionally, Antonio’s unpublished treatise Dibujos geométricos árabes de la Alhambra (1913) and the casts preserved at the school confirm how much the members of the Santisteban family had contributed to the revival of local art practices,45 and highlight how capable they had been in creating a new ornamental language that could bear comparison with Carl von Diebitsch’s re-interpretations of Nasrid ornamentation from half a century before.46 4
A Present-Day Replica: The Arab Hall of Madrid’s Former Armory Museum Reproduced in Toledo
The School of Arts and Crafts has kept the artistic legacy of the Santisteban family alive until this very day. An example proving this point very well is Arabedeco, a stucco company with roots in the workshop of stucco artisan Carmen Rodríguez Bautista Menchu (b. 1945), a former student at the School of 43 44 45 46
Fernández Navarro et al. 2012, 40. Borrador, p. 40, aeag; Profesorado de la Escuela de Artes y Oficios Artísticos de Granada. Hojas de Servicios, aeag. My thanks go to Esteban Fernández Navarro, who gave me access to the mentioned material. For more on this aspect, see c hapter 20 in this volume.
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Arts and Crafts. Even though she had not been trained by the Santistebans themselves, she would adopt their methods and later pass them on to Ervigio Jiménez Polo (b. 1958), who had first been her collaborator and would later become the head of Arabedeco. Whereas Ervigio would therefore at first work on Carmen Rodríguez’s commission, he later independently improved and extended the number of Alhambresque casts available to the artisans at Arabedeco. Not unlike the dynastic principle of the Contreras and Santisteban families, Ervigio’s first-born son Samuel Jiménez Hernández (b. 1984) would follow in his father’s footsteps, with his work showing the same precision and diligence. The second-born son, Alejandro Jiménez Hernández (b. 1988), instead studied architecture, thereby opening a completely new horizon for the company’s future in respect to the use of new materials and technologies. There is still a demand for the skillsets offered by Arabedeco and other similar companies today. One of the most striking projects proving this point is the partial reproduction of the Arab Hall (Sala árabe) of Madrid’s former Armory Museum (fig. 11.7). The original Arab Hall, also inaugurated by King Alfonso xiii in 1912, was executed in the early 20th century by stucco artisan Manuel Castaños (lifedates unknown) and used to be a prime example of 19th-century Orientalizing scenographies as treated in more detail in c hapter 16. Despite its historic significance, the hall faces the threat of being destroyed in course of a remodeling of the building related to plans for extending the Prado, which is why it was decided to partially reproduce the interior in the newly created Hall of Origins (Sala Orígenes) of Toledo’s Army Museum (Museo del Ejército) at the city’s Alcázar (fig. 11.8). Carmen García, the curator of the museum’s department for cultural events (Acción Cultural del Museo) and José Luis Gómez, her deputy, were responsible for developing the design of the Toledan hall, whereas Ervigio Jiménez Polo and his son Alejandro were asked to carry out detailed drafts of a wall section of 5 x 3.5 meters and a detached arcade of 3.6 x 3.6 meters from Madrid’s Arab Hall, whose designs they would base on a selected number of plaster casts taken from the original 19th-century structure provided by Arabedeco (figs. 11.9a-b). One of the main challenges of the creative process was to understand the specifics of 14th-century Ibero-Islamic architecture and 19th-century Historicism as two different historical contexts and artistic approaches, which, although distant in time, still share a common ground regarding their focus on surface ornamentation. For the reconstruction process it therefore was necessary to analyze each architectural element in its historical context to do justice to the complex interplay of Nasrid surface decoration and its 19th-century revival, as well as to the museological heterogeneity of the Sala Orígenes.
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Materials and Construction Techniques: from Past to Present
Even tough stucco was already used in al-Andalus during Umayyad times, as attested by al-Ḥakam ii’s (r. ah 350–366 / ad 961–976) 10th-century prayer hall extension of the Mosque-Cathedral of Córdoba,47 its use would become a standard practice in gypsiferous regions of the Iberian Peninsula during the taifa period, with the rich stucco decor of the Aljafería in Zaragoza or the Alcazaba of Balaguer (Lleida) being two well-studied examples.48 During the Nasrid period, the use of stuccowork for surface ornamentation was already widespread. Two of the most common techniques applied have already been mentioned: decorations would either be carved in situ (a technique prevalent until 1300) or elements could be cast serially with molds.49 The techniques still in use in Spain today do not differ much from their historic predecessors. For the Sala Orígenes, decorations would be either carved in situ or serially manufactured by means of plaster casts, with one main difference being that modern materials such as silicone would be applied for achieving greater durability and accuracy. To protect the historic parts of the Alcázar of Toledo, the reproduction was conceived as an independent architectural intervention carried out on a self-supporting plasterboard wall which would serve as the backdrop for decorative elements. This way, any direct contact between the original stonework and the reproduced decorations would be avoided. Additional anchoring was used to improve the structural stability of the detached arcade. The reproduced wall section, placed behind the arcade, consisted of a glazed ceramic dado of 5 x 1.2 m covered with a tile mosaic (alicatado) of geometric ornamentation (fig. 11.10). The 4,500 mosaic pieces were created by a local artisan from Granada and assembled on site by Ervigio Jiménez. The stuccowork of the upper wall parts shows a vivid coloring. According to recent studies by García Bueno,50 in Nasrid polychromy three colors would have been dominant: vermillion red (mercury sulfide), ultramarine blue (natural azurite or lapis lazuli) and greenish-gray (copper oxide), to which some yellow, bone white, black and gold (leaf gold based on tin) would be occasionally added. The original color scheme of Madrid’s Sala árabe, however, is unknown, since it was impossible for the artisans of Arabedeco to collect any first-hand information as to its original coloring. Consequently, the tonalities of the stuccowork 47 48 49 50
Giese 2016a, 106–114, with further references. Sanz Arnauz 2009, 17. See also Ewert 1971; Ewert 1978; Ewert/Ewert 1999. Sanz Arnauz 2009, 19; Rubio Domene 2010, 194. García Bueno 2015. For further reading, see García Bueno 2006; García Bueno et al. 2007; Collado Montero et al. 2007; López Cruz et al. 2011.
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in Castaños’s Arab Hall could not be determined. In order to still be able to recreate the nuances of the polychromy at Toledo’s Sala Orígenes, historic visual materials related to the Sala árabe and sources on Nasrid polychromy were considered. For establishing the impression of patina, the intense colors of Ibero-Islamic surface decorations were toned down. In correspondence with Nasrid traditions, the arcade was composed of slender columns with shaft rings and capitals of white marble from Macael (Almería) that supported a brick pier covered with stuccowork.51 One objective of the project was to ensure authenticity not only on a formal level but also on the level of applied techniques, which is why layers of lead were added to the transitional areas of the columns between base, shaft and capital to prevent the marble from breaking –a technique already employed in Umayyad times.52 Following the disposition in Castaños’s Sala árabe, the columns of Toledo’s Hall of Origins support spectacular muqarnas arches with intricate sebka ornamentation. The reproduction was based on recent investigations dealing with the historical evolution and compositional properties of muqarnas,53 as well as the analysis of muqarnas arches of the Alhambra’s Court of the Lions carried out by Arabedeco. There are four basic prisms or jairas with Pythagorean proportions (√2) and different layouts.54 Whereas Manuel Castaños had originally simplified the Nasrid models by repeating their basic elements, the muqarnas arches of the reproduced arcade of the Sala Orígenes show greater complexity which was achieved by designing them with computer-based 3D technology (AutoCad/SketchUp) (fig. 11.11). The implementation was furthermore accelerated by 3D-printing the molds for each prism. After the jairas were cast, they would be arranged in eight identical segments and then placed onto the lateral sides of the arches’s intrados (fig. 11.12). After that, the central piece would be added. To facilitate the installation of the muqarnas arches, the segments would be first assembled on the hall’s floor and then carefully attached to their destined locations (fig. 11.13). However, due to its weight, numerous cracks appeared during its placement that had to be filled later. Once all 51 52 53 54
Fernández-Puertas 1997a, 79–81; Sáez Pérez/Rodríguez Gordillo 2004; Giese 2014, 7–9. Pavón Maldonado 2009, 722. For the reconstruction, the studies by Gaspar Aranda Pastor and Gloria Aljazairi López were used as general references, see Aranda Pastor 2001, esp. 55–63; Aranda Pastor 2009; Aljazairi López 2010, esp. 291–307. These layout are: 1. a parallelogram of equal sides equivalent to value x with angles of 45° and 135°; 2. a rectangle with value x on the short sides and x√2-value on the long sides; 3. 3. A right-angled isosceles triangle with legs having value x and the hypotenuse having the value of x√2; 4. an isosceles triangle of 45° with the equal sides having the value x and the unequal side having the value of 0.766 x.
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segments were in place, sebka panels were added that had been manufactured at the workshop and based on reproductions of the sebka ornament Castaños had used in Madrid. To assemble the stucco panels at the workshop allowed to execute them in large dimensions that would reduce the number of joints when assembled onto the walls. As soon as they had been fixed, final adjustments would be carried out on site. This included Samuel Jiménez Hernández carving the shell-shaped parts, which would be added to Castaños’s design to avoid epigraphy in Toledo’s replica as required by the client. Moreover, the color scheme of the sebka ornamentation in Toledo follows that of Madrid’s Sala árabe in its present-day state to document its current condition. 6
Beyond an Ephemeral Fashion
This chapter reflected that and how dynasties of Granada-based stucco artisans, such as the Contreras, Santisteban and Jiménez families, influenced and still influence the historical course of the Moorish Revival, especially of its Alhambresque variation. Their profound knowledge of Nasrid reference buildings and traditional techniques not only enabled them to actively support the diffusion of a ephemeral fashion of the 19th and early 20th centuries but also to revive and keep alive traditional crafts until this very day. By maintaining an ongoing dialogue with historic sources, they further developed Nasrid stuccowork and adapted it to new technologies and materials. Despite these transitions, the organizational form of family-owned workshops that pass on their craftmanship and experience from generation to generation has remained a constant factor throughout the centuries.
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Illustrations
figure 11.1 Granada, Alcaicería, restitution of Alhambresque façade decoration, José Contreras, Salvador Amador, Juan Pugnaire and Baltasar Romero, 1843–1845 source: © granada, archivo histórico municipal, c.00003.0129
figure 11.2 Aranjuez, Royal Palace, Arab cabinet, Rafael Contreras Muñoz, completed in 1851 source: © bildarchiv foto marburg /thomas scheidt, christian stein
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figure 11.3 Madrid, Palacio de Liria, Arab cabinet, Rafael Contreras Muñoz, completed in 1855 source: © archivo de la casa de alba
figure 11.4 Madrid, House at calle Cañizares 6 (today Cat’s Hostal), patio, Casa Rus, 1856 source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / thomas scheidt, christian stein
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figure 11.5 Granada, Grand Hotel Alhambra Palace, Salón Árabe, Antonio Santisteban Márquez, 1908–1909 source: © francine giese
figure 11.6 Granada, Carmen de la Media Luna, patio, Antonio Santisteban Márquez, 1916 source: © francine giese
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figure 11.7 Madrid, Palacio del Buen Retiro, Museo de la Artillería, Sala árabe, interior view, Manuel Castaños, inaugurated in 1903 source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / thomas scheidt, christian stein
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figure 11.8 Toledo, Army Museum, Sala Orígenes, interior view source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / thomas scheidt, christian stein
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figure 11.9a Madrid, Palacio del Buen Retiro, Museo de la Artillería, Sala árabe, muqarnas arcade, Manuel Castaños, inaugurated in 1903 source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / thomas scheidt, christian stein
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figure 11.9b Toledo, Army Museum, Sala Orígenes, reproduced muqarnas arcade source: © bildarchiv foto marburg/t homas scheidt, christian stein
figure 11.10 Toledo, Army Museum, Sala Orígenes, detail of reproduced wall decoration and neo-Nasrid columns source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / thomas scheidt, christian stein
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figure 11.11 Toledo, Army Museum, Sala Orígenes, 3D composition of reproduced muqarnas arcade with indication of the segments, Ervigio y Alejandro Jiménez, 2016 source: © alejandro jiménez hernández
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figure 11.12 Toledo, Army Museum, Sala Orígenes, assemblage of the muqarnas segments of the arcade, Ervigio y Alejandro Jiménez, 2016 source: © alejandro jiménez hernández
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figure 11.13 Toledo, Army Museum, Sala Orígenes, execution of the central arch of the muqarnas arcade, Ervigio y Alejandro Jiménez, 2016 source: © alejandro jiménez hernández
c hapter 12
Learning from Casts and Models
Schools and Academies in 19th-century Europe and the Specific Case of the Alhambra Collection in St. Petersburg Katrin Kaufmann, Ekaterina Savinova and Ariane Varela Braga Scholars have long recognized the importance of plaster casts and their educational function in the academic tradition.1 Even though plaster cast galleries already flourished all over Europe way before the middle of the 19th century, it was not before this period that the collection and display of architectural casts would be met with enthusiasm, eventually culminating in the International Convention for Promoting Universally Reproduction of Works of Art, launched in 1867 by Henry Cole (1808–1882), the director of the South Kensington Museum in London (today the Victoria and Albert Museum) and signed by fifteen European princes.2 Taking advantage of old and new means of reproduction, including not only casts but also electrotypes or photographs, the idea was to reproduce the “most valuable Monuments of Art,” as their knowledge was considered “necessary for the progress of Art,” and to exchange these copies between “all Museum[s]for public instruction.”3 New casting techniques allowed to produce larger architectural fragments,4 which led to the foundation of museums for architectural copies, among them the Architectural Courts at the Crystal Palace of Sydenham (1854), the Architectural or Cast Courts at the South Kensington Museum (1873) or the Musée de sculpture comparée in Paris (1879), whose establishment was promoted by French architect Eugène Viollet-le-Duc (1814–1879).5 In parallel to these larger museographic initiatives, collections of architectural and ornamental plaster casts would be amassed 1 The interest for plaster casts has increased in recent years. For a general introduction on the subject, see for instance: Frederiksen/Marchand 2010; Schreiter 2012; Lending 2015, Lending 2017. 2 See Bilbey/Trusted 2010. 3 Convention for promoting universally reproductions of works of art for the benefit of museums of all countries, Paris, 1867. On reproduction techniques, see Baker 2010. 4 Lending 2015. 5 On Sydenham, see Piggott 2004; Moser 2012; Nichols 2015. On the Cast Courts: Flour 2008; Bilbey/Trusted 2010. On the Musée de sculpture comparée see Gampp 2010 Jarassé/ Pollack 2014.
© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2021 | DOI:10.1163/9789004448582_014
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at art academies, as well as schools and museums of the decorative arts. Willing to extend their scope beyond the arts of antiquity and Renaissance and spurred by the –often romanticized –broad interest in the Islamic heritage of medieval Spain, they started including Islamic specimens, especially from al-Andalus. The first part of this chapter considers the role of Owen Jones for the dissemination of casts of the Alhambra in London, as well as the case of schools and museums of decorative arts created in the second half of the 19th century in Switzerland and Italy. The exceptional and little-known collection of models and plaster casts of the Alhambra produced by Russian architect Pavel Notbek is the focus of the second part of the chapter. 1
The Alhambra at the Schools of Decorative Arts: from ‘Alhambra Jones’ to Europe
Casts of the Alhambra, however, had already been present in London almost thirty years before the International Convention of 1867. In the year 1841, Sir Grenville Temple (1799–1847) had for instance donated a series of “casts of the ornaments of the Alhambra” to the University of Cambridge, today preserved at the Fitzwilliam Museum.6 Yet apart from that, Nasrid ornamental casts owed their early existence in London especially to architect Owen Jones (1809–1874), also known as ‘Alhambra Jones’, who together with Jules Goury (1803–1834) had published the seminal Plans, Elevations, Sections and Details of the Alhambra (1836–1845), a book that added much to the scholarly knowledge of the monument in Europe.7 In 1838, Jones donated pieces from his private cast collection to the London Government Schools of Design, which had been inaugurated the previous year, and to the Royal Institute of British Architects (riba).8 It is likely that these had been the casts produced during his second sojourn at the Alhambra in the spring of 1837, after which he had been able to complete his publication. Mariam Rosser-Owen, however, holds that the casts had been molded after his return to London, with the assistance of sculptor and modeler Henry Alonzo Smith (biographical dates unknown) and on the basis of the numerous paper moldings Jones had brought back from his second
6 Cambridge University Magazine, vol. 2, Cambridge: Grant, 1843, 651. 7 Giese/Varela Braga 2017b. 8 Rosser-Owen 2011, 46.
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stay in Granada.9 In any case, it is known that he presented two column capitals to the riba (now dispersed) and four ornamental plaster casts to the Government Schools of Design. After the Government Schools had merged into the Department of Practical Art, Jones’s Alhambra casts were transferred to this new institution and its museum, the Museum of Ornament Art (early predecessor of the Victoria and Albert Museum).10 Such donations aside, Jones would also show his cast collection at a special area of his Alhambra Court at the Crystal Palace in Sydenham (1854), which he aptly named the Cast Room and that consisted of a small room devoted to the display of what he called “his authorities,” which would not only include plasters casts but also the plates of his Alhambra publication.11 This way a broad public could see the casts and become active agents for disseminating knowledge related to the Nasrid palaces. Plaster casts were not only essential devices for the recreation of historic environments; they also supported the diffusion of the Neo-Moorish style in the decorative arts. Following the example of the South Kensington Museum, during the second half of the 19th century several collections of applied or industrial arts were established all over Europe.12 In London, these collections were often linked to educational institutions and included their own cast workshops, whose objective it was to manufacture sculptural, ornamental and architectural plaster casts, including reproductions of the Alhambra, to be either sold or exchanged. The 1881 Catalogue des Moulages of the Paris École des Beaux-arts provides a list of casts that could be purchased, including a number of ornamental casts in “style mauresque” (Moorish style). These would be further categorized by periods, with a “première période” (first period) relating to the Mosque of Córdoba (4 casts), the second to the Alcázar of Seville (only one cast) and a third –and largest–group of casts to the Alhambra (no less than twenty items).13 However, the existence of Alhambra casts was not limited to cultural centers such as London, Paris or Madrid, but would also include more marginal locations. 9
Rosser-Owen 2011, 45–46. On Alonzo Smith, see Darby 1983, 48 and Rosser-Owen 2010, 150, note 53. Darby recalls that the casts were later passed on to the sculptor and presented to the South Kensington Museum in 1880, which eventually purchased them for its cast collection. 10 The Department was founded in 1852, in the aftermath of the Great Exhibition of 1851. In 1853 it was rebranded as the Department of Science and Art. See Raquejo Grado 1987, 456–559; Leslie 2004; Rosser-Owen 2011, 43–69. 11 Jones 1854, 86. On the court, see c hapter 18 in this volume. 12 Pomian 2011. 13 Catalogue 1881, 65–66.
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The École des Arts Industriels in Geneva, founded in 1876, is one such example.14 In the early 1880s, it started out as a collection of plaster casts for educational purposes, consisting of sculptures, ornamental details and architectural fragments of various historical styles, among them six ornamental casts of Alhambra parts.15 By 1889, the collection had become a museum with a workshop, where plaster casts could be purchased by institutions or private buyers. Although the first edition of the catalog (1883) did not include Islamic artefacts, this already changed for the second edition (1889), which lists four plaster casts of the Alhambra (figs. 12.1–12.2), a number that increased over the years until it finally reached nineteen items in 1923.16 Even in Italy, with its strong affiliation with classic, Renaissance and Baroque arts, casts of the Alhambra would find their way into the collections of museums and schools of decorative arts. The Scuola professionale delle arti decorative industriali in Florence (founded in 1878) counted nine “modelli di stile moresco” (models in Moorish style) in 1882, which are still preserved at the gipsoteca of the Liceo Artistico Statale di Porta Romana (fig. 12.3).17 In Rome, Nasrid casts would belong to the collections of the Museo di Arte Industriale since its foundation in 1874. Its first catalog (1876) references no less than eight casts out of altogether fifty-three that were related to the Nasrid palaces of Granada18 and had been donated by art collector Alessandro Castellani (1823–1883), one of the museum’s founders.19 The catalog furthermore gives detailed descriptions of the casts, along with information on the building techniques of the Alhambra and translations of Arabic inscriptions. These examples underscore that, by the end of the 19th century, Nasrid ornamentation had become fully incorporated into the universal canon of historical styles, which would be an important knowledge base for the education of students of the decorative and applied arts. However, these collections cannot be compared to that of the Scientific-Research Museum of the Russian Academy of Arts in St. Petersburg (NIMRAKh), the subject of the next subchapter.
14 15 16 17
18 19
See Varela Braga 2019a, 170–175. Catalogue 1883, 23. Catalogue 1889; Catalogue 1923, 90. See the 1882 “Inventario del mobiliare tecnico della scuola professinale delle arti decorative industriali,” in Testa 1993, 208–209. According to Monica Saramucci, these “modelli” originated from the Scuola delle arte decorative di Santa Croce but had not been produced locally. See Monaci Scaramucci 1993, 133–145. Erculei 1876, 66–69. On Castellani and the museum, see: Benocci 2012, 332 and Colonna 2014–2015, 161.
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The Alhambra Collection at the Scientific-Research Museum of the Russian Academy of Arts in St. Petersburg
The collection of the models and plaster casts of the Alhambra produced in Granada between 1852 and 1862 by the architect Pavel Notbek (Paul Nottbeck, 1824–1877) ranks among the most important ones at the Scientific-Research Museum of the Russian Academy of Arts in St. Petersburg (cat. 1–30). Not only do they entail Notbek’s oeuvre, but also represent Russia’s largest collection dedicated to the Islamic architecture of al-Andalus and the largest collection of reproductions in Nasrid style across Europe. The collection was on display at the Museum of the Imperial Academy of Arts for more than half a century. With the October Revolution, however, came a neglect with destructive consequences for these fragile specimens. Ever since, Notbek’s models and plaster casts have mostly been stored away from sight, and there are only few people who still know that they had once been the museum’s pride, which is why they have received only very little attention by scholars.20 The following offers a brief summary of some of the research results of a collaboration between the Scientific-Research Museum of the Russian Academy of Arts and the University of Zurich dedicated to this collection, yet with a strong focus on the history of the Alhambra Collection. However, it first seems advisable to give a few introductory remarks on the life of the architect who made these unique copies of the legendary Nasrid palaces of the Alhambra and whose biography is still mostly unknown.21 Pavel Notbek was born in 1824 into a noble and wealthy family of Baltic Germans. His father, Carl Notbek (1779–1847), was from Reval (Tallinn, Estonia), while his mother, Charlotte Notbek née Charlotte von zur Mühlen, originated from Raplamaa (Rappel, Estonia).22 Carl Notbek was a member of the Second Merchants Guild in Reval and established a paper mill on the Izhora River in the village of Annolovo near Tsarskoe Selo nearby St. Petersburg.23 The Notbeks had altogether ten children, including Pavel. Pavel’s elder brothers owned and operated the Finlayson cotton mills in Tampere, Finland, which their father
20
Sergei Kondakov’s publication on the Imperial Academy of Arts provides a short description of the collection, see Kondakov 1914, 104–105. The interest in Notbek’s collection has increased recently, see Arutiunian 2012; Kondratenko and Savinova 2018. 21 For Notbek’s biography see Kondakov 1915, 366; Somov 1879, 40–42; Kirikov/Ginzburg 1996, 233. 22 See rgia (Russian State Historical Archive), f. 1343, op. 26, d. 2792. 23 See TsGIA spb (Central State Historical Archive of St. Petersburg), f. 1205, op. 11, d. 2921, l. 2, 9.
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had bought in 1836 from the founder James Finlayson.24 Pavel Notbek did not follow in the footsteps of his father and brothers, who were successful industrialists. After graduating from the Peter and Paul School in St. Petersburg in 1844, he enrolled in the architecture department at the Imperial Academy of Arts.25 He graduated in 1849 with a Major Gold Medal for the project Dock with Bourse, Custom House, and Warehouses, which came with a four-year scholarship for traveling to Europe.26 Notbek left Russia in November 1850 and returned only twelve years later. 3
Pavel Notbek in Granada: Documenting the Alhambra over Ten Years
Pavel Notbek traveled with the painters Evgraf Sorokin (1821–1892) and Konstantin Grigorovich (1823–1855), who had graduated with a Major Gold Medal as well. The records reveal that their main destination was Spain.27 Via Kaunas, Warsaw, Berlin, Dresden, Leipzig and Hanover, the artists reached Cologne in December, from where Notbek reported to the Council of the Imperial Acade my of Arts: I have been very fortunate in not having parted with my comrades, the artists Grigorovich and Sorokin. Their opinion on the paintings at the galleries has served me well and helped me to appreciate the works of the old masters. As the weather is constantly cold or rainy here, I have decided to continue my way to the south as soon as possible, so as to be able to draw outdoors.28
24
Scotsman James Finlayson (c. 1772–1852) founded his first cotton mill in 1820, the first large-scale factory in Finland, which quickly evolved into the largest industrial cooperation of Northern European countries. Between 1830 and 1900, the mill had become a proper city, including its own nursery, school, hospital, post office, store, nursing home, library, church, police, and –for a short time –even currency. In the 1870s, every fourth Finnish worker would be employed at the mill. See (accessed 6/6/2019). In the meantime, the Notbeks’ family mansion in Tampere has become a museum, see (6/6/2019). 25 See rgia, f. 1293, op. 76, d. 120, l. 4. 26 See rgia, f. 789, op. 14-N, d. 33, l. 12; Kondakov 1915, 366. 27 See rgia, f. 789, op. 2 1850, d. 79, l. 9–10, 23. 28 “Ia imel schast’e do sikh por ne rasstavat’sia s tovarishchami moimi, khudozhnikami, Grigorovichem i Sorokinym, ikh vzgliad na zhivopis’ v galereiakh posluzhil mne mnogo, chtoby vpolne tsenit’ proizvedeniia starinnykh masterov. Tak kak pogoda v zdeshnem klimate postoianno kholodnaia ili dozhdlivaia, to reshilsia prodolzhat’ put’ svoi, kak
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After a detour to Arnhem and Amsterdam, the three young men traveled southwards, via The Hague, Antwerp, Brussels, Paris, Lyon, Avignon and Marseille to Barcelona and then on to Zaragoza and Madrid, where they arrived on February 7, 1851, just over two months after their departure from Russia.29 While the painters remained in Madrid, Notbek continued to Toledo, and from there to Seville and Granada, where he arrived in June 1852.30 The mission of his stay in Spain had been to study the “monuments of Moorish Architecture,”31 something the Council of the Imperial Academy of Arts had instructed him to do before leaving Russia.32 There is no information about what Notbek exactly did in Toledo and Seville, but the casts and models as well as various written sources tell us a lot about his work in Granada. In December 1852, Notbek informed the Academy’s Council that he had set about making a model of the Hall of the Two Sisters (Sala de las Dos Hermanas) of a quarter of its size.33 Over the next two years, Notbek worked on drawings and models of the Nasrid palaces of the Alhambra. He developed such a passion for the medieval buildings that he decided to create a complete record of the architectural landmark,34 then known in Russia primarily through the publications by Alexandre de Laborde, James Cavanah Murphy, Frederick Lewis, David Roberts, Joseph-Philibert Girault de Prangey, Jules Goury and Owen Jones, as well as the romantic Tales of the Alhambra by Washington Irving.35 Before the funds provided by the Imperial Academy mozhno skoree na iug, chtoby bylo by mne vozmozhno zanimat’sia risovaniem na otkrytom vozdukhe,” rgia, f. 789, op. 2 1850, d. 79, l. 24. 29 See rgia, f. 789, op. 2 1850, d. 79, l. 24, 29. 30 See rgia, f. 789, op. 2 1850, d. 79, l. 29; rgia, f. 789, op. 2, d. 128, l. 18; rgia, f. 789, op. 14-N, d. 33, l. 1. 31 “[…] pamiatniki Mavritanskoi Arkhitektury […],” rgia, f. 789, op. 2 1850, d. 79, l. 10. 32 The order concerned all four winners of that year’s Major Gold Medal: the painters Sorokin and Grigorovich, as well as the architects Notbek and Grimm. By that time, David Grimm (1823–1898) was working in the Caucasus and therefore asked to travel to Spain via Constantinople and Greece, where he would join the other artists. Instead of studying “Moorish Architecture,” however, Grimm would specialize in the early Christian churches of Georgia and Armenia. See Petrov 1866, 152; rgia, f. 789, op. 2 1850, d. 79, l. 6, 8, 18–20, 31–36. 33 rgia, f. 789, op. 14-N, d. 33, l. 1. It is very likely that Notbek had seen the three-dimensional model of the Hall of the Two Sisters that Rafael Contreras (1824–1890) and his brothers had made between 1842 and 1847, before deciding to create his own model. Contreras’s model with a scale of 1:9 is his earliest, most complex and meticulous among the many he produced at his workshop, and it had also influenced his further career. See González Pérez 2017, vol. 1, 162–164; González Pérez 2017, vol. 2, 82–89. 34 See rgia, f. 789, op. 2 1854, d. 66, l. 1. 35 See Laborde 1812; Murphy 1815; Lewis 1835; Roberts 1837; Girault de Prangey 1837; Girault de Prangey 1842; Goury/Jones 1836-1845; Crayon [Irving] 1832.
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of Arts ran out at the end of 1854, Notbek applied for a one-year extension of his scholarship.36 In his explanation of why he wanted to stay in Granada, the architect highlighted what he considered the main features of Nasrid architecture, that is, the abundance of ornaments and the intricate muqarnas vaultings: […] given the large amount of ornamentation, which constitutes the beauty of Moorish architecture and distinguishes it from other architectures, as well as the complexity and variety of its vaults, whose system has not been outlined by anyone yet, I am forced to stay in Granada, despite the fact that I am constantly busy making drawings.37 Notbek’s application was approved, but the extra year was not enough for finishing his work.38 He spent seven more years in Granada, at his own expense. The necessary funds most probably came from his wealthy family, and it might have, more concretely, been his brothers who would have been willing to support him and his work financially. Either way, the architect was even able to hire several craftsmen for the whole seven-year period and pay all bills for materials, including 800 poods (13 tons) of plaster. With wages, equipment and costs for transportation, the artist claimed to have spent a total of 182,700 francs –a huge sum at the time.39 One of Notbek’s acquaintances, Spanish writer and journalist José Castro y Serrano (1829–1896), later described the architect’s physical nature and his generous character which seems to have been well-known by the people of Granada: He was a young, tall man with an elegant figure, extremely rich and extraordinarily generous. With great benevolence he would give away his fortunes to artists, literates and the poor. He led the joyful life of the common knight, the converted foreigner, the cosmopolitan and polyglot a rtist. His popularity, extraordinary at the time and still legendary in Granada even today, reached out to all social classes […]. He was a bachelor
36 See rgia, f. 789, op. 2 1854, d. 66, l. 1–2. 37 “[…] po mnogochislennosti ornamentov, vkhodiashchie v sostav krasoty Mavritanskogo zodchestva, i otlichaiushchie ego ot prochikh arkhitektur, kak i po mnogoslozhnosti i raznoobrazii ego svodov, koikh sistema nikem eshcho ne byla izlozhena do sikh por, nakhozhus’ ia v prinuzhdenii prebyvat’ eshcho v Grenade, ne smotria na to shto, postoianno zanimaius’ sostavleniem risunkov,” rgia, f. 789, op. 2 1854, d. 66, l. 1. 38 See rgia, f. 789, op. 14-N, d. 33, l. 12. 39 See rgia, f. 789, op. 14-N, d. 33, l. 15–16.
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and visited by middle-class women; he was a foreigner and consulted for state affairs; he was a plaster artist, but all the people confided in him as if he were a priest. In one word: this strange architect –why should we search for more definitions? –was Paul the Russian [Pablo el ruso]. Every person in Spain who understands something about art or talks about it knows him.40 Notbek did not suffer any financial difficulties but faced other challenges. It is said that he had been unable to find decent craftsmen and therefore forced to teach people how to carve gypsum after his drawings.41 Because at the time Russia had no embassy in Spain, Notbek had to apply on his own to request permission to make plaster casts at the Alhambra. Despite his good connections to Rafael Contreras Muñoz (1824–1890), the restaurador adornista of the Alhambra since 1847, his application was rejected, which is why he began to make casts in secret.42 At this point, it should not be forgotten that between 1854 and 1856 Russia had been at war with France and Great Britain during what today is known as the Crimean War, with the effect that Notbek would be forced to stop his work at the Alhambra and a guard stationed in front of his home, apparently because as a Russian he was considered a possible threat and met with suspicion.43 Consequently, Notbek feared to lose his entire collection. Moreover, a cholera epidemic swept through Spain in 1857. Yet in spite of such setbacks, Notbek did not leave Granada before completing his work until, in 1862, he would eventually ship his entire collection to St. Petersburg.44 40
“Era hombre joven, alto, de figura distinguida, excesivamente rico y excesivamente generoso. Gastaba su fortuna con especial donaire entre artistas, literatos y pobres: hacia la vida alegre del caballero llano, del extranjero convertido, del artista cosmopolita y poligloto. Su popularidad, que entonces era indescriptible, y que es hoy en Granada legendaria, alcanzaba á todas las clases sociales […]. Era soltero y lo visitaban las señoras de la clase media; era extranjero y se le consultaba para asuntos del país; era artista de yesos y escayolas, y todos, sin embargo, se descubrían cuando pasaba, como si fuera una especie de sacerdote. En una palabra: aquel arquitecto extraño, ¿á qué le buscamos más definiciones? era Pablo el ruso. Todo el que habla o entiende algo de artes en España, lo conoce,” Castro y Serrano 1871, 247–248, English translation by Nathalie Herrmann. 41 See rgia, f. 789, op. 14-N, d. 33, l. 13. 42 See rgia, f. 789, op. 2 1854, d. 66, l. 1–2; Rodríguez Domingo 1997, 321–322; González Pérez 2017, vol. 1, 180. The question of how Notbek produced his casts and 1:1 replicas of ornaments has yet to be explored in more detail. There is evidence that he might have bought a group of molds from Contreras, see González Pérez 2017, vol. 1, 180. 43 See rgia, f. 789, op. 14-N, d. 33, l. 13. 44 See rgia, f. 789, op. 14-N, d. 33, l. 4–7; Kondratenko and Savinova 2018, 324.
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Opening a New Chapter: Pavel Notbek’s Alhambra Сollection in Russia
After customs formalities had been completed, Notbek’s collection was discharged onto the shores of the Neva River, in front of the Imperial Academy of Arts. It included many drawings, five models of single halls, façades and a courtyard of the Alhambra, about 300 plaster casts of architectural details and ornaments, as well as several original Nasrid marble capitals.45 The Academy’s Council appreciated Notbek’s work and unanimously petitioned Tsar Alexander ii (r. 1855–1881) to purchase the collection for the Academy in October 1862: Having returned from abroad, Pavel Notbek, a former recipient of the Imperial Academy of Arts travel scholarship, has brought back models of halls of the Alhambra Palace he made in Granada. The numerous ornaments decorating this historic landmark of Moorish architecture, and the variety of its vaults, whose system had been unknown to us until just now, are of high artistic value. An excellent artist, Notbek executed the models with striking perfection. Working on them for ten years, he spent his private funds to make the plaster casts of the walls of the Alhambra and create a complete set of drawings of the elegant landmark, which is more and more becoming a ruin.46 Another report highlighted the educational potential of the collection: “During his ten-year sojourn in Spain, Mr. N. [Notbek] has assembled these models with such zeal and accuracy that they can serve as aids for the study of Moorish
45 See rgia, f. 789, op. 14-N, d. 33, l. 13–14; Kondakov 1914, 104–105. The entire collection is discussed in more detail in Katrin Kaufmann’s dissertation “Taking the Alhambra to St. Petersburg” which she finished in 2019. 46 “Byvshii pensioner Imper. Ak. Khudozhestv Pavel Notbek, vozvratias’ iz-za granitsy privioz sdelannye im v Granade modeli zal dvortsa Al’gambry. Mnogoslozhnost’ ornamentov vkhodiashchikh v sostav ukrashenii ėtogo istoricheskogo pamiatnika Mavritanskogo zodchestva i raznoobrazie ego svodov, koikh sistema u nas do sego vremeni ne byla izvestna, predstavliaiut osobennyi interes v khudozhestvennom otnoshenii. Mr. Notbek kak otlichnyi khudoshnik ispolnil privezionnye im modeli s izumitel’nym sovershenstvom. On pri desiatiletnikh svoikh trudakh zatrachival svoi lichnyi kapital, chtoby sniat’ s natury slepki so sten Al’gambry i sostavit’ polnuiu kollektsiiu risunkov iziashchnogo pamiatnika, kotoryi bol’she i bol’she prikhodit v razrushenie, tak chto privezionnye modeli G. Notbekom mogut nazvat’sia edinstvennym v Evrope obraztsam mavritanskogo stilia,” rgia, f. 789, op. 14-N, d. 33, l. 9–10.
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architecture in its finest detail […].”47 In December, the Tsar decreed the acquisition of Notbek’s collection and that the architect be awarded an Order of Saint Anna of 3rd class and a lifelong rent of 2,500 rubles a year.48 After that, Notbek was asked to hand over the collection to Ignatii Spitz (1797–1873), the curator of the Academy’s museum.49 On this occasion, Notbek prepared the Catalogue of Models and Plaster Casts of the Moorish Palace of Alhambra in Spain, which is now kept at the museum’s archives.50 His collection was first installed for an exhibition in the northeast of the building, on the second floor, which opened to the public in spring 1863.51 In connection with major alterations and renovations of the building of the Imperial Academy of Arts, the question arose as to where the large Alhambra Collection should be housed permanently. Finally, it was decided to display it in two rooms amidst the architectural classrooms on the third floor.52 Funds were allocated for the conversion of the rooms and the adjacent corridor, and Pavel Notbek was granted permission to set up the exhibition.53 The necessary construction works included a terrazzo floor by Master Egor Rudzhia and the enlargement of the entrance door.54 The files report various problems regarding the furnishing, whose construction consumed more time than originally planned. In early 1868, the permanent exhibition was installed
47
“Sostavlenie ėtikh modelei ispolnil G. N. [Notbek] v prodolzhenii 10ti letnego prebyvaniia svoego v Ispanii, s takim userdiem i tochnost’iu, chto mogut sluzhit’ ėti modeli dlia izucheniia mavritanskoi Arkhitektury v samykh eia podrobnosti […],” rgia, f. 789, op. 14- N, d. 33, l. 13. 48 See rgia, f. 789, op. 14-N, d. 33, l. 20–21; Somov 1879, 42. 49 See rgia, f. 789, op. 14-N, d. 33, l. 22–23, 25. 50 See appendix 7.1. Notbek wrote the entries of the catalog in Russian and Spanish, starting with number one. According to his listing, the collection once comprised 284 models and plaster casts. However, someone else crossed out all the numbers with pencil and inserted new ones, yet this time starting with number fifty-seven. There is no further evidence for understanding why this was the case. It can only be surmised that the first fifty-six items contained the drawings frequently mentioned in documents related to Notbek’s stay in Spain. On the other hand, it is likely that many more drawings existed, given that the craftsmen would use them as templates for models and plaster casts, and that Notbek would draw constantly during his sojourn in Spain. It has not been possible so far to identify any graphic art at either the collections of the NIMRAKh or other Russian museums as Notbek’s work. 51 See rgia, f. 789, op. 5 1865, d. 182, l. 1; and Khudozhestvennoe obozrenie, in: Biblioteka dlia chteniia, May 1863, part xiv, 60. 52 During the 18th and early 19th centuries, there was no functional difference between the Academy as a museum and the Academy as an educational institution. 53 See rgia, f. 480, op. 1, d. 287; rgia, f. 789, op. 5 1865, d. 182, l. 6. 54 See rgia, f. 480, op. 1, d. 300; rgia, f. 480, op. 1, d. 314; rgia, f. 789, op. 5 1865, d. 182, l. 8, 10.
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according to Pavel Notbek’s drawings; for this purpose, four models had to be sheathed in wood, stands and panels fastened with screws, iron loops nailed to the casts, and 280 items hung on the walls.55 The final result can be seen on two photographs from around 1914, and the two rooms are also depicted in a map of the third floor of the Academy building (figs. 12.4–12.6).56 However, Notbek was not completely satisfied with the display of his collection, and in March 1868 he wrote to the Council of the Imperial Academy of Arts: “[…] I consider it my duty to inform you that, without showcases, the models will fall apart within five years. When necessary, they should be dusted off every day.”57 5
The Impact of the Alhambra Collection on Neo-Moorish Buildings and Interiors
Neo-Moorish interiors were created in Russia earlier than in the rest of Europe; some of the first occurred in St. Petersburg already during the 1830s and would become even more frequent during the following decades.58 Many prominent and still extant examples date from the last third of the 19th century, that is, only after Notbek’s collection was already on display.59 However, it is difficult to determine the exact impact the collection had on the neo-Moorish buildings and interiors of St. Petersburg. Since many architects working in St. Petersburg had received their training at the Imperial Academy of Arts or were affiliated with it because of a teaching position there, we can safely infer that they must have been familiar with the collection. Moreover, drawings of the world’s most important architectural landmarks, including the Mosque of Cordoba and the Nasrid palaces of Granada, would be hanging on the walls of the classrooms as well. For this purpose, more than twenty drawings made by the handful of architects who had received travel grants after graduating had been acquired since 1871, some of which depicted the most important exponents of 55 See rgia, f. 789, op. 5 1865, d. 182, l. 15–27. 56 On the map, the Alhambra Rooms are marked with the letter В, whereas the hallway leading to them is marked with Б (both highlighted in blue). Next to them are other exhibition rooms (A), and the classrooms of the architectural department (Д). 57 “[…] dolgom schitaiu zaiavit’, chto modeli bez vitrin v techenii piati let razrushutsia, po neobkhodimosti chto dolzhno smetat’ s nikh pyl’, pochti ezhednevno,” rgia, f. 789, op. 5 1865, d. 182, l. 17. 58 See Kaufmann 2019b. 59 In the 1870s even the facades of a huge block of flats were decorated with neo-Nasrid decorations, see Kaufmann 2018.
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the Islamic architecture of al-Andalus (figs. 12.7–12.8).60 Among the most interesting specimens are the graphical studies of the Tower of the Princesses (Torre de las Infantas) in Granada with proposals for its restoration, on which Karl Rakhau (1830–1880) and Karl Kol’man (1835–1889) had worked between 1861 and 1863 (fig. 12.9).61 Although it was at the time possible to acquire many information on the Alhambra through books and such drawings, Notbek’s collection added more important sensual data, as the models and casts gave a more direct haptic and visual impression of the originals. Unsurprisingly, the collection would thus provide important references for St. Petersburg-based architects for creating neo-Moorish interiors, especially after 1863. There is no evidence that Pavel Notbek engaged in the trade with architectural casts,62 but it is very likely that certain motifs of Alhambra decorations in the adaptations of Russian architects had been based on his casts and models.63 The decoration of a former smoking room at Villa Brusnitsyny (27 Kozhevennaia liniia, St. Petersburg) strengthens this assumption, for some of its wall panels (fig. 12.10) depict a motif that originates from the stucco wall decorations of the Alhambra’s Riyāḍ Palace (Palace of the Lions). Architect Anatolii Kovsharov (1848–after 1917) designed the room around 1885 for the Brusnitsyny brothers, who were magnates of Russia’s leather processing industry, but had actually never visited the Alhambra himself and therefore had to rely on reproductions. Yet the Nasrid motif, reproduced by Kovsharov in great detail, had not yet appeared in any of the –at the time –popular publications on the Alhambra, but was present in three casts of Notbek’s collection (fig. 12.11).64 Having graduated at the Imperial Academy of Arts in 1880, it seems likely that Kovsharov had his wall panels modeled after these casts, yet with a main difference being that he replaced the central inscription with a vegetable motif.
60 61
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Among others, Karl Beine, Aleksandr Krakau, Grigorii Kotov, Aleksei Trambitskii, Foma Bogdanovich and Hermann Grimm had drawn the Mosque of Cordoba and the Nasrid palaces of the Alhambra, see Katalog 1901. See NIMRAKh, A-13382 –A-13386; A-13397. For these drawings Karl Rakhau and Karl Kol’man were awarded a Médaille de troisiéme classe at the Paris Salon of 1863, and the title of academicians of the Imperial Academy of Arts, see Janin et al. 1864, 88; rgia, f. 789, op. 3 1861, d. 3, l. 30–31, 38; rgia, f. 789, op. 3 1862, d. 20, l. 37–41; rgia, f. 789, op. 4 1863, d. 131; rgia, f. 789, op. 4 1864, d. 127; rgia, f. 789, op. 5 1865, d. 251. Pavel Notbek himself did not design any neo-Moorish interiors. He was employed as an architect by the building committee of the Ministry of the Interior before his death in 1877. See chapter 22 in this volume. See NIMRAKh, S-1654, S-1708 and S-2016.
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The Academy’s Alhambra Collection was further extended during the 19th century, for example by adding photographs,65 other models mainly from Rafael Contreras’s workshop (cat. 1 and 5–10),66 and plaster casts molded at the Union centrale des arts décoratifs.67 More interestingly, at least one of the collection’s objects, a plaster cast of a small muqarnas vault, had seemingly not been created by Pavel Notbek at all but in connection with the furnishings of another neo-Moorish interior in St. Petersburg (fig. 12.12).68 The reasons for this assumption are, first, that the object’s style slightly differs from that of the other casts and that, second, a similar vault on top of a cornice is not known from the Alhambra. The same motif, however, is known from the niches of the living room of Sergei von Derviz’s villa (33 Galernaia ulitsa, St. Petersburg, fig. 12.13), which had been designed in 1885 by architect Piotr Shreiber (1841–1903), another graduate from the Imperial Academy of Arts. For this motif, Shreiber had obviously been inspired by ornaments of the Alhambra, which he, deviating from established traditions, modified to suit his taste –something he had also done for creating the imaginary sebka pattern above the niche. 6
Political Changes and the Devaluation of a Unique Collection
The building of the Academy of Arts in St. Petersburg outlived all disasters of the past century: the October Revolution, the Siege of Leningrad, the harsh Soviet period, and Perestroika. Naturally, these times left their mark on the Academy’s collection, including the models and plaster casts of the Alhambra. The Imperial Academy of Arts carried out its function until the October Revolution. On April 12, 1918, the Council of People’s Commissars of the Soviet Union (Sovnarkom) abolished the Academy, and its museum was closed. As a result, its painting, sculpture, and drawing collections were largely disbanded. Besides being sent off to adorn public spaces, the collections were gradually farmed out to other museums. The Hermitage and the Russian Museum took 65 66 67
68
As for these photographs, see Stanulevich 2018. Most models were donated to the Imperial Academy of Arts in 1881 by relatives of Karl Rakhau, see Kondakov 1914, 104; rgia, f. 789, op. 14-R, d. 5, l. 96. Historic photos show some of them amidst Notbek’s models and casts (figs. 3.4 and 3.14). See for example NIMRAKh, S-1676, S-1703, S-1778, S-1799 or S-1856 and Kaufmann 2019a. These casts were probably acquired at the 1889 World’s Fair in Paris. The engraved text on the small metal plates attached to them reads as follows: “Union centrale des arts décoratifs, Palais de l’Industrie, Porte 7, Atelier Moulages, Avenue de la Motte Picquet 57.” The cast is likewise visible on a photograph from 1935 (fig. 3.14).
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the bulk of works. In 1931, after nearly all items had been transferred to museums in Leningrad, Moscow, and elsewhere, the director of the Institute of Proletarian Fine Art asked the director of the Hermitage to adopt the Academy’s remaining treasures: The main reason for raising the issue of transfer is the urgent need for premises to be used for training and production […] as well as the impossibility of caring for these valuables in terms of preserving them well. If you do not accept the pictures, bronzes, and porcelains, and they are not removed by October 20, they will be transferred to the State Fund. As for the plaster works, if you refuse to accept them, measures will be taken to destroy them, as they have no ideological or other value.69 The models and plaster casts had “no ideological or other value”? The Hermitage could not bear such vandalism and accepted the collection. Thereafter Notbek’s models and plaster casts would remain stored at the Hermitage for several years. After 1917 the former Imperial Academy of Arts would undergo several changes until finally embracing Socialist Realism in the 1930s.70 Although the connection that had once existed between the institution and its museum would not be reestablished, the early 1930s marked the beginning of a new phase of the museum’s development. In 1935, the Hermitage returned a part of the Alhambra Collection to its original home to be displayed on the second floor (fig. 12.14).71 By the time, the more fragile plaster objects had probably already suffered some damage as the result of this and earlier transfers. Later, during World War ii, the lack of adequate means for packing and storing the collection safely seemingly caused even further damage.
69
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“Osnovnoi prichinoi, zastavliaiushchei stavit’ vopros o peredache, iavliaetsia ostraia nuzhda v pomeshcheniiakh, podlezhashchikh byt’ ispol’zovannymi pod uchebno- proizvodstvennye tseli […] a takzhe nevozmozhnost’iu neobkhodimogo ukhoda za ėtimi tsennostiami s tochki zreniia ikh kachestvennogo sokhraneniia. Kartiny, bronza, farfor v sluchae nepriniatiia takovykh Vami i ne vyvezeny do 20/x s. g. budut peredany v Gos. fond, a v otnoshenii gipsovykh proizvedenii, v sluchae vashego otkaza ot takovykh, budut priniaty mery k ikh unichtozheniiu, kak ne imeiushchich ideologicheskoi i prochei tsennosti,” Archive of the State Hermitage Museum, f. 1, op. 5, d. 1892. It had been renamed repeatedly before the Soviet government reintroduced it as the Russian Academy of Arts in 1933. Since 1947, the educational institution in St. Petersburg (then Leningrad) is called Repin Institute of Painting, Sculpture and Architecture. See transfer deed no. 215 (04.09.1935). The second part of the Alhambra Collection was returned in 1953, see transfer deed no. 769 (20.12.1953).
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The Alhambra Collection would never again be brought back to its original state. One of the reasons might be that the doorway between the two Alhambra rooms on the third floor had been sealed at some point after the Revolution, possibly during the 1920s, when the Academy was beset by chaos. Due to this intervention the two rooms henceforth formally belonged to two different divisions. Even today one room is used for the architectural exhibition of the Scientific- Research Museum,72 whereas the other serves as a lecture hall for the engineering and construction program of the department for architecture of the Repin Institute.73 Major renovations have never been carried out for this room, and except for a new layer of wall paint everything else remained as it had been before, including the mosaic floor and the horseshoe-shaped archway (fig. 12.15). For many decades Pavel Notbek’s Alhambra Collection, which had once been purchased with the Tsar’s permission, amazed visitors and allowed Russian artists to become familiar with some of the best examples of Nasrid art. Thanks to the collaboration between the Scientific-Research Museum of the Russian Academy of Arts and the University of Zurich, the documentation and investigation of this unique collection and its impact on the local architecture could be advanced, although even today the collection itself is stowed away and hidden from the public’s eye.74 In order to preserve the fragile models for the future, their restoration must be given priority. Even though re-establishing the original Alhambra exhibition does not seem a feasible task, a drawing depicting the original locations of all items as displayed during the 19th century, found in the course of recent investigations, could at least be used as the basis for a digital reconstruction of the exhibition (fig. 12.16).75 7
Bringing the Alhambra Back to Life
The diversification of reproductive techniques in the first half of the 19th century contributed to the increasing visibility and popularization of the arts 72
An 18th-century altar canopy and casts of medieval Russian sculptures are exhibited here. Although the former horseshoe-shaped doorway to the adjoining room has been sealed, it is still recognizable because of fine cracks in the wall. 73 We would like to thank Dmitrii Shatilov, lecturer of the architecture department of the Repin Institute of Painting, Sculpture and Architecture, for this information. 74 Another important collection of the museum, the design models of Russian buildings, are mostly stowed away as well due to a lack of space, a problem under which the various institutions housed within the walls of the Academy building from the 1760s have already been suffering for a while. 75 See rgia, f. 789, op. 36, d. 54, l. 1–7.
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and architectural monuments. Models and plaster casts of the Alhambra and other remains of al-Andalus entered the collections of architectural museums and academies, as well as schools of decorative and applied arts, enabling the Moorish Revival to spread more easily across Europe and placing Ibero-Islamic art and its most popular ornaments, such as muqarnas or sebka, in the universal canon of art history. The formation of the Alhambra Collection of St. Petersburg tied in with this development, as it had an important part to play in the revival of the Alhambra in Russia. In spite of being unique with regard to its size and the excellent quality of its holdings, the Alhambra Collection of the former Imperial Academy of Arts shared the same fate as most other European cast and model collections –a constant devaluation, which was mostly due to decisive changes in the methods for training architects that would turn to other media and educational devices and thus ban casts and models from classrooms and museums.
Acknowledgments
Ekaterina Savinova’s passages and the quotations in Russian have been translated by Thomas Campbell.
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Illustrations
figure 12.1 Alhambra casts (n. 959 and 977) and other ornamental details, pl. 13 in Catalogue avec dimensions et prix-courants de moulage en plâtre de tous genres, a l’usage des écoles, des artistes et des amateurs, École cantonale des arts industriels de Genève, 1889. Geneva, bge source: photography ariane varela braga
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figure 12.2 Alhambra cast, Geneva, previously at the collection of the École des arts industriels source: photography ariane varela braga. © collection de l’état de genève / département de l’instruction publique, sous la responsabilité scientifique de la head – genève
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figure 12.3 Alhambra casts, previously at the collection of the Scuola professionale di arti decorative industriali (inv. 1961, 1960, 1965) source: photography ariane varela braga. © gipsoteca del liceo artistico porta romana firenze
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figure 12.4 The Alhambra exhibition at the Imperial Academy of Arts in St. Petersburg, 19th century/beginning of the 20th century source: photograph published in kondakov 1914, 104
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figure 12.5 The Alhambra exhibition at the Imperial Academy of Arts in St. Petersburg, 19th century/beginning of the 20th century source: photograph published in kondakov 1914, 105
figure 12.6 Plan of the third floor of the Imperial Academy of Arts in St. Petersburg, late 19th century, engraving. St. Petersburg, NIMRAKh, ag-2315 source: © nimrakh
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figure 12.7 Aleksander Krakau, Study of the capital of a column and part of an archway in the Hall of the Abencerrajes (Alhambra, Granada), end of the 1840s, ink and watercolor on paper, 750 х 513 mm. Scientific-Research Museum of the Russian Academy of Arts, A-25203 source: © nimrakh
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figure 12.8 Grigorii Kotov, Study of a room at the Alhambra baths, 1886, ink and watercolor on paper. Scientific-Research Museum of the Russian Academy of Arts, А-7582 source: © nimrakh
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figure 12.9 Karl Rakhau and Karl Kol’man, Study of the Tower of the Princesses (Alhambra, Granada), 1863, dyed cardboard, graphite, watercolor, 915 x 674 mm. Scientific- Research Museum of the Russian Academy of Arts, А-13384 source: © nimrakh
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figure 12.10 St. Petersburg, Villa Brusnitsyny, Smoking Room, wall panel, Architect Anatolii Kovsharov, ca. 1885 source: © nikita andreev and katrin kaufmann
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figure 12.11 Pavel Notbek, Reproduction of an ornament at the Palace of the Lions (Alhambra, Granada), ca. 1860, plaster, wood, 59.5 x 41.5 x 5 cm. St. Petersburg, Scientific-Research Museum of the Russian Academy of Arts, S-1654 source: © nimrakh / university of zurich
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figure 12.12 Unknown author, upper part of a niche (vault) with muqarnas, probably 1885, plaster cast, 56 x 63 x 28 cm. St. Petersburg, Scientific-Research Museum of the Russian Academy of Arts, S-1717 source: © nimrakh / university of zurich
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figure 12.13 St. Petersburg, Villa of Sergei von Derviz, Living Room, niche, by architect Piotr Shreiber, 1885 source: © katrin kaufmann
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figure 12.14 Unknown photographer, Eastern Art Room at the Soviet Academy of Fine Arts Museum, ca. 1935, gelatin silver print. Scientific-Research Museum of the Russian Academy of Arts, F-3497/2 source: © nimrakh
figure 12.15 Lecture hall of the Repin Institute for Painting, Sculpture and Architecture, St. Petersburg, 2018 source: © natal’ia solov’iova
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figure 12.16 Unknown author, Diagram of the exhibits in the second Alhambra Room at the Imperial Academy of Arts, St. Petersburg, right wall, probably early 20th century. rgia, f. 789, op. 36, d. 54, l. 5–6
pa rt 4 Artistic Translations between Imagination, Politics and Ideology
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c hapter 13
The Limits of Otherness
Decoding the Entangled Heritage of Medieval Iberia Francine Giese and Sarah Keller Cross-cultural encounters and the construction of identity are intimately linked to concepts of otherness, as Elisabeth Hallam and Brian v. Street have stressed in the introduction to their 2000 edition of Cultural encounters. Representing ‘otherness.’ The authors point out how much “the Other is never simply given, never just found or encountered, but made.”1 Accordingly, in processes of othering, social and cultural codes are applied in order to draw real or symbolic boundaries between sameness and difference, between the Self and the Other, as Riva Kastoryano reminds us in her 2010 book Codes of Otherness.2 Referring to Aristide Zolberg and Long Litt Woon’s 1999 article Why Islam is like Spanish, Kastoryano contributes to a debate essentially shaped by Samuel P. Huntington’s influential work on the clash of civilisations.3 The public reception of Huntington’s distorted view of Islamic civilization turned Muslims into what Valérie Amiraux called Europe’s “ultimate cultural ‘other’ ” in 2007.4 Largely influenced by the current political and social climate, these contributions mainly deal with Western or, more precisely, European politics. With regard to the arts in general and medieval arts in particular, however, current attempts to equalize the contrasts between West versus East and Self versus Other turn out to be dysfunctional. Instead, we can identify “facets of Otherness,” as Lieselotte E. Saurma-Jeltsch has called them, which are mainly due to “the shifting contexts in which the Other appears.”5 This is even more the case when it comes to transcultural phenomena as the one discussed in the following.
1 Hallam/Street 2000, 1. 2 Kastoryano 2010. For further reading, see Kastoryano 2005. 3 Huntington 1993. Huntington 1997. Samuel P. Huntington was not the first scholar to discuss the clash of civilisations-theory, see for instance Lewis 1990. 4 Amiraux 2007, 147. 5 Saurma-Jeltsch 2012, 12.
© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2021 | DOI:10.1163/9789004448582_015
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The Facets of Otherness and the Iberian Reality
As one of the most important contact zones of the medieval world, the Iberian Peninsula witnessed a continuous process of exchange and acculturation between al-Andalus and the Christian kingdoms of the North. The reasons do not only lie in shifting frontiers and subsequent waves of migration and repopulation, but also in the transcultural taste of the elites. Similar to the Italophilia in the age of the Renaissance, the Francophilia in the 17th century or the global Anglomania of the 18th and 19th centuries,6 which Peter Burke described as “fashion[s]for the foreign,” it seems equally justified to speak of a Maurophilia avant la lettre in relation to medieval Iberia.7 Accordingly, the cultural and artistic entanglements observed on the Peninsula went hand in hand with the military conflicts between al-Andalus and the North during the Reconquista and left their lasting marks on the arts and architecture. This circumstance motivated us to reconsider the notion of otherness in relation to the cultural situation of Iberia at the time. 2
A new Cathedral for Toledo –Gothic Style versus Local Tradition
The art-historical and socio-cultural implications of the destruction of Toledo’s Friday Mosque –re-used as a cathedral since 1085 –and its replacement by a completely new construction in the latest fashion originating from the Île- de-France have been discussed in length elsewhere.8 Therefore, the focus here lies on one specific architectural motif –the polylobed arch, which was added to the imported Gothic language of Toledo’s cathedral. It was Pierre Héliot who pointed out in 1965 that this language is directly linked to the “monumental family of the cathedral of Bourges,”9 whilst José Amador de los Ríos had already identified Islamic influences on the choir as early as 1845.10 Accordingly, 6 7
8 9 10
Burke 2009, 79–82. The term Maurophilia refers to a widespread phenomenon of the 19th century, when the cultural and artistic legacy of al-Andalus generated an intense enthusiasm and a global fashion, see for instance Galera Andreu 1992; López Guzmán 1995; Giese/Varela Braga et al. 2016; Giese/Varela Braga 2017a. For instance, see Torres Balbás 1952, 59–69; Conrad von Konradsheim 1975a; Chueca Goitia 1978; Karge 1989, 119–122; Wilson 1990; Franco Mata 1991, 420–479; Las Casas Gómez 1993; and Nickson 2015a with extensive bibliography. Héliot 1965. On the multiple French models that can be identified in the Cathedral of Toledo and especially its choir, see Branner 1962, 180–184; Conrad von Konradsheim 1975b; Karge 1992, 20–21; Franco Mata 2010–2011. Amador de los Ríos 1845, 28–29.
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the triforium of the inner ambulatory shows rows of five, six or eight pointed cinquelobed arches while generally adopting the layout of the transept of the Cathedral of Beauvais, whose construction begun in ca. 1225 (fig. 13.1).11 As a constituting element of the caliphal repertoire, the polylobed arch can be traced back to the extensive Umayyad building program developed during the 10th century under ʿAbd ar-Raḥmān iii (r. ah 300–350 / ad 912–961) and his son and successor al-Ḥakam ii (r. ah 350–366 / ad 961–976) for Madīnat az-Zahrāʾ and the Friday Mosque of Córdoba.12 Preserved specimens of such arches show that they were concentrated in the most representative parts of both building complexes. In the palace city, they are found in ʿAbd ar-Raḥmān iii’s audience hall (Salón Rico) in the center of the palace city’s official sector.13 As for the metropolitan mosque, the use of polylobed arches was restricted to the central nave, the maqsura (fig. 13.2), the mihrab and the monumental gates built during the mosque’s extensions in the 10th century. While the examples from Madīnat az-Zahrāʾ have been preserved only partly, the mosque of Córdoba exposes an astonishing variety of polylobed arches. They are either used as tectonic elements, i.e., in terms of open arcades in systems of interlacing arches, which were studied in detail by Emilio Camps Cazorla and Christian Ewert,14 or as decorative elements, i.e., in the form of blind arcades in the prayer niche and on the mosque’s inner and outer façades. Considering the further developments of the polylobed arch on the Iberian Peninsula, it becomes apparent that the diversity observed in Córdoba’s mosque was still maintained in post-Umayyad times. A testimony for this is the Aljafería in Zaragoza executed under the local taifa ruler Abū Ǧaʿfar Aḥmad i al-Muqtadir (r. ah 438– 474 / ad 1046/47–1081/82). Here, polylobed arches were not only integrated into complex systems of interlacing arches on the northern and southern court façades and in the halls,15 but also added to the oratory. They all show remarkable similarities with the aforementioned Toledan triforium. Likewise, the pointed cinquelobed arches of the Aljafería are arranged in a continuous arcade on gallery level opening onto the central oratory space. Even though this specific arrangement of lobed arches is only known from the Aljafería, its 11
Wilson 1990, 158. In addition, the triforium of the presbytery shows interlacing arches, which is another motif borrowed from al-Andalus, more precisely, from the 10th- century prayer hall extension of the Umayyad mosque in Córdoba. Cf. Lambert 1931, 214. Karge 1992, 21. Franco Mata 1999, 87; Ruiz Souza 2009b, 243. Karge 2009, 242. Nickson 2015a, 84–91. 12 Ewert 1968, 61. 13 Vallejo Triano 2010, 380–381. 14 Camps Cazorla 1953; Ewert 1968. For a summary, see Giese 2016a, 126–136. 15 Ewert 1978.
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varied manifestations are considered basic elements of the Islamic architecture of al-Andalus. However, when the triforium of the Cathedral of Toledo was under construction around the middle of the 13th century,16 polylobed arches had already been significant elements of the Christian architecture of Castile and Northern Spain for a long time. This arch type had been introduced to churches during the first quarter of the 12th century. The Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela and the slightly younger collegiate church of San Isidoro in León feature several such polylobed arches on their interior walls and exterior façades.17 Even though the polylobed arches adorning some French churches might have been introduced earlier, their shapes differ from the Spanish examples.18 In the course of the 12th century, variations of lobed arches became increasingly widespread and characteristic features of Romanesque architecture in France and Spain. The earliest examples of polylobed arches from León and Santiago probably were intended as expressions of superiority over the Islamic territories of al-Andalus. What supports this assumption is not only the circumstance of the introduction itself, but also that they show striking formal similarities to arches of Islamic architecture and that they made their appearance in Santiago and León. At the time, both cities were cultural centers of the young Kingdom of Castile and León and crucial for shaping its identity. As signs of triumph, this arch form hence became a bearer of meaning in terms of Günther Bandmann’s theory.19 This role, however, changed in the course of the 12th century. The appropriated motif of the polylobed arch would now develop within the Romanesque period through processes of acculturation,20 which mostly took place independent from the architectural developments in al-Andalus. From the 12th century onwards, the use of polylobed arches in Christian architecture therefore no longer was the result of any immediate reception of Islamic architecture, but of the reproduction of a motif that had become Christianized.21 16 17 18 19 20 21
The dates of the completion of the choir in Toledo are still a matter of debate, see for instance Lambert 1931, 203–209, 295–296; Karge 1992, 19; Karge 2009, 242; Nickson 2015a, 78. Keller 2013, 39, 50. They, for instance, exist on the south transept of the abbey church of Cluny iii (ca. 1100); see Keller 2013, 27–28. Bandmann 1951, 27; Keller 2013, 11–14, 242–246. The term acculturation refers to the adoption of cultural goods of foreign origin and their assimilation to a foreign culture; cf. Speer 2006, xv; Burke 2000, 13; Borgolte et al. 2008, 204–209. For the term appropriation, cf. Burke 2000, 17–18. However, the actual origins of this motif were never forgotten completely, as certain examples of church buildings demonstrate. In France and Spain new forms of Islamic
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Introducing the Polylobed Arch to Toledo
In Toledo, polylobed arches became important features of Christian church architecture around the year 1200. More than one hundred years after the re- conquest in 1085, the city experienced a vivid building activity and saw the construction of many new churches,22 of which most included polylobed arches. The Church of Santa Cruz (today El Cristo de la Luz), one of the oldest church buildings of Toledo, is a good example for demonstrating how the lobed arch was received during this period. The church incorporates the former mosque located near the Bāb al-Mardūm (ca. ah 391 /ad 999/1000), a structure of nine bays whose aesthetics show strong ties to the Umayyad capital of Córdoba and its Friday Mosque.23 Together with the former Mosque of San Lorenzo, Santa Cruz is the only building in Toledo that has preserved polylobed arches dating back to Islamic times.24 In 1186, this mosque, located on one of the city’s main entrances, was converted to a church dedicated to the Holy Cross and assigned to the Order of the Knights of the Hospital of Saint John at the instigation of king Alfonso viii (r. 1158–1214).25 This conversion found its architectural expression through the addition of an apse to the east side of the mosque
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architecture were repeatedly appropriated in the course of the 12th century, for instance, in the churches of Le Wast, Montbron, Villamuriel de Cerrato and Navas de Bureba; cf. Keller 2013, 90, 247. Due to the exodus of many Muslims after 1085, the new Christian rulers had many empty mosques at their disposal, which only had to be consecrated. Only the Great Mosque remained in Muslim possession for a brief period after the conquest; see Reilly 1992, 85; Calvo Capilla 1999a, 310; Cerro Malagón et. al. 1992, 309. Ewert 1977; Calvo Capilla 1999a, 322; Calvo Capilla 2014, 672–676; Ewert 1977; Calvo Capilla 2014, 672–676. The excavation and restoration campaign of 2001–2009 provided new evidence on the importance of the mosque for the city of Toledo. In opposition to earlier assumptions, the mosque had not been a private neighbourhood mosque. Instead, it was a hieratic monument founded by a ruler and located next to one of the most important entrances to the city; see Romero Rabadán 2009, 70, 111, 182–183. Polylobed arches adorn the northwest façade as well as the entrance of the southwest façade of the former mosque. On the inside, the high walls under the cupolas show diverse forms of lobed arches; see Ewert 1977, 300; Rütenik 2009, 439, fig. 6. A small building with polylobed arches within the monastery area of Santa Fe had been considered an Islamic construction for a long time. Results of the excavation of 2000–2002 suggest a building date around 1300; see Monzón Moya 2004, 47. The Mezquita de Tornerías, probably the only mosque that was still in use for Muslim worship until the 15th century, also possessed polylobed arches. They were documented in 1877, but later destroyed; see Amador de los Ríos 1877; Cerro Malagón et al. 1992, 310; Calvo Capilla 1999a, 318. The documents were published in Calvo Capilla 1999a, 324–325.
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probably shortly after 1186 (fig. 13.3).26 The apse contains a rich decoration with a stringcourse dividing it into an upper and a lower zone. Whereas the lower zone shows round arches, the upper zone encompasses nine-lobed arches enclosing smaller horseshoe arches. This disposition is an essential feature of 13th-century Toledean architecture. The apses of San Eugenio, San Antolín, San Román as well as the transepts of Santiago del Arrabal and many later churches show the same arcade structuring. Its origins can safely be traced back to the Almohad minaret of the Kutubīya Mosque in Marrakesh (before 1158), where for the first time blind and open horseshoe arches were framed by polylobed arches in a way similar to the ones from Toledo.27 The shapes of these lobed arches, however, differ much from those found in 12th-century churches in Spain or France. A main difference is that the lobed arches of Toledo are pointed –as are most Islamic arches –and therefore do not follow the round baseline found in Romanesque architecture. Hence, the transfer of this Almohad motif accounts for a second stage of appropriation. In the case of Santa Cruz in Toledo, the borrowing of an architectural motif taken from the contemporary Almohad repertory correlates with an architectural visualization of sovereignty accentuating the triumph of Christianity over Islam.28 Subsequently, an acculturation process occurred due to which the motif of horseshoe arches enclosing polylobed arches spread far out through the Mudéjar architecture of Toledo and other cities of medieval Iberia, and eventually lost its ties to Islamic architecture. Therefore, the Cathedral of Toledo incorporates a motif that originated in the Islamic architecture but had become an essential part of the vocabulary of Iberian Christian architecture by the 13th century. The Cathedral of Ciudad Rodrigo and the collegiate church of Toro, both dating to the 13th century, possess arches with great similarities to those of the aforementioned ambulatory in Toledo; they therefore are especially noteworthy here. In Ciudad Rodrigo, five blind lobed arches adorn the inner western wall in height of the triforium, while in Toro the tambour of a cupola built after 1230 consists of two rows of window openings with blind polylobed arches.29 Yet it is not necessary to leave Toledo this far behind to find other useful examples for this arcade type. In his 1931 publication, Elie Lambert pointed out to a connection between the triforium of the inner ambulatory of Toledo’s 26 27 28 29
Gómez Moreno 1951, 201–207; Cerro Malagón et al. 1992, 317; Calvo Capilla 2014, 675. Raizman argues for a date around 1220; cf. Raizman 1999, 136. Pavón Maldonado 2000, 175; Ewert et al. 1997, 114; Keller 2013, 214. Dodds et al. 2008, 121; Keller 2013, 217. García Guinea/Pérez González 2002, 142f., 215–216; Nickson 2015a, 81.
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cathedral and the former synagogue of Santa María la Blanca (fig. 13.4).30 In this Jewish temple, polylobed arches are used as a visual testimony to the transculturality of Toledo’s local building tradition and as a marker of its local identity. 4
The Transcultural Trajectory of the Polylobed Arch and the European Perspective
In contrast, the same is not true when it comes to the presence of Gothic style in Toledo. Archbishop Rodrigo Jiménez de Rada (ca. 1170–1247) and the Castilian king Fernando iii (r. 1217–1252) had chosen this style on purpose, with the intention to express their respective political aspirations.31 However, according to Henrik Karge the pan-European Gothic style never managed to become an essential part of Toledo’s local building tradition.32 Even though the former Visigoth capital had again become the center of Spanish Christianity after its re-conquest, the city of Toledo was still strongly rooted in the transcultural reality of medieval Iberia and maintained strong ties to the artistic legacy of al-Andalus. For a more complete understanding of the significance of the “Islamicate filter”33 applied to Toledo’s Gothic cathedral, it is therefore necessary to change our point of view, for “[…] the modern period has witnessed something of an aesthetic reversal, in which the familiar has been rendered “other,” and the foreign familiar.”34 Accordingly, while Elie Lambert and Angela Franco Mata emphasize the palpable disharmony in Toledo’s inner ambulatory and the violent contrast between the polylobed arches and the otherwise pure Gothic forms,35 in his 1992 contribution Henrik Karge speaks of an ‘ingenious symbiosis’ between the Gothic skeleton and the Islamic motif, which he relates to the local Mudéjar tradition.36 What Jerrilynn Dodds, María Rosa Menocal and Abigail Krasner Balbale have named a “hybrid dialect”37 can therefore be regarded as the essence of Toledo’s artistic identity and thus as an expression of its Self. The
30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37
Lambert 1931, 215. Karge 1992, 24–25. Karge 1989, 124. Nickson 2015a, 89. Ruiz Souza 2006b, 364. Lambert 1931, 214. Franco Mata 1999, 87. “geistreiche Symbiosen“, Karge 1992, 21. Dodds et al. 2008, 121.
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appropriation of polylobed arches as architectural elements of Islamic origin and their incorporation into the local repertoire let them become an essential part of the architectural tradition of the Christian kingdoms on the Iberian Peninsula since the beginning of the 12th century. Against this background, otherness seems an inappropriate term for describing the special historical situation of this architecture. As Juan Carlos Ruiz Sousa emphasized in 2006, in the majority of cases “[…] it would never occur to the builders and patrons to ask what the “ethnic” or “confessional” origin of these elements might be, since they had been adopted into the building tradition of the area in question [the Crown of Castile] centuries earlier.”38 When Henrik Karge thus refers to the re- use of Roman spolia in the presbytery of the 13th-century Gothic cathedral of Magdeburg as an “orchestrated alterity” –“eine inszenierte Alterität“39 –, this was certainly not the case for Toledo. In fact, the opposite is true: instead of expressing otherness, polylobed arches, introduced to the local repertoire during the Islamic reign of the 10th century and appropriated by Christian architecture around 1200, represented the city’s sameness. In contrast, it was Toledo’s Gothic cathedral that constituted the ultimate cultural other. 38 39
Ruiz Souza 2006b, 364. Karge 2009, p. 235.
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Illustrations
figure 13.1 Toledo, Cathedral, triforium of inner ambulatory source: © bildarchiv foto marburg
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figure 13.2 Córdoba, Friday Mosque, polylobed arches in the al-Ḥakam extension source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / thomas scheidt, christian stein
figure 13.3 Toledo, Santa Cruz, northwestern façade source: © bildarchiv foto marburg
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figure 13.4 Toledo, Santa María la Blanca, polylobed arches in the upper arcade wall source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / christian stein
c hapter 14
Political Ruptures and Artistic Continuities
Pedro i, Enrique ii and the First Trastámara Architecture in Context Elena Paulino Montero Art and architecture of the fourteenth century in Castile have traditionally occupied a marginal position within Spanish historiography. This period has been situated between two moments considered of splendor and innovation: the thirteenth century, especially during the reign of Alfonso x the Wise (r. 1252–1284), and the beginning of the fifteenth century, when a renovation in the arts led by central European artists took place. But beyond this periodization, stylistic divisions established during the nineteenth century have fragmented medieval Castilian art, resulting in the artificial segregation between ‘Gothic’ and ‘Mudéjar’ monuments and thus, preventing a comprehensive analysis of the rich artistic practices of the time. This categorization was furthermore characterized by a preference for aesthetic formalism, disregarding contextualized interpretations of artistic objects. Although several scholars have raised their voices against this division ever since, especially with regard to the narrowing concept of ‘Mudéjar Art’ or the even vaguer term of ‘Mudejarism’,1 both terms are still present in monographs. They are problematically used for defining cultural and artistic productions of specific ethnic or religious communities. Moreover, those communities are conceived as closed and stable entities, thereby promoting the anachronistic idea of medieval Iberian art as characterized by a monolithic Islamic constituent.2 There is no doubt that the geographic proximity to al-Andalus that Castile entertained for more than five hundred years conditioned its architectural landscape. The gradual border expansion, together with the mutual exchange of ideas, texts, people and artifacts back and forth of the frontier led to an assimilation of forms and interaction of artists into Castile’s multilayered artistic repertoire. Yet the permeability of Castile for foreign artistic models (not solely Andalusi) does not necessarily imply that these assimilation processes were passive and independent from their chronological coordinates or that
1 Ruiz Souza 2009a; Urquízar Herrera 2009–2010; Feliciano 2012; Ruiz Souza/Feliciano 2017. 2 For a development of this criticism see Ruiz Souza/Feliciano 2017.
© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2021 | DOI:10.1163/9789004448582_016
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the artistic production was merely imitative. On the contrary, it allowed the creation of original artworks that should be interpreted in the context of 14th- century Europe’s formal multilingualism.3 During the past fifteen years, several scholars have reasserted the importance of 14th-century Castilian art and architecture as a key for understanding how different processes of creation, exchange and transformation worked in the transcultural contexts of the Iberian Peninsula. Our understanding of the first half of the century has been much improved thanks to the works by Rocío Sánchez Ameijeiras and Rosa Rodríguez Porto on painting, sculpture and illumination, and Juan Carlos Ruiz Souza’s, Antonio Almagro’s and Cynthia Robinson’s works on architecture.4 Their studies opened new paths regarding the dynamics of cultural exchanges and artistic innovation in the period that I would like to further explore here by focusing on the architecture of the last third of the century, more specifically, the decades before and after the Castilian civil war. After several years of open confrontation, in 1369, Enrique ii (r. 1369–1379) the illegitimate son of the king Alfonso xi (r. 1331–1350) and his mistress, Leonor de Guzmán, executed his half-brother, King Pedro i, thereby finally seizing power and establishing the new Trastámara dynasty. The end of the Civil War has been frequently analyzed as an event that meant acute change for both the political alliances of Castile, the processes of artistic creativity, and the cultural exchange with al-Andalus. Accordingly, there has been a tendency in scholarship to focus on the relations between Pedro i and the Nasrid Kingdom of Granada on the one hand, and those between Enrique ii and France on the other, not only regarding politics but also cultural policies and artistic choices. Contemporary chronicles, such as those by López de Ayala, and visual materials have thus been arranged and forced into a monolithic reading, wherein art serves to illustrate or confirm textual readings.5 This monolithic interpretation is very problematic: not only does it decontextualize the patronage of Peter i but also strengthen the idea of an ‘exceptionality’ of his reign and of his art and architecture as something similarly extraordinary, as if solely depending on the monarch’s personal taste and inspired by his alleged “exceptional” friendship with the Nasrid king, Muḥammad v. However, in the actual state of the art, most scholars agree on interpreting the 3 Villaseñor Sebastián 2009, 25–29; Sánchez Ameijeiras 2009, 246–247. 4 Robinson 2003; Robinson 2006b; Rodríguez Porto 2005 and Rodríguez Porto 2008; Ruiz Souza 2006b; Sánchez Ameijeiras 2009. 5 On how the Trastámara developed specific strategies of legitimization through those political texts see Valdaliso Casanova 2015.
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textual maurophilic6 image of Pedro i “who ennobled and enriched the Moors”7 as a very carefully crafted image, the product of propaganda spread by the first Trastámaras during and after the war.8 His relationship with Granada, both political and artistic, can be easily compared with those maintained by his father, Alfonso xi, and other contemporary kings of the Peninsula (especially those of Portugal and Aragon).9 Moreover, the propagandistic texts that accused Pedro of being a heretic king who favored Muslims and Jews over Christians, never explicitly refer to specific cultural or artistic practices. Accusations were usually limited to the social and political sphere, leaving the art and architecture developed by the king aside. More importantly, the assumption of a cultural watershed between the aesthetic choices before and after the Civil War strongly contrasts the actual artistic production during the reign of Enrique ii. In this article I will analyze the artistic production between the end of Pedro i’s and Enrique ii’s reigns, namely the Alcázar of Seville, the Royal Chapel of Córdoba and the Forgiveness Door of the same cathedral, and the Royal palace of León. Through these examples, I will examine the artistic and aesthetic practices of the Castilian kings before and after the dynastic change, presenting them as part of a unique and uninterrupted process in the formation of a Castilian artistic tradition. In this process, the informed selection of Andalusi architectural features mixed with other aesthetic options, but rather than stressing the ‘Christian’ or ‘Islamic’ origins, which to a great extent respond to contemporary interpretations, it is of greater interest to analyze the reasons behind the selection and display of these forms. 1
Beyond Pedro i’s Exceptionality: The Artistic Display of a Castilian King
Pedro i reigned for less than twenty years (r. 1350–1369), at least the last decade of which was overshadowed by a rebellion of parts of the nobility and the 6 The term maurophilia was coined in studies of early modern literature, from where it would be directly applied to the cultural and artistic production of the late medieval Castilian court during the second half of the twentieth century. However, this use has proven to be highly problematic ever since. For a general overview on this problem, see Franco Llopis/Moreno Díaz del Campo 2019, 89–107. 7 Acrescentador e enriquecedor de moros, see Valdeón Baruque 1992, 464. On the historiographical construction of a favorable image of the Trastámara king see also Rábade Obradó 1995. Also see chapter 3 of this volume. 8 On the historiographical image of Pedro i, see the different contributions of the edited volume by Rodríguez Porto/Roselló Martínez 2017. Also see chapter 3 of this volume. 9 A key work reevaluating the history of Pedro i’s reign is Estow 1995.
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Civil War that would eventually allow his half-brother, Enrique ii, to seize the throne. These two decades were nonetheless formative for Castile’s new court style, when the selection and integration of Andalusi features into the Castilian architecture gradually solidified, processes that already started during Alfonso xi’s lifetime.10 Beyond the simplistic paradigm of Mudejarism, the artistic patronage of Pedro i has been analyzed by several authors, who have highlighted the careful selection of architectural structures, ornamental motifs and epigraphy from al-Andalus in his palaces that is paralleled by his conception of power and centrality.11 Indeed, during the first decade of his reign, Pedro i refined a new palatial typology that materialized his political ideals and ambitions in Carmona, Tordesillas, Astudillo, and, of course, Seville. There, the renovation works of the Alcázar represented the culmination point of this experimentation phase. Among the many other structural and decorative elements incorporated from the Andalusi tradition, two elements of the Alcázar in Seville are of special interest, since they are constitutional for the design of Castilian royal architecture in the next decades: the qubba structure, as well as the selection and display of multilingual epigraphy. Centralized halls based on the Islamic qubba had become a common sight in Castile and Granada by the middle of the fourteenth century.12 They were usually richly decorated and covered with magnificent octagonal, at times even semispherical, gilded wooden ceilings, thereby showcasing the refinement of the mathematical and geometrical compositions.13 The Salón de Comares, covered by one of the largest and most magnificent ceilings, was built at the Alhambra in Granada in the middle of the fourteenth century, whereas in Castile, Alfonso xi played an important role in transforming the qubba into a main architectural feature for the throne halls of royal palaces.14 Yet it was not before the Pedro i’s reign when these structures would be widely accepted into the Castilian architecture of power. As Antonio Almagro has shown, all palaces built by Pedro i would include at least one such centralized room used as a throne hall or ceremonial space. In Seville, no less than three qubbas had been originally planned for the new palace,15 each with different entrances 10 Paulino Montero 2017. His architectural patronage, however, still lacks thorough examination. 11 Almagro Gorbea 2007a; Almagro Gorbea 2008, 76–103; Almagro Gorbea 2013; Almagro Gorbea 2015d; Ruiz Souza 2013a; Ruiz Souza 2013b; Ruiz Souza 2014a; Ruiz Souza 2017; Marquer 2012; Marquer 2013. 12 For a general overview, see Manzano Martos 1994; Ruiz Souza 2001c. 13 For an overview, see the classic work: Nuere Matauco 1989. 14 Navarro Palazón 2007; Almagro Gorbea 2007a; Paulino Montero 2017. 15 Almagro Gorbea 2007b; Almagro Gorbea 2013; Almagro Gorbea 2015d.
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and degrees of privacy. The best preserved is the so-called Ambassador’s Hall (Salón de Embajadores or Salón de la Media Naranja) (fig. 14.1), which was part of the king’s private palace and displayed Pedro’s ideals of power and magnificence in a way that would have an impact on other royal palaces and residences of the elites during the fifteenth and even sixteenth century, with significant examples being that of the Casa de Pilatos in Seville. The integration of centralized structures for places of special significance, along with the refinement of their elements, was accompanied by a process of selection, of “cultural translation,”16 and the display of multilingual epigraphy. Julie Marquer has studied the epigraphic program of Pedro i’s Alcázar, asserting that it indicates a careful selection of political and religious sentences that could work in both, Islamic and Christian contexts, as well as a “resemantization” of Arabic terms for adapting them to the Castilian cultural context.17 On the one hand, specific formulas would be adapted from Nasrid tradition and related to ideas on the exercise of power and good governance. On the other hand, there would also be very specific claims concerning hegemonic rules according to which the king would be addressed as sultan: “‛izz li-mawlānā al- sulṭān don Bidru ayyadahu Allah” (“Glory to our Lord the Sultan don Pedro, may God help him”). The title “sultan” here is used to relate to a Christian king and appears frequently on the walls of the Alcázar in both Kufic and Naskh script. To select and display exactly this political title was not random, nor was it a superficial fashion of copying Arabic epigraphy without caring about its semantics. On the contrary: it implied a deliberate assimilation of the meaning the term had in the Nasrid kingdom –“the one who has the power” –and therefore preferred to other Islamic alternatives.18 The informed use of exactly this title can be understood as a consequence of the king’s will to reassert his power and legitimacy over all his enemies and allies. But it also fit a long-lasting Castilian tradition, according to which several kings, including Alfonso vi (r. 1072–1109), Fernando iii (r. 1217–1252) and Alfonso x (r. 1252–1284) would use multilingual expressions for promoting cultural hegemony or unifying sovereignty.19 The impressive façade of the Alcázar of Seville is a manifestation of the same careful choices on monumental scale (fig. 14.2). A highly visible frieze bearing an inscription in Spanish and Arabic crowns the lintel of the main 16 17 18 19
For this term see Marquer 2012. Marquer 2012; Marquer 2013. Such as Emir, which was also one of the most common titles in the Nasrid kingdom, see Viguera Molíns 2000. These examples are discussed in more detail in Dodds 2007; Dodds et. al. 2008, 163–183; Ruiz Souza 2009b; Nickson 2015b.
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door, with the Spanish text surrounding the composition reading: El muy alto rey don Pedro por la gracia de Dios rey de Castilla et de León mandó fazer estos alcázares et estos palacios et estas portadas que fue fecho en la era de mil et quatrocientos y dos años: “His Highness, King Don Pedro, by the grace of God King of Castile and León, ordered to build this fortress and these palaces and these façades, all of them made in the era of 1402 [1364].”20 The Nasrid motto “There is no victor but God,” written in white Kufic script on blue tiles, is repeated eight times in the center of the frieze, with half of the inscriptions appearing mirror-inverted and thus reflecting symmetry as its composition principle, as it was common for Nasrid palaces.21 Even though Pedro incorporated elements of prestigious contemporary Nasrid architecture, this by no mean implies an emulative or simply appropriative process. Behind it stood a deliberate selection of artistic elements and meanings that he deemed suitable for his political project and that would help establish a new language of power during a time of discontent for the elites. Indeed, this language of power was perfectly recognized as such by the contemporary aristocracy, and after the fall of Pedro i it would be used by them as much as by the monarchs of the new dynasty.22 It is also worth noting that Pedro i’s choices were not radically new either; he would refine specific Andalusi features, for instance qubbas, gilded wooden ceilings or multilingual inscriptions, and give them more consistency within the Castilian cultural framework. However, the same elements, including qubbas, gardens and fountains or stucco decorations incorporating motifs from various artistic traditions, had already been present in Castilian palaces for at least two generations.23 Pedro i’s fall did not stop or interrupt established processes of incorporating and assimilating artistic elements from al-Andalus into a new and original Castilian artistic language. The true innovation was that this vocabulary would be reinterpreted in line with the new social coordinates after the Civil War and tailored according to the new needs of the Castilian Tratámara elites. 2
From Seville to Córdoba: The Formation of a Castilian Canon
The aesthetic practices of the new Trastámara king, Enrique ii, were very similar to those of his half-brother, as he would use an already well-established 20 21 22 23
The original date uses the Hispanic Era, which starts with the year 38 B.C.; translation by author. Puertas Vílchez 2010. Paulino Montero 2017. Gutiérrez Baños 1997; García Flores/Ruiz Souza 2004.
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language for the visual construction of power. However, his interests and needs were somehow different: on the one hand, Enrique had led the rebellious faction against Pedro i’s centralistic conceptions of power. As Almagro has shown,24 this centralized conception, which ultimately led to a political conflict with the nobility, was visually represented in the Alcázar of Seville through significant centralized structures, such as the qubba and the epigraphic program.25 On the other hand, Enrique was Alfonso xi’s bastard son and had rose to power through rebellion and the murder of the legitimate king, his own brother. His ascension to the throne therefore created an urge for legitimacy that would also affect his artistic program. In this context, one of the first artistic projects carried out by the new king was the construction of a funerary chapel for his father, Alfonso xi, and his grandfather, Fernando iv (figs. 2.3–2.5, 2.7).26 Although Alfonso xi had expressed in his last will his desire to be buried in Córdoba near his father, after his death in Gibraltar his body had first been transferred to the closer Cathedral of Seville. To fulfill his father’s final wishes by constructing a new funerary chapel was an act of pious filial obedience for Enrique that would also strengthen his claim as the righteous king and open new possibilities for the visual representation of his power in the cathedral of Córdoba.27 Written sources and other material remains of the first cathedral of Córdoba attest that Pedro i himself had already desired to transfer his father’s body to Córdoba but had never been able to accomplish the project.28 It is possible that it was he who had first ordered the renovation of the chapel of Villaviciosa, that housed the cathedral’s first presbytery after the conquest, commissioning some paintings, most of which are lost today.29 The contents of these paintings probably were a genealogy of the Kings and Queens of Castile intended for especially praising Fernando iii, the conqueror of Córdoba and the one responsible for the transformation of the previous mosque into a cathedral,30 and for 24 25 26 27
28 29 30
Almagro Gorbea 2007a, 2007b and 2013. The epigraphic program was studied under this light by Marquer 2012 and 2013. For a more detailed description of the chapel, see Nieto Cumplido 1998, 460–466; Jordano Barbudo 1996 and 2002, 120–129; Ruiz Souza 2006a; Nogales Rincón 2005; Giese 2018b; Abad Castro/González Cavero, 2019. Nogales Rincón 2005, 961. It is very likely that there had been a project for moving the body of Alfonso xi to Córdoba already during Pedro’s reign. Scholars are still debating whether the chapel was started before 1369 or not, see Laguna Paúl 2005, 83; Abad Castro/ González Cavero, 2019, 405–406 and 420–421. Nogales Rincón 2005, 1406–1407; Laguna Paúl 2005. Some fragments are kept at the Museo de Bellas Artes de Córdoba. On these paintings and the circumstances of their production see Laguna Paúl 2005. Laguna Paúl 2005, 79. Fernando iii’s name and deeds were explicitly listed in an inscription preserved on the impost of a column underneath the dome.
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reaffirming the close relationship between the monarchy and the church of Córdoba.31 Both elements: the genealogical display of the Kings of Castile and the exhibition of the good relations with the Cordoban bishop as established by Pedro i would be continued and further developed in Enrique’s new chapel. The Royal Chapel was erected on a prestigious location, next to the chapel of Villaviciosa, at the southern end of the prayer hall expansion commissioned by al-Ḥakam ii (r. 961–976) in the former mosque of Córdoba. The Villaviciosa Chapel had been chosen as the site for the new cathedral’s first presbytery after the conquest of Córdoba in 123632 because of its central position, its east-west orientation and its lavish architecture that also let in natural light. Regardless of whether the royal chapel was originally intended as sacristy or a part of the presbytery,33 what is certain is that it was erected on one of the most sacred parts of the new cathedral that directly communicated with the main altar (fig. 14.4). Its vaulting surmounts the whole roof of the building, with its two stories thereby underscoring its importance on visual level. A wall inscription states that Alfonso’s body was transferred to the chapel in 1371, the year of its completion (fig. 14.4): Este es el muy alto rey don Enrique. Por onra del cuerpo del rey su padre esta capiella mandó facer. Acabóse en la era de 1409 años, “This is His Highness, King don Enrique [sic]. He built this chapel in honor of the body of the king, his father. It was completed in the era 1409 [1371].”34 The odd formulations of this inscription have led scholars to believe that there once had been a portrait of King Enrique placed above it, presumably an altarpiece that showed him kneeling in front of the Holy Virgin.35 During the last years of the nineteenth century, some remains of painted depictions of crowned heads and flowery dresses had been found in the flanking niches.They were interpreted as the remains of the portraits of Enrique’s ancestors36 and as the continuation of the aforementioned program of genealogical display of Villaviciosa Chapel from the times of Pedro i. The iconographic program aside, for the design of the chapel Enrique used various architectural models based on prestigious buildings from the past and present. The double-story structure has been linked to older royal chapels in Castile, especially that of Seville, while some authors also refer to the original
31 32 33 34 35 36
Nogales Rincón 2005, 1431–1432. Nieto Cumplido 1998, 449. Nieto Cumplido 1998, 449–451; Jordano Barbudo 1996, 157. Translation by author. Archivo General de Simancas, Patronato Eclesiástico, Visitas, leg. 285, f. 313. Published in Ruiz Souza 2006a, 18 and note 45. The findings were published in Ramírez de Arellano 1985 [1904], 111. See Laguna Paúl 2005, 73–81 and Ruiz Souza 2006a, 18.
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chapel in Toledo built by Sancho iv.37 However, the artistic forms of Enrique’s Royal Chapel show fewer aesthetic similarities with these examples than with Alfonso xi’s and Pedro i’s key buildings. Enrique conceived the Royal Chapel as a monument for celebrating his own genealogy, incorporating a qubba with a muqarnas vaulting (fig. 14.3) and walls fully covered in stucco decorations. The decorative patterns and forms of those stuccos have been related to both contemporary Nasrid works and Toledan monuments from the times of Pedro i.38 Significantly, the chapel also included inscriptions in Castilian and Arabic (figs. 14.4–14.5). All these elements have been categorized under the generic label of “Islamic” or “Mudéjar,” although these terms fail to reflect the building’s complexity. Even though the formal display of stuccos and polylobed arches has traditionally been interpreted as “Islamic,” it was radically different from the caliphal environment of the mosque of Córdoba and thus created an aesthetic rupture with the surroundings of the chapel.39 On the contrary, the stucco decorations, the presence of muqarnas and the typology of arches link this building to other contemporary examples in Castile and al-Andalus. As already said, many of these elements had already been part of Castile’s courtly architecture and developed during the reigns of Enrique’s predecessors. Enrique ii used them for a royal funerary chapel devoted to his ancestors, especially Alfonso xi, on whose political and military reputation he capitalized. The chapel’s epigraphic program also deserves a closer look.40 Just as the aforementioned inscription on the façade of the Alcázar of Seville, the inscription above the altar on the eastern wall of the chapel consists of the repeated Nasrid motto “there is no victor but God,” with half of it in mirror-writing. Moreover, blessings (al-Yumm, al-Baraka) flank the same altar, with half of them again in mirror-writing and each phrase divided by the heraldic symbols of castles and lions (fig. 14.5). In this case, however, the inscriptions are less specific than those of Seville’s Alcázar, but I would like to argue that the same dynamics of “cultural translation” studied by Marquer were operating here. The visual exhibition of the Arabic and Latin characters is evident in the chapel and very much in tune with the Alcázar in Seville and the Alhambra in Granada. Moreover, the Arabic inscriptions of the chapel are still correctly 37 38 39 40
Ruiz Souza 2006a, 23; Giese 2018b, 152–154. Jordano Barbudo 2002, 120–128. Paulino Montero 2017, 140–141. Partially transcribed by Rouhollah Amanimehr (University of Zurich) for the snsf project Mudejarismo and Moorish Revival in Europe. I would like to thank Francine Giese for providing me with the transcriptions.
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spelled and legible, although some of them have been altered throughout the centuries during refurbishments and renovations. The use and incorporation of Arabic blessings and doxological inscriptions had been part of Castile’s courtly ambiance for more than one century. To combine inscriptions with Castilian heraldry had already been explored at royal palaces since the end of the thirteenth century, for example at Maria de Molina’s palace in Valladolid that would later be converted to the Monastery of las Huelgas.41 This and the other examples indicate how long Arabic doxologies had been commonly used and adapted in Castile, a fact to be taken into account when analyzing Alfonso xi’s, Pedro i’s and Enrique ii’s artistic choices.42 For the Royal Chapel in Córdoba, however, the disposition of the inscriptions as present in Valladolid had been changed. Following the innovations of previous years, they would now been placed onto scrolls fully occupying the width of the frieze, with each being separated by heraldic lions and castles (fig. 14.5). The mirror-writing and constant repetition of inscriptions reflect a different aesthetic strategy that treats them almost like para-heraldic elements. Far from being merely “decorative” or without semantic meaning, they would communicate with the Castilian audience on two levels, through the visual code of heraldry and through written language, whose legible inscriptions had been specifically created for the royal palace by the previous generation. Moreover, the presence of actual badges and coats of arms in the stucco decoration above the altar can be better understood in the light of recent studies that show how heraldry would be used in medieval textiles for making claims about Castile’s socio-cultural primacy, even when presented alongside Andalusi decoration.43 These coats of arms, when placed onto the walls of the Royal Chapel along with stucco decoration, would interact with vegetal elements from different visual traditions, multilingual epigraphy and mural paintings that might have included the portraits of crowned kings, thereby constituting an artistic language that cannot be analyzed outside of its historical or geographical contexts. The construction of the chapel must also be analyzed together with other architectural interventions into the cathedral commissioned by Enrique ii: the Arco de Bendiciones and the Forgiveness Gate (Puerta del Perdón) (fig. 14.6). The Forgiveness Gate was the cathedral’s main ceremonial entry and would be used by the bishop and the king during particularly festive and dignified events, such as royal coronations or funerals services for kings 41 42 43
Not to be mistaken for the one with the same name nearby Burgos. García Flores/Ruiz Souza 2004. Feliciano 2005; Feliciano 2014.
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and bishops.44 The complete renovation of this gate around the year 1377 confirms Enrique’s intention of reasserting his own image in the cathedral’s main spaces: the ceremonial gate and the presbytery with the added Royal Chapel. María de los Ángeles Jordano noted the unprecedented scale of Enrique ii’s intervention into the cathedral, which can only be explained through the good relationship the Trastámara entertained with the canons of the cathedral and the city’s magistrate, who had both been loyal supporters of Enrique during the Civil War.45 The Forgiveness Gate’s pointed horseshoe arch includes an inscription very similar to that of the Royal Chapel and states the date of its completion: Dia dos del mes de março de la era de César de mill et quatrocientos et quinçe annos rreyna[n]te el muy alto et podero[so] don Enrrique rey de Castilla et fijo del muy alto rey don Alfonso: “[On] the second day of March, in the era of Cesar, 1415 [1377], during the reign of his Highness, the powerful king don Enrique, son of his Highness King don Alfonso.”46 References to Enrique ii’s royalty and lineage frame the main ceremonial access to the cathedral, thereby marking a new ceremonial route that culminated in the Royal Chapel. The ornamentation of both, gate and chapel, would also establish visual interconnections between both spaces. The surface of this monumental façade was fully covered with stucco decorations that included vegetal scrolls with vine and pepper leaves before a background of tiny serrated leaves –a feature of Almohad origin. This specific choice of elements visually linked the arch to the two large polylobed arches of the Royal Chapel’s northern and southern walls. In the chapel, such vegetal scrolls were limited to the spandrels of the two arches that connected the hall with its surroundings (fig. 14.7). In contrast, the rest of the walls would be covered with a rigidly rhomboid sebka pattern. Apart from the vegetal motifs and the written name of the king, the use of heraldry was another element that linked the monumental gate and the Royal Chapel on visual level and also stressed its function as a place reserved for the king and reinforced the genealogical discourse displayed in both building parts. The arch’s keystone was decorated with the heraldic symbols of Castile and Leon and reiterated in the cornice; in both cases they again divided an Arabic inscription. 44 45 46
For a complete description of the ceremonial use of the door see Nieto Cumplido 1998, 604–610. Jordano Barbudo 2016, 16–20. In fact, one year before the end of the war, in 1368, Enrique granted the former maqsura to his military chief Alfonso Fernández de Montemayor, who would build his funerary chapel there. Nieto Cumplido 1998, 366. See also Jordano Barbudo 2016, 20. Translation by author.
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The alfiz, the frame of the arch, contained religious inscriptions in Latin consisting of blessings for peace and protection against enemies.47 Given the intellectual background of the Trastámara court of the 1370s, it is clear that the groups the inscriptions address as enemies less referred to the Muslims of Granada and more to the previous king and his supporters, who had been accused of heresy and tyranny and whose “impious acts” had allegedly violated the peace of the kingdom. In contrast, the Trastámara propaganda of those years had portrayed Enrique ii as the keeper of peace and harmony, a faithful knight and champion of Christ who had liberated Castile.48 Arabic inscriptions above the frieze crowning the arch, today almost completely vanished on the left side, completed the door’s epigraphic program. This group of inscriptions show visual similarities with the epigraphic program of the royal chapel: in both cases, they are arranged symmetrically, with the different blessings being separated by the heraldic symbols of castles and lions. The blessings invoked good fortune and prosperity, and also included the aforementioned Nasrid motto, “There is no victor but God.” Interestingly enough, Amador de los Rios and Nieto Cumplido have also identified the sentence “Glory to our Lord the Sultan” among the inscriptions, with Amador de los Rios furthermore suggesting that they had originally been designed in the fashion of the Alcázar of Seville with the addition of Enrique’s name characterized as a sultan; yet this assumption is difficult to prove.49 The arch’s trilingual epigraphic program is also a key for understanding the formal development of epigraphy in late-14th-century palaces of the nobility:50 Whereas the names and deeds of kings would be written down in Castilian, Latin would be used for religious blessings and Arabic for generic doxologies expressing victory and power. Pedro i’s cultural translation as seen in the Alcázar of Seville reached another stage during the first decades of the Trastámara dynasty, with the display of different languages with different and complementary meanings in royal architecture and even being incorporated into noble palaces.
47 48 49 50
“Visyta quesumus domyne habytacionem i[s]tam et omens insydyas inymicy ab ea longe repelle; angely tuy sancty hab[i]tantes in ea nos in pacem (sic) custodiant et benedictio tua sit super nos semper,” quoted in Nieto Cumplido 1998, 609. Valdeón Baruque 1992; Rábade Obradó 1995. Also see chapter 3 and 6 of this volume. Nieto Cumplido 1998, 604–610; Amador de los Ríos 1879, 123; Amador de los Ríos 1911. See Paulino Montero 2019.
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The Royal Palace of León: Aesthetics of Power in Times of Conflict
The two last decades of the fourteenth century were especially productive for palatial architecture in Castile. Most such buildings were constructed by members of the nobility that belonged to the victorious faction of the Civil War, who were especially innovative in respect to how they selected and incorporated different architectural structures and ornamentation based on various models originating in the Peninsula and the rest of Europe. In their search for new ways to represent their power, they resorted to some of the most prominent elements of Pedro i’s architectural language, such as the qubba and multilingual epigraphic decorations.51 By comparison, Enrique ii’s civic architecture took a different path for a new palace in the city of León, which was unfortunately destroyed during the first decades of the twentieth century.52 The building was finished around 1377,53 the same year when the works for the Cathedral of Córdoba reached their peak. Enrique’s choice of both cities for establishing his architectural program was not coincidental, since in previous centuries they had maintained close ties to the Castilian monarchy while having lost their status as nodes of political power in recent times. Both cities were, thus, free of associations with the conflictive memory of Enrique’s immediate predecessor. After its conquest by Fernando iii in 1248, Seville quickly replaced Córdoba, which had held a prestigious position as the historic capital of al-Andalus. León, on the other hand, had once been the capital of the Kingdom of the same name and the site of its kings’ coronations. Under Fernando’s reign, the kingdoms of Castile and León were permanently united, with the presence of the monarchs and their artistic patronage in the city subsequently decreasing. Córdoba and León therefore were places of ancient royal prestige that Enrique could claim for himself, which seemed the more convenient as they were not associated with his half-brother Pedro’s influence and memory. Something similar was true for Toledo, the ancient capital, and its Catedral Primada, the source of spiritual power and prestige, where Enrique had ordered the construction of a new funerary chapel for him and his descendants.54 During the Civil War, the city of León had however not supported the Trastámara faction. In his chronicle, López de Ayala writes that although the 51 52 53 54
On how they developed from first examples, see Almagro Gorbea 2008, passim; Paulino Montero 2017. Campos Sánchez-Bordona/Pérez Gil 2006, 251–265. This building has been studied extensively by Campos Sánchez-Bordona/Pérez Gil 2006. About this chapel and the symbolic similarities with Toledo see Ruiz Souza 2006a, 15–18.
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majority of the city’s nobility had allied itself with Enrique, the city council had sided with Pedro’.55 Enrique had conquered the city violently in 1368 and would not revisit it until 1376. The period between both years marks the time when a new palace for Enrique was constructed. Some authors have described the choice of León not only as a strategy for aligning himself with the ancient royalty of León but also as an act of grace for ensuring the city’s loyalty, thereby reestablishing and reinforcing the traditional link between kingship and the city, as well as giving this relationship a visual manifestation.56 A now lost inscription on the palace gate used to name the year when the construction works had been completed. Fortunately, the text had been transcribed during the eighteenth century: Estos palacios mandó hacer el muy alto e muy noble señor don Enrique que Dios mantenga. Acabóse en la era de 1415 años: “These palaces were built by the order of his noble Highness don Enrique, may God protect him, finished in the year 1415 of the Spanish Era [1377].”57 The inscription praises Enrique in terms similar to those of the monuments in Córdoba. Further noteworthy is the careful display of Enrique’s name and rank in every building associated with him, whereas the genealogical connections with Alfonso xi, which are so prominent in Córdoba, are missing in León. Although the palace was later destroyed, some of its remains are preserved at various museums, with most of them being fragments of stucco decorations and wooden ceilings. There also are a few plans from modern times that allow us to hypothesize what the original medieval structures, which differed much from Pedro’s Alcázar, might have looked like.58 According to these plans, Enrique’s palace did not include any qubba structure. Instead, he had applied the traditional layout of long rooms flanked by smaller square rooms and open towards a garden or courtyard. This design had already been integrated into Castile’s architectural tradition during the previous centuries and used for palaces in Toledo, Segovia and Seville.59 The absence of a qubba for the royal palace of a city where Enrique was trying to stabilize his power cannot be explained without taking into account the special context of the Civil War, especially the rebellion against the previous king, since adopting qubbas for implementing his political ideas had been one of Pedro’s architectural trademarks. Enrique would abstain from using this building type and instead resort 55 56 57 58 59
Álvarez Álvarez 1992, 134–135. Campos Sánchez-Bordona/Pérez Gil 2006, 78–80. Risco 1787, 38. Campos Sánchez-Bordona/Pérez Gil 2006, 100–104 and 227. Almagro Gorbea 2008, 59.
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to older traditions that would relate to his royalty without alluding to the previous conflicts of power. The few remains of the palace preserved at the Museo de León and the Museo Arqueológico Nacional include fragments of stuccowork, carved wooden ceilings, and a complete arch (fig. 14.8). On this basis, what can be said is that these remains are linked to the artistic repertoire developed during the period spanning the reigns of Alfonso xi, Pedro i and Enrique ii. The arch, to take the best preserved example, is lavishly decorated with stuccowork and Arabic epigraphy including the same blessings and doxologies as analyzed for the Alcázar of Seville and the Royal Chapel in Córdoba.60 Judging from this and the other examples discussed so far, what becomes apparent is that Enrique ii did not disrupt but continue the aesthetic language of power that his brother and father had established, with a main difference being that he would only select those forms, structures and decorations serving his own political agenda, especially his need for legitimizing and stabilizing the new dynasty. As a result, he would restrict the use of qubba structures to funerary chapels while applying other well-established elements to palatial architecture. 4
Beyond Mudéjar: Reassessing Castilian Artistic Choices at the End of the Fourteenth Century
The second half of the fourteenth century was crucial for the historical development of the selective incorporation and deployment of artistic elements in Castile that had their cultural origins in al-Andalus. This process had started at least three centuries before, and for improving its proper understanding we should move beyond labels such as “Mudéjar” that tend to reduce the Iberian artistic production to a simple juxtaposition between “Islamic” and “Christian” elements. Although there is no doubt that Andalusi features were being incorporated into Castile’s artistic repertoire, it had by that time already been multi- layered and constantly changing. As shown, its constituting elements did not simply consist of separate, self-contained “Christian” and “Islamic” forms, and neither would they be perceived as religiously marked attributes. Although the Civil War and dynastic change during the second half of the century indeed disrupted many political and social processes established and developed during the previous two generations, the new dynasty’s artistic choices were characterized by a continuity that should not be mistaken as a 60
Franco Mata 2010.
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mere imitation of previous models nor associated with vague and ahistorical definitions of courtly ideals. Rather, this continuity of architectural language was firmly rooted in its chronological and geographical coordinates. At the end of the fourteenth century, elements such as qubbas with gilded wooden ceilings, multilingual epigraphy or stucco decorations were charged with political, courtly, dynastic and religious meanings –meanings that would condition the selection of artistic features and shape the Castilian courtly architecture during the fifteenth and the beginning of the sixteenth century.
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Illustrations
figure 14.1 Seville, Alcázar, Ambassador Hall, 1356–1366 (dome, 1427) source: © elena paulino montero
figure 14.2 Seville, Alcázar, Façade of la Montería (detail of the inscription), 1364 source: © elena paulino montero
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figure 14.3 Córdoba, Mosque-Cathedral, Capilla Real, vault, 1371 source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / christian stein
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figure 14.4 Córdoba, Mosque-Cathedral, Capilla Real, West wall, 1371 source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / christian stein
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figure 14.5 Córdoba, Mosque-Cathedral, Capilla Real, East wall, 1371 source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / christian stein
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figure 14.6 Córdoba, Mosque-Cathedral, Puerta del Perdón, 1377 source: © elena paulino montero
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figure 14.7 Córdoba, Mosque-Cathedral, Capilla Real, spandrel of the arch in the north wall, 1371 source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / christian stein
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figure 14.8 Museo Arqueológico Nacional, Arch of the Palace of Enrique ii in León, 1377 source: © elena paulino montero
c hapter 15
Oriental Carpets and Gothic Windows Stained Glass in Neo-Moorish Architecture Sarah Keller Colorful stained glass windows are an essential feature of many neo-Moorish buildings. Although studied only little by contemporary scholars, these mostly abstract, ornamental compositions were constitutive for the ambiance of the interiors and therefore received equally much attention by 19th-century architects, for whom Ibero-Islamic architecture was the main point of reference. Could any of the models they applied for stained glass have originated in al-Andalus? 1
Stained Glass in al-Andalus
Already the earliest Islamic buildings from the 8th century, erected during the rule of the Umayyad and Abbasid dynasties in a region that today covers the area of Syria, Iraq and Palestine, included stained glass windows. This tradition was especially widespread in Mamlūk Egypt and the Ottoman Empire. Contrary to Europe, it was uncommon to join the colored glass pieces with lead cames but to assemble them into grilles of stone, wood or, foremost, stucco.1 For Umayyad buildings in the Iberian Peninsula, however, there is no evidence for coloured glazing. Yet since it is known that the Umayyad buildings of Syria were decorated with stained glass, it could be assumed that this should also have been the case for Spain.2 However, for the Great Mosque of Córdoba, the main building of Ibero-Umayyad architecture, no remains of stained glass windows have been found so far. Written Arabic sources, however, confirm the existence of coloured glazings during the taifa period. For instance, in the 11th century, the palace of the taifa kingdom of Toledo possessed some glazed windows with golden drawings of animals, plants and birds.3 Furthermore, 1 Cf. Bloom et al. 2009, 209–210. 2 Flood 1993, 94. 3 Ibn Bassām (d. ah 542 / ad 1147/48), Al-Dhakhīra fī Maḥāsin ahl al-Jazīra, cf. Torres Balbás 1949b, 199; Flood 1993, 94.
© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2021 | DOI:10.1163/9789004448582_017
304 Keller al-Maqqarī (d. ah 1041 /ad 1632) mentions stained glass windows with golden ornamentation in a building at the Huerta del Rey in Toledo.4 It is furthermore possible that the 13th-century stucco transennae (window grilles) of the synagogue Santa María la Blanca in Toledo had originally been filled with colored glass. Leopoldo Torres Balbás (1888–1960) reports that Manuel Gómez Moreno (1870–1970) had still seen such glass in the 1940s.5 These few sources can be supplemented by archaeological findings from the palatial complex of the Alhambra. The Museo de la Alhambra houses about 1,200 excavated glass fragments, some of which originated from the nearby, albeit now destroyed, 14th-century Palacio de Alijares.6 Torres Balbás found large parts of these fragments at the foot of the Torre de Comares. The variying shapes of the glass shards clearly reveal similarites to the star patterns of the transennae at the Alhambra, suggesting that they had once formed a part thereof. Their colors consist of violet, ochre, different hues of blue and green, with the majority being colourless. Even though this material was revised recently, it still is not clear what parts of the Alhambra had once been decorated with stained glass and in what form this happened. The only architectonical glass preserved in situ is located at the Mirador de Lindaraja, built at the end of the 14th century during the second reign of Muḥammad v (r. ah 763–793 / ad 1362–1391) and consisting of a unique vaulted ceiling of stucco and wood with inlays of coloured glass.7 According to Ibn ‘Aṣim (ah 760–829 / ad 1359–1426), a second ceiling, probably executed in the same way during the same century, was located in the now lost cupola room above what today is known as the Sala del Mexuar. The fragments excavated near the Palace of Alijares indicate that it must have possessed a similar structure. An
4 Al-Maqqarī, Lisān ad-Dīn ibn al-Chatīb, cf. Torres Balbás 1949b, 199; Flood 1993, 94. The restauration of the former cloister of Santa Fe in Toledo between 2000 and 2003 revealed certain elements of the palatial complex of the taifa kings. During these excavations, an exceptional architectonical element has been found, an arcade richly decorated with stucco and inlays of coloured glass pieces, probably from the 11th century. Although it is not window glass, the arcade indicates the use of coloured glass in architectonical decorations. Monzón Moya 2011, 251. 5 Torres Balbás 1949b, 201. 6 Cambil Campaña/Marinetto Sánchez 2016, 45, 55. 7 A recent analysis by Antonio Fernández-Puertas and a restoration of 2011 could prove that the glass pieces all date to younger restorations of the 17th to the 19th century. Their colours and arrangements differ from the original condition. The preserved wooden latticework, however, allows to easily imagine the original shape of the ceiling; Fernández-Puertas 2009, 346.
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Arabic source from the 15th century reinforces this assumption by confirming the existence of shamsīyāt –stained glass windows –above its gateways.8 Outside Granada, altogether 48 coloured pieces of window glass from the 13th to the 14th century were furthermore discovered in a former glass foundry in Murcia.9 This archaeological and textual evidence indicates that stained glass must have been an essential part of architecture in al-Andalus. But was it still possible for 19th-century architects to see any remains thereof during their visits to the Alhambra? Jules Goury and Owen Jones’s Plans, Elevations, Sections and Details of the Alhambra (1836–1845) is quite clear: during his stay at the Alhambra, Jones once spotted blind windows painted with bright colors in one wall and corresponding transennae in the opposite one, which led him to assume that the grilles should have once been filled with equally colored glass pieces.10 This opinion could have been the result of the influence of Pascual de Gayangos (1809–1897), an Arabist and the writer of the historical part of Plans, Elevations, Sections and Details of the Alhambra, who had translated al-Maqqarī’s Lisān ad-Dīn ibn al-Chatīb, the source from which the earlier quote on stained glass windows in Toledo stems.11 This might have reassured Owen Jones in his belief that stained glass windows had existed in the Alhambra, even though he had to admit the lack of material evidence. Throughout the 19th century, the only known type of Ibero-Islamic window locks were the same multi-variant stone or plaster transennae. Yet even if stained glass windows were an essential part of Islamic architecture in al-Andalus, it still would not be self-evident to incorporate them into neo-Moorish buildings, especially given the lack of proof of their existence and the broad presence of transennae as window locks. It therefore does not suffice to explain the extensive use of glass in neo-Moorish architecture by assuming that the architects followed an inclination towards the model of Andalusi buildings –instead, the reasons must lie elsewhere.
8 9 10 11
Fernández-Puertas 2009, 349. Jiménez Castillo 2000, 144. Goury/Jones 1836–1845, the commentary on Plate iv. The plate shows the view of the Patio de los Arrayanes from the Sala de la Barca. The full title is Nafḥ aṭ-T īb min Juṣn al-Andalus ar-Raṭīb wa-Dhikr Wazīri-hā Lisān ad-Dīn Ibn al-Chaṭīb (The Breath of Perfume from the Branch of Green Andalusia and Memorials of its Vizier Lisan ud-Din ibn ul-Khattib Al-Maqqarī 1840–1843, vol. 1, 239–240.
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Stained Glass and Oriental Carpets
In the year 1822, Karl Ludwig Wilhelm von Zanth (1796–1857), the architect responsible for the Wilhelma in Stuttgart-Bad Cannstatt, traveled to Sicily with Jakob Ignaz Hittorff (1792–1867). Among other things, the objective was to study the Islamic architecture and to analyze its influence on Gothic architecture, which resulted in the publication Architecture Moderne de la Sicile (1835), a book that also dealt with stained glass: “The influence of oriental architecture on the one called Gothic is the result of other analogies than that of the pointed arch.” Under point 3 stained glass windows are addressed as follows: “In stained glass windows, one moment reproducing the designs and colors of rich carpets from India, the next the figural subjects found in mosaic panels.”12 In other words, Hittorff and Zanth believed that Gothic stained glass had emerged as the consequence of the direct influence of Islamic art and architecture, comparing their designs and colors to oriental carpets.13 For examples of windows that –as they thought –had developed this way, they referred to the stained glass windows at the Cathedral of Cologne as depicted in Sulpice Boisserée’s Geschichte und Beschreibung des Doms von Köln (1823). Their notions of Gothic architecture threreby followed a theory first attested for France during the first half of the 18th century, which suggested an Arab origin of Gothic architecture. René-Joseph de Tournemine (1661–1739) further expounded this explanatory model in his 1714 article Gothique, while Christoper Wren (1623–1723) later mentioned it in his memoirs, posthumously published in 1750. Tournemine argued that Spain was the birthplace of Gothic,14 whereas Wren claimed that the crusaders had brought the pointed arch to Europe from the Islamic World.15 By the end of the 18th century, the theory that Gothic
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13
14 15
“L’influence de l’architecture orientale sur celle dite gothique résulte d’autres analogies que celle de l’arc aigu. […] 3° Dans les vitraux peints reproduisant tantôt les dessins et les couleurs des riches tapis des Indes, tantôt des sujets à figures à l’instar des tableaux en mosaïque,” Hittorff/Zanth 1835, 14, English translation by Anne-Catherine Im Hof. The same year, Hittorff presented their ideas at the Congrès historique in Paris, s. Congrès Historique 1836, 388, 413. Today, the terms ‘oriental carpets’ or ‘oriental rugs’ are still used to signify carpets made in the ‘Orient’ (including North Africa, the Near East and Central Asia). To avoid these unclear and ideological terms, the carpets have been re-labeled ‘Islamic’ or re-named after their place or date of manufacture (Safavid carpets, Anatolian carpets, etc.). The terminology here corresponds to that of the contemporary sources. Cf. Carey 2017, 182–186. Tournemine 1714, 242–243. Wren 1750, 297–298.
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architecture was rooted in Islamic architecture had become widely accepted across Europe.16 A consequence was the ‘Gothification’ of the Alhambra by British authors, especially in James Cavannah Murphy’s illustrations for his Arabian Antiquities of Spain (1815).17 Even though other explanatory models made their appearance at the beginning of the 19th century, the so-called Saracen Theory would prevail for a long time. An idea related to this theory was that Gothic stained glass windows stemmed from Islamic architecture as well, an assumption that Hittorff and von Zanth had proposed in their aforementioned 1835 publication18 but is also detectable in the writings by others.19 As early as 1836, the glass painter Etienne Thevenot (1797–1862), for instance, defended the idea as follows: There has been a lot of discussion […] on the origin of stained glass and the art of painting on glass. Generally, the reaction of the orient to the occident during the immense time of [the crusades] has not been taken into account sufficiently. There is enough proof to identify the common origin of Gothic architecture and stained glass windows. One can convince oneself thereof by walking through our cathedral [of Clermont- Ferrand]. Within the chapels of the choir, whose stained glass dates back to the 13th century, the interlace decorations of the medallions, the backgrounds and borders, and the rosettes […] [all] recall the Arab style.20 Some years later, in 1850, the Scottish politician and Orient traveler David Urquhart (1805–1877) was more specific as to the geography of the original birthplace of stained glass windows by assuming that the art had come from al-Andalus: The Moors afford us the most interesting rudiments of the stone- framed figures of our window, and the painted glass with which they are 16 17 18 19 20
Mateo 2018, 57–65 (with comprehensive bibliography). See also Raquejo Grado 1989, 42. Raquejo Grado 1986, 595; Raquejo Grado 1989, 56–66. Hittorff/Zanth 1835, 14. Cf. Mateo 2018, 70. “On a beaucoup discuté […] sur l’origine des vitraux colorés et de la peinture sur verre […]. On n’a pas, en général, tenu assez compte de la réaction de l’orient sur l’occident à cette immense époque [des croisades]. Assez de preuves décèlent la commune origine de l’architecture gothique et du vitrail. On peut s’en convaincre en parcourant notre cathédrale [de Clermont-Ferrand]. Dans les chapelles du choeur, dont les vitraux sont du treizième siècle, les entrelacs des médaillons, les fonds et les bordures, les rosaces […] rappellent le style arabe,” Thevenot 1836, 33, note 1, English translation by Anne-Catherine Im Hof.
308 Keller embellished […]. The apertures in the Moorish tapia thus became Gothic windows, and the pierced patterns of the stucco mullions and transoms, with cusped trefoils and foliage in stone, with the intervals glazed in stained glass.21 With his quote Urquhart furthermore proposes an explanation as to how the transformation from the Ibero-Islamic “pierced patterns of the stucco mullions and transoms,” i.e. transennae, to stained glass might have taken place. Theories that assumed the oriental origin of stained glass were indeed taken seriously, but also criticized, especially by Thevenot’s colleague Emile Thibaud (1806–1896),22 and Eugène Viollet-le-Duc (1814–1879).23 Texts published by Carl Elis (1838–1889) and Henri Saladin (1851–1923) between 1891 and 1907 prove that these speculations would persist for quite some time.24 In connection to this origin myth, authors tended to compare Gothic windows with oriental carpets, which already was the case for Hittorff and Zanth –“the stained glass windows, sometimes reproducing the designs and colours of rich carpets from India.”25 In a similar vein, Thevenot wrote in 1837, “But in the 13th century, during the crusades, borders, panels, interlaces, mosaics [of stained glass], all become the faithful imitation of the Orient’s fabrics.”26 His colleague Thibaud, for his part, emphasized that Gothic stained glass is a French art but still acknowledged that it had received some of its inspirations from oriental carpets: “I furthermore believe that this art, entirely French, borrowed from 21 22 23
24
25 26
Urquhart 1850, 278–279. Cf. Raquejo Grado 1986, 556; Raquejo Grado 1989, 46–49. Thibaud 1842, 35. “Whether the [glass painters] arrived at these results through an extension of empiricism or through skilful observations made in the Orient, matters little to us after all.” (“Qu[e les verriers] soient arrivés à ces résultats par un empirisme prolongé ou par des observations savantes recueillies en Orient, cela, au fond, nous importe assez peu,” English translation by Anne-Catherine Im Hof.) Viollet-le-Duc 1854–1868, vol. 9 (1868), 390. “The impulse for using translucent coloured glass for the window decoration may have come from the Orient.” (“Die Anregung, das durchscheinende bunte Glas für die Fensterausstattung heranzuziehen, mag aus dem Orient gekommen sein,” English translation by Nathalie Herrmann.) Elis 1891, 86–87. Saladin 1907, 71, suggests the stained glass windows of Damascus as another possible inspiration for European glass painters. Hittorff/Zanth 1835, 14. “Mais au xiiie siècle, pendant les Croisades, bordures, champs, entrelacs, mosaïque [des vitraux], tout devient l’imitation fidèle des étoffes de l’Orient,” English translation by Anne-Catherine Im Hof. Thevenot 1837, 402. A translation of Thevenot’s essay on stained glass was published in the Kunstblatt of the Morgenblatt für gebildete Leser, December 20, 1842, 22 and 27, 401–411. Already one year earlier, Thevenot had compared stained glass and Persian carpets in an article of volume 9 of the Annales scientifiques, littéraires et industrielles de l’Auvergne, Thevenot 1836, 33, note 1.
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the Orient only its style of ornamentation, inspired by the memory of its rich carpets.”27 The painter and ceramicist Jules Claude Ziegler (1804–1856) went even further by giving more detailed comparisons of Persian textiles and stained glass: “The Persian fabrics, with gold lamé and brocaded with elegant compartments, and the carpets, wherein masses of harmonious colors have found such felicitous combinations, do not provide more attractiveness and charm [than the stained glass windows do].”28 Wilhelm Lübke (1826–1893), professor of art history at the Eidgenössische Polytechnikum in Zurich, explained the parallels between oriental carpets and stained glass with even more precision: During this period [of the Gothic style], the color principle of stained glass reaches its richest and fullest development. It was not based on […] the law of symmetry but on rhythmic alternation, on color deviation. […] This was the same rule that produced the brilliant effects in carpets from the Orient and the arabesques of the Alhambra.29 Two years later, this very connection between oriental carpets and Gothic stained glass was referred to in the article “vitrail” of Viollet-le-Duc’s groundbreaking Dictionnaire raisonné de l’architecture (1854–1868): “[In the large stained glass panels of the 12th and 13th centuries], the harmony is never disrupted by any inapt touch; everything matches, connects, just as in the beautiful carpets from the Orient.”30 The theory even found its way into literature; the French author Karl-Joris Huysmans (1848–1907) wrote in his novel La 27 28
29
30
“Je crois de plus que cet art, tout français, n’a emprunté de l’Orient que son style d’ornementation, en s’inspirant du souvenir de ses riches tapis,” Thibaud 1842, 35, English translation by Anne-Catherine Im Hof. “Les étoffes persanes lamées d’or et brochées de compartiments élégants, les tapis où les masses de couleurs harmonieuses sont si heureusement combinées, n’offrent pas plus d’agrément et de charme [que les vitraux].” Ziegler 1850, 151, English translation by Anne- Catherine Im Hof. “Das Farbenprinzip der Glasmalerei erhält in dieser Epoche [des gothischen Styls] seine reichste und reifste Durchbildung. Es beruht […] nicht auf dem Gesetze der Symmetrie, sondern auf dem des rhythmischen Wechsels, der Farbenverschiebung. […] Es ist dasselbe Gesetz, welches in den Teppichen des Orients und den Arabesken der Alhambra so glänzende Wirkungen hervorbringt,” Lübke 1866, 17. English translation by Nathalie Herrmann. “[Dans les grands vitraux […] des xiie siècles et xiiie siècles], l’harmonie n’est jamais dérangée par une touche mise mal à propos ; tout se tient, se lie, comme dans les beaux tapis d’Orient,“ Viollet-le-Duc 1854–1868, vol. 9 (1868), 399. English translation by Anne- Catherine Im Hof.
310 Keller Cathédrale (1898): “[…] and like in Bourges, where the glazing was from the same period, the influence of the Orient was visible in the Chartres panels. […] [D]ue to their design, the arrangement of their tones, the borders evoked the memory of Persian carpets, which certainly had provided the models for the painters.”31 Finally, in his book L’art réligieux du xii siècle en France (1922), Emile Mâle (1862–1954) also defended the notion that stained glass had derived from oriental carpets: “I am convinced […] that the origin of stained glass windows must be sought in the imitation of oriental fabrics.”32 All these quotes underscore how widespread the idea was among authors of the 19th and early 20th century, that is, during a period of almost hundred years (ca. 1835–1922). Without ever focusing on specific examples of carpets, they claimed the existence of parallels between the harmonious and rhythmical color arrangements found in both art forms. 3
From Theory to Practice –The Wilhelma and Its Stained Glass
In 1842, some years after his journey to Sicily, Karl Ludwig Wilhelm von Zanth began with the construction of the Wilhelma in Stuttgart-Bad Cannstatt, one of the best-known examples of neo-Moorish building ensembles in Europe.33 Even though the palace complex has been partially destroyed in the meantime, Zanth’s Wilhelma publication from 1855/1856 still conserves the original state of its interiors and their colored glazings.34 Whereas many architectural and decorative elements of the Wilhelma derive from models adopted from Islamic architecture, with the Alhambra being its main reference,35 there are not any traces of the transennae typical for the palaces in Granada. Zanth replaced them with sumptuous stained glass windows, thereby deliberately ignoring the lack of proof of their existence in al-Andalus. For the banquet hall 31
32 33 34 35
“[…] ainsi qu’à Bourges dont la vitrerie était de la même époque, l’influence de l’Orient était visible dans les panneaux de Chartres. […] [L]es cadres, par leur dessin, par l’agencement de leur tons, évoquaient le souvenir de tapis persans qui avaient certainement fourni des modèles aux peintres,” Huysmans 1898, 164, English translation by Anne- Catherine Im Hof. “Je suis persuadé […], que l’origine du vitrail doit être cherchée dans l’imitation des tissus orientaux,” Mâle 1922, 345, English translation by Nathalie Herrmann. Mâle argued that also other architectural elements had their origins in Islamic art and architecture. See chapters 4 and 8. Von Zanth 1855–1856. Schulz 1976, 161.
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(1844–1851), the windows on the ground floor were left blank, whereas the several windows on the second level included stained glass (fig. 15.1). Naturalistic plant motifs, set under arcades of horseshoe arches, were painted onto the glass. In his publication, von Zanth informs us in detail about how he created the window designs and how they met the specific demands of King Wilhelm i of Wurttemberg (r. 1816–1864): “The best way to realize the King’s idea to adorn [the windows] with stained glass depicting natural flowers was by decorating the bottoms of the apertures with azaleas, camellias, roses, and other selected ornamental plants, through which delicate climbing plants would meander and cover the upper parts with their leaves and calyces.”36 Under Zanth’s supervision, the Königliche Glasmalereianstalt in Munich was commissioned to create the thirty floral windows. Leonhard Faustner (1815–1884), the deputy head of the workshop, was responsible for the naturalistic, oil-painted templates.37 Their designs were exceptional and attracted a lot of attention, as a detailed description in the Illustrirte Zeitung of the year 1852 reveals: To a large extent these glass paintings convey the illusion as if the flowers had grown in patches in front of the windows. They achieve a delightful effect, and, in winter, their sight makes us forget our northern climate. Whereas, on the ground, peonies sway their crimson heads, hydrangeas expose their full clusters, and, next to them, irises and dahlias – in short: the most magnificent of all flowers –shine forth; above them, climbing plants with perennials and petals strive for the highest parts of the windows. Not even nature itself could have drawn such bloom more picturesquely.38 36
37
38
“Der Gedanke des Königes [die Fenster] mit Glasmalereien zu schmücken, welche natürliche Blumen darstellen sollten, schien mir am passendsten durch die Annahme verwirklicht zu werden, dass der Fuss der Fensteröffnungen mit Azaleen, Camellien, Rosen und anderen gewählten Zierpflanzen besetzt sey, zwischen denen zarte Schlinggewächse emporrankten und mit ihren Blättern und Blüthenkelchen den oberen Raum ausfüllten.” Zanth 1855–1856, commentary on pl. viii, English translation by Nathalie Herrmann. At the beginning of December 1850, Zanth complained that he had not received any message from the head of the Glasmalereianstalt, Max Emanuel Ainmiller, after he had ordered the windows for the banquet hall of the Wilhelma two months earlier. He had wanted to know if it was possible to mend the defects of the first samples. In June 1852 a payment by the kgl. Württ. Hoffbank for 24 floral windows was confirmed, each costing 150 Gulden. Shortly before, Ainmiller had informed King Wilhelm I that the last few of these windows were exhibited in the hall of the Glasmalereianstalt, Vaassen 2013, 61, 137. “Diese Glasmalereien vermitteln die Täuschung, als ob die Blumen vor den Fenstern in Wirklichkeit in Beeten gezogen worden wären, in hohem Grade. Sie machen eine entzückende Wirkung und im Winter vergisst man bei ihrem Anblicke unsere nördliche
312 Keller There is not any evidence of other windows with similar floral motifs for this period that saw a revival of stained-glass manufacturing, in neither the Königliche Glasmalereianstalt nor elsewhere.39 Zanth’s windows do not copy any known Ibero-Islamic or Gothic ornaments either; they unanimously belong to the exotic- orientalist repertoire of the Wilhelma. The buildings that incorporated these windows were located in the middle of gardens created by Zanth that comprised several greenhouses. Apart from questions of beauty and abundance, the choice of plants was guided by what contemporaries regarded as exotic and oriental. The azaleas, camellias and roses depicted on the stained glass windows furthermore happened to be the most frequent plants found at the gardens of the Wilhelma.40 At another space of the Wilhelma, the cupola hall of the Moorish Villa (1842–1846), the horseshoe-shaped stained glass windows on the second floor display the motif of a green and red star above a lozenge-shaped ornament, also in green and red, framed by a yellow and red bordure (fig. 15.2).41 The lozenge-shaped ornament includes a floral decoration that indeed follows the patterns of a particular type of oriental carpets manufactured in western Anatolia during the 17th century, so-called Transylvanian double-niche rugs,42 while also resembling Gothic windows. The motif of a star amid a circle and above a framed rectangle, for example, is very similar to the figures of Sulpice Boisserée’s Geschichte und Beschreibung des Doms von Köln (1823) (fig. 15.3). Zanth and Hittorff referred to these very figures as examples for Gothic windows inspired by oriental carpets.43
39 40 41
42 43
Zone. Während am Boden Päonien ihre purpurnen Häupter und Hortensien ihr vollen Blütenbüschel wiegen, und daneben Schwertlilien, Dahlien, kurz alle prachtvollsten Blumen prangen, streben über ihnen stauden-und blütenbeladene Schlinggewächse in die höchsten Räume der Fenster empor. Die Natur selbst hätte diesen Flor nicht malerischer anordnen können,” Leipziger Illustrirte Zeitung, September 18, 1852, vol. xix, 186, English translation by Nathalie Herrmann. Cf. Vaassen 2013, 68, 151. Naturalistic plants appear rarely in painted landscape backgrounds. Vaassen 2013, 335; Vaassen 1997, 282. A late successor to the floral windows is the glazing of the Maurische Halle of the Eberhardsbad in Bad Wildbad (1896/97). See Giese 2017b, 69. Herzog 1990, 32, 55, 73, 158. Zanth dedicated some lines to these windows: “In addition to the calculated [light] effects, there is a colourful iridescence, which is diffused by the painted window panes and doors to make a favourable impression on the spectator.” (“Zu diesen berechneten Wirkungen [des Lichtes] gesellt sich der Farbenschiller den die gemahlten Scheiben der Fenster und Thüren verbreiten um einen günstigen Eindruck auf den Beschauer zu erzeugen,” English translation by Nathalie Herrmann.) Zanth 1855–1856, commentary on pl. vi. See also fig. 2 in chapter 4 in this volume. Cf. Ionescu 2005, 59–64, cat. no. 68–132. For the diffusion of Islamic carpets in European countries since the 16th century, see Sweetman 1987, 10–16, 30–32. Hittorff/Zanth 1835, 14. Boisserée 1823, pl. xi.
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Creations between ‘Moorish’ and ‘Gothic’ –Stained Glass in Carl von Diebitsch’s Architecture
During their joint journey through Sicily, Hittorff and Zanth were accompanied by Wilhelm Stier (1799–1856), who would later become one of Carl von Diebitsch’s (1819–1869) professors at the Bauakademie in Berlin and therefore have a great impact on the latter’s personal architectural style.44 Soon after, von Diebitsch would become one of the first German architects to study and document the Islamic architecture of al-Andalus during a journey across Spain (1846–1847). There, he created many drawings, watercolors and frottages of Ibero-Islamic buildings and their ornamentations, thereby laying the foundations of his later architectural designs. Even though he, like Owen Jones, had never seen any traces of stained glass windows in the remaining architecture of al-Andalus, von Diebitsch’s neo-Moorish buildings would nonetheless make use of stained glass windows as essential elements for setting the atmosphere of his interiors. His first larger commission was to create a neo-Moorish bath for the castle of Albrechtsberg in Dresden. The works began in 1850, and for its design, Diebitsch adopted the decorative repertoire of the Alhambra and combined it with other forms.45 The rectangular bath cabinet, which today still exists in its original form, contains two windows on its shorter side, whose lead networks form two mullioned horseshoe arches. Red lozenges with inscribed rosettes adorn the surfaces above and below the apertures (fig. 15.4), resembling the lozenge patterns depicted on some of the plates in Sulpice Boisserée’s 1823 publication (fig. 15.3), as well as on a plate in Owen Jones’s Grammar of Ornaments (1856), entitled “Stained Glass of different periods and styles”.46 It was typical for von Diebitsch to combine neo-Gothic shapes with Ibero-Islamic interlace ornaments. During a sojourn in Cairo, von Diebitsch designed the now famous Moorish Kiosk for the 1867 World’s Fair in Paris. In 1876, the king of Bavaria, Ludwig ii (r. 1884–1886), purchased the small building and had it reassembled in the park of Linderhof Palace, albeit with some structural changes.47 Images in newspapers,48 von Diebitsch’s sketches,49 as well as contemporary descriptions 44 45 46 47 48 49
Pflugradt-Abdel Aziz 2009, 2–3. Heller 2017, 158–160. Boisserée 1823, pl. xi; Jones 1856, pl. lxix, 21, 24. As for these modifications see Fehle 1987, 25, 165–167; Keller 2017, 183–186. For a view of the interior and exterior, see Illustrirte Zeitung 1256, July 27, 1867, 68–69. L’exposition universelle de 1867 illustrée, Paris 1867, 160, only provides a view of the exterior. Architekturmuseum der Technischen Universität Berlin (amtub), inv. no. 41593, 41374, 41376, 41377.
314 Keller inform us about the original appearance.50 Containing a central cupola and four domed angle turrets, the Kiosk did not follow Ibero-Islamic models but imitated an emblematic Indo-Islamic building type from the Mughal Empire originally reserved for sepulchral architecture –a point proven by Isabella Fehle and Elke Pflugradt-Abdel Aziz.51 The ornamentation of the interior, and, with a few exceptions, of the exterior as well, nonetheless brings us back to the Islamic architecture of al-Andalus.52 This Alhambresque interior used to include four stained glass windows (fig. 15.5), with the doors of the two entrances imitating mashrabīyāt, the common wooden lattices of Islamic architecture. In the Kiosk, they were of iron and crowned with stained glass lunettes. Two alcoves were each equipped with one round window, repeating the design of the lunettes. The four stained glass windows featured the ornament of an eight-pointed star, whereas those of the tambour were each adorned with a simple lozenge pattern. Such round-arched apertures with two-winged glass doors and crowned with round stained glass windows, as seen in the Moorish Kiosk, are typical for von Diebitsch’s personal style. That is why they also appear in the bathroom of Schwerin Castle (1857), the Moorish House at Hafenplatz 4 in Berlin (1856/1857, destroyed in World War ii), the Villa Oppenheim (1862–1864), the palace complex of al-Jazīra in Cairo (1863–1869, today the Cairo Marriott Hotel), and the mausoleum of Sulaimān Pasha al-Faransāwī in Cairo (1862–1865), whose windows were still partially filled with blue and colorless glass until the 1980s.53 The star ornament, on the other hand, probably made its first appearance in von Diebitsch’s plans for modification of Villa Oppenheim.54
50 51 52 53
54
The most important are Stier 1867, 278; Illustrierter Kalender für 1869, 1869, Leipzig, 136– 137; Zeitschrift für praktische Baukunst 27, 1867, 337–338. Fehle 1987, 34–35; Pflugradt-Abdel Aziz 2003, 76. The white colour of the exterior, however, was not implied by Diebitsch as a reference to the white marble of Mughal architecture but was added later, during the Ludwig ii’s reign, see Keller 2017, 186. Pflugradt-Abdel Aziz 2003, 77; Pflugradt-Abdel Aziz 2009, 9, 12; Fehle 1987, 18. For the Moorish House in Berlin see Kaufmann 2017, 175–176. There also is a design for the Moorish bathroom of Schwerin Castle from 1855 that includes stained glass (Schwerin, Landeshauptarchiv Schwerin Best. 12.3- 2 Ministerium für Finanzen/ Abt. Hochbau, Mappe 14, Nr. 38/7). However, it is not known if these drafts were ever implemented. Pflugradt-Abdel Aziz 2017c, 165. For the Villa Oppenheim see Pflugradt-Abdel Aziz 2003, 10, figs. 4–12; Pflugradt-Abdel Aziz 2017b, 197–201; and for the Palace of al-Jazīra Pflugradt- Abdel Aziz 2003, 32–62, figs. 36–91; Pflugradt-Abdel Aziz 2017b, 203–208. For the mausoleum see Fehle 1987, 166; Pflugradt-Abdel Aziz 2003, 18–19, 25, 78. Pflugradt-Abdel Aziz 2017b, 201–202. Pflugradt-Abdel Aziz 2003, 10–11, fig. 4–12. amtub, inv. no. 41608. Keller 2017, 187.
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Whereas von Diebitsch’s round windows concur with Islamic traditions, for example those in Cairo, the composition of the lead grid is his own creation. Yet there some of the models are waiting to be identified still. The star ornament is one of the most important motifs of Ibero-Islamic architecture; at the Alhambra, it is usually twelve-or sixteen-pointed and embedded in a repetitive geometric pattern,55 whereas in von Diebitsch’s designs it contains eight points; the basic shape, however, remains the same in all examples. The practice of isolating a particular star ornament is first documented for one of the sketches von Diebitsch made during his stay at the Alhambra.56 The ornamentation of the spandrels covered with small rosettes has its models in the Alhambra as well and resulted from the same transformative process; several of von Diebitsch’s drawings show similar spandrels.57 At the same time, the window follows a disposition rooted in Gothic architecture. In Gothic tracery windows, as depicted in Boisserée’s book (fig. 15.3), it is the common rule that round windows would be used to crown two tall and thin lights. Although there is no evidence for the existence of stained glass windows in Ibero-Islamic reference buildings such as the Alhambra, Carl von Diebitsch nonetheless added them to his neo-Moorish designs. The Prussian architect developed them by proceeding from the ornamental repertoire of Ibero- Islamic traditions, while the Gothic stained glass windows, which saw a great revival during the 19th century,58 provided their basic forms. 5
Mingling Styles –Stained Glass at the Villa di Sammezzano
The impact of the Saracen Theory, according to which Gothic stained glass was inspired by oriental carpets, is not only observable in the works by Zanth and von Diebitsch, but also in those of another creator of neo-Islamic architecture, Ferdinando Panciatichi di Ximenes d’Aragona (1813–1897). In his Pensieri sull’architettura (1867), Panciatichi stated that he had based his architectonical principles on Jules Claude Ziegler’s Études céramiques from 1850: “[…] the major part of my ideas emerged while reading Ziegler’s work on ceramics and architecture.”59 Ziegler also belonged to the group of authors who had compared 55 56 57 58 59
For example Diebitsch’s sketch at amtub, inv. no. 41541. amtub, inv. no. 41528. amtub, inv. nos. 41525, 41526, 41527. Vaassen 1993, 19, 23. “[…] la maggior parte delle mie idee sono nate dalla lettura del trattato di Ziegler sulla ceramica e l’architettura,” English translation by Nathalie Herrmann, Cerelli 2000, 79.
316 Keller Gothic stained glass windows with Persian carpets because of their similar color harmonies.60 Between 1853 and 1889, Panciatichi converted the Villa di Sammezzano near Florence into an ensemble of historicist and orientalist rooms. Here, elements taken from the Alhambra mix with allusions to the architecture of Cairo, Turkey, Persia, Mughal India, the Gothic and Renaissance periods.61 A room with elements inspired by the Alhambra is the Galleria degli Stalatitti: It shows a combination of smaller and larger muqarnas arches and capitals imitating those of the entrance to the Patio de los Leones.62 Whereas the windows of the adjacent rooms of the Alhambra contain transennae, the small hall of Sammezzano includes a very colourful geometric stained glass window (fig. 15.6). Due to its simplicity and large scale, its design does not compare to Ibero-Islamic examples. In 1885, Panciatichi published an image of this very window in what by the time was Florence’s most influential architectural journal, the Ricordi di Architettura.63 Therein he had already published a few articles dedicatied to other designs, some of which directly relate to those at the Villa di Sammezzano. However, this image is the only depiction of a real architectural element from Sammezzano. It so happens that Panciatichi seemingly used this published image for sending a freemasonic message, as in the middle of the depicted window one can identify an Eye of Providence, a characteristic symbol of this secret society.64 Apart from this uncommon use of an architectural depiction, the publication was certainly intended to highlight the significance it had for Panciatichi personally. Other than that, the design is unique even for Sammezzano. Whereas some stained glass windows of the palace incorporate Islamic forms, others reveal neo-Gothic features. The windows of the entrance hall, for instance, include eight-pointed stars,65 which also appear in some glass panels integrated into stucco walls at the Galleria degli Stalatitti. The dome of the Sala dei Gigli bears a resemblance to the aforementioned vaulted ceiling of the Mirador de 60 61 62 63 64
65
Ziegler 1850, 151. Varela Braga 2018; Cerelli 2014; Bussmann 2007, 135–152. See Varela Braga 2018, 303, and also chapter 18. Ricordi di Architettura, 1885, Fasc. xi, pl. 1. Sottani 2014, 35. Whether this symbol ever really was on the window in Sammezzano or only depicted in the image, cannot be verified anymore. The window glass there at least does not show any traces of painting. The stained glass of other windows, however, does show (fragmentary) painting. The used paint probably was cold, and not fired, which is why the painting was not durable. A depiction of an Eye of Providence, however, does exist in the chapel. A very similar window with a 12-pointed star was made for the entrance to the Moorish hall of the Hotel de las Termas in Murcia in 1898. López Muñoz 2015, 36.
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Lindaraja at the Lion’s Palace in Granada.66 Likewise, the dome of the Villa di Sammezzano shows colored glass pieces set in grilles of wood and stucco (fig. 15.7). Its vertex is covered with muqarnas vaults, one of the clearest allusions to Ibero-Islamic architecture. Although there are not any known images of the vault of the Mirador de Lindaraja from the 19th century, the many Alhambresque elements of the Villa suggest that the unusual dome of the Sala dei Gigli might have been inspired by the Alhambra still. Given that Panciatichi himself also never visited Granada, it is possible that the required architectural knowledge had been transferred through models.67 Yet it seems that the Alhambra Court at Sydenham was much more relevant in this regard. In 1864, Panciatichi had visited Owen Jones’s re-creation in London, and a comparison reveals that the muqarnas arch of the Galleria degli Stalatitti actually imitates Jones’s Alhambra Court.68 Similar to Panciatichi’s take on the Nasrid structure, for his version of the vaults of the Hall of the Abencerrajes Jones had used a muqarnas dome and adorned its round apertures with glass pieces. Even though Jones’s section does not indicate any use of colored glazing,69 a textual description, published in the Illustrated Times from 1856, does prove its existence: “[The ladies] were seated on the red cushions at the side and were gazing up at the wonderful roof, with its small round windows of stained glass, flooding the gilt mouldings with purple, crimson and yellow rays, until the dome seemed one crumpled mass of jewels […].”70 In addition to the small, round openings with colored glass pieces, the dome of the Sala dei Gigli furthermore contained gilded mouldings.71 Further below, there were four stained glass windows shaped as pointed horseshoe arches, evoking Gothic windows by including two lancets and forms resembling medieval tracery. This window type also adorned the gateways of the entrance to Sammezzano, as well as a horseshoe arch on the upper floor (fig. 15.8). The horseshoe arch gate is an instructive example for the specific manner by 66 67 68 69 70 71
Fernández-Puertas 2009, 346; Keller 2018, 42. Only one single model of the vault of the Mirador de Lindaraja is known so far, created at the end of the 19th century, with plastic as substitute for the original glass. González Pérez 2017, vol. 2, 259. See also c hapter 12. Varela Braga 2017b, 83. Jones 1854, 85. He does not mention glazings either. Illustrated Times, June 28, 1856, 466. Cf. Piggott 2004, 91. The Art Journal x, 1871, 140 (May 1), also mentiones the stained glass windows of the hall. The Moorish Room at Grove House in Hampton (1892–1896) was based on Jules Goury and Owen Jones’s Plans, Elevations, Sections and Details of the Alhambra, see Raquejo Grado 1989, 162. Moreover, it also possesses a gilded muqarnas dome with coloured glass inlays. It might have been inspired by the dome of the Alhambra Court at Sydenham Palace as well.
318 Keller which Gothic and Islamic forms blend at Villa di Sammezzano. Whereas the Ibero-Islamic horseshoe arch gives the stained glass pane its outer shape, its design follows typical patterns taken from Gothic tracery. The arch itself is furthermore covered with painted Florentine Fleur-de-Lys, in contrast to the two imposts adorned with one crescent each. Panciatichi conceived the Florentine Fleur-de-Lys, which also formed a part of his family crest, as “[…] a symbol of oriental magic, equivalent to that hidden in occult science, which is not permitted to reveal itself to the uninitiated.”72 6
The Gothic and Moorish Revivals
This chapter discussed combinations of Gothic and Ibero-Islamic ornaments in stained glass windows at the Wilhelma, the Villa di Sammezzano, as well as some of Carl von Diebitsch’s works. They all demonstrate the impact of contemporary theories that drew iconographic parallels between Gothic stained glass windows and oriental carpets. In contrast, the stained glass of other neo- Moorish buildings, such as the Moorish Kiosk after its redesign, the Morrocan House at Linderhof Park (1878), the Moorish Room at Grove House (1892–1896), the chambre mauresque at the Château de Monte-Cristo (1847), or the Moorish Hall of Castell Castle in Tägerwilen (1892),73 applied Ibero-Islamic models only. Yet the idea of using glazing in neo-Moorish buildings in spite of the lack of evidence of its use in Ibero-Islamic architecture might have stemmed from adopting an architectural element that contemporaries perceived as if it was rooted in Islamic traditions. An additional motivation was the desire for creating an exotic atmosphere by applying colored light, an idea spurred by the revival of stained glass windows in the 19th century.74 The textual evidence points out how Gothic Revival and Orientalism thus intersected with respect to the issue of colored glazing in neo-Moorish interiors. What connected both were harmonies of colour and forms that seemed structurally similar in Gothic stained glass windows and in oriental carpets. Due to this transcultural conjunction, the neo-Gothic predilection for stained glass merged with Ibero-Islamic forms, together leading to the richly colored glazings of neo-Moorish architecture. 72
73 74
“[…] e lo stesso giglio fiorentino non è che un simbolo di alta magia orientale equivalente a ciò che vi ha di più segreto nelle scienze occulte, e che non è permesso rivelare ai profani,” English translation by Nathalie Herrmann. Galleria degli Uffizi 1867, 19. Panciatichi ascribed an Arab origin to heraldry itself, an idea he adopted from Jules Claude Ziegler, Ziegler 1850, 176. For a discussion of the windows of these buildings, see chapter 23. See Keller 2017, 192–193; Keller 2016, 76–79.
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Illustrations
figure 15.1 Stuttgart-Bad Cannstatt, Banquet Hall of the Wilhelma, Karl Ludwig von Zanth, 1844–1851, lithography. Zanth 1855–1856, pl. viii, Württembergische Landesbibliothek, Stuttgart
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figure 15.2 Stuttgart-Bad Cannstatt, Cupola Room of the Wilhelma in 1932, Karl Ludwig von Zanth, 1842–1846, photography by Robert Bothner, 1932 source: © landesmedienzentrum baden-w ürttemberg
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figure 15.3 Sulpice Boisserée, Choir windows of Cologne Cathedral. Boisserée 1823, pl. xi, Universitätsbibliothek Heidelberg
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figure 15.4 Dresden, Albrechtsberg Castle, Moorish Bath, Carl von Diebitsch, 1850–1855 source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / rose hajdu
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figure 15.5 Moorish Kiosk at the World Exhibition in Paris, Carl von Diebitsch, 1867. Illustrierte Zeitung, 27 July 1867, 69
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figure 15.6 Regello, Villa di Sammezzano, Sala del Nada Semper, Ferdinando Panciatichi di Ximenes d’Aragona, before 1885 source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / domingie & rabatti
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figure 15.7 Regello, Villa di Sammezzano, Sala dei Gigli, Ferdinando Panciatichi di Ximenes d’Aragona, after 1864 source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / domingie & rabatti
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figure 15.8 Regello, Villa di Sammezzano, Horseshoe Arch Portal, Ferdinando Panciatichi di Ximenes d’Aragona, 1853–1889 source: © sarah keller
c hapter 16
The Alhambra as a Historicist Matrix for Museum Displays Francine Giese and Ariane Varela Braga The Alhambresque style, at first used for the palaces of the high-aristocracy in Madrid, Stuttgart or St Petersburg, was made accessible to these exclusive circles of wealthy amateurs, artists and art collectors during the second half of the 19th century, who played a crucial role in the valorisation of Islamic art and architecture, and the diffusion of its aesthetics throughout the West.1 Not unlike the majority of amateurs during the 19th and early 20th century, who established private museums at their residences, the two collectors presented in this chapter followed the internationally established trend of displaying artworks in historicist interiors, introduced in the 1830s by Alexandre Du Sommerard (1779–1842) at his Parisian Hôtel de Cluny with its outstanding period room ensemble.2 Whereas Du Sommerard showed a faible for French interiors of the Middle Ages and Renaissance, the architect Ambroise Baudry (1838–1906) adapted this display strategy for affluent collectors of Islamic art in Cairo and France,3 thereby creating important prototypes that combined original pieces, contemporary replicas and plaster casts. Together with Frederic Leighton’s (1830–1896) studio-house in Kensington or Mariano Fortuny y Marsal’s (1838–1874) influential artist studio in Rome,4 they became important 1 2 3
4
Roxburgh 2000; Vernoit 2000; Kuhrau 2005, esp. 27–31; Harris 2012; Ramon Navarro/ Beltrán Catalán 2013; Casanovas 2013; Kive 2015; Navarro 2017. On collectorship in Italy, see chapter 9 in this volume. On the significance of Alexandre Du Sommerard for the introduction of period and style rooms in private and public museums during the 19th century, see the contributions in Costa/Poulot/Volait 2016 with further references. Most significant among Baudry’s neo-Mamlūk interiors are the Maison de Delort de Gléon (1872), the Hôtel Saint-Maurice (1875–1879), his own residence, built in the same Ismā’īliyya neighbourhood in 1875–1876, as well as Edmond James de Rothschild’s influential fumoir arabe at his hôtel particulier at 41 Faubourg Saint-Honoré. Mercedes Volait has worked extensively on the French architect Ambroise Baudry, see for instance, Crosnier Leconte/Volait 2007, 56–133; Volait 2007, 98–103; Volait 2012, 49–51; Volait 2016, 103–114; Volait 2017, 53–55; Volait 2019. On the Leighton House, see Droth 2011, 339–358; Roberts 2018. Fortuny entertained several studios in Rome, but the most famous was the last one in via Flaminia, known for its
© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2021 | DOI:10.1163/9789004448582_018
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references for later examples. Regarding similar developments at the time in Spain, Enrique de Aguilera y Gamboa’s (1845–1922) Arab Room at the Cerralbo Palace in Madrid or the remodelled 16th-century Lebrija Palace of the extravagant Regla Manjón y Mergelina (1851–1937) in Seville, are to be mentioned.5 Likewise, Owen Jones’s 1854 Alhambra Court with its neo-Nasrid stuccowork became an important model for many other private museums of the 19th century.6 In contrast to the examples mentioned so far, the decorative skin of Jones’s Alhambra Court was executed exclusively by the use of serial produced plaster casts.7 Moreover, it represented a highly colored version of the original monument, based on his personal theory of coloration,8 which, at the time, had been widely accepted and implemented not only for Alhambresque interiors, but even used for the restoration works on the actual Alhambra, for instance, by José and Rafael Contreras for their contested interventions in the Sala de las Camas of the Comares bath.9 Carl von Diebitsch’s (1819–1869) Moorish Kiosk, presented at the 1867 Paris World’s Fair, followed a similar path: its interior and exterior both presented themselves in very brightly colors, based on observations the Prussian architect had made during his six-month stay in Granada in 1846–1847.10 As the neo-Nasrid style relied on one single architectonic reference, the Alhambra, the practice of reusing original pieces –one of the main characteristics of Baudry’s neo-Mamlūk interiors11 –was limited to only very few cases, such as Arthur von Gwinner’s (1856–1931) reintegration of the Nasrid dome of the Torre de las Damas from the Partal Palace at the Alhambra complex into his private home at Rauchstraße 1 in Berlin.12 Whereas the case studies treated in this chapter followed
5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12
Ibero-Islamic artefacts. See for instance Barón 2017, 398–403; Tabbal 2019. On Fortuny’s art collection, see chapter 9. On the examples from Madrid and Seville, see Navascués Benlloch/Conde de Beroldingen Geyr 1998; Jiménez Sanz 2014, 163–80; Varela Braga 2017c; Lleó Cañal 2002a, 9–61; Urquízar Herrera 2016. Varela Braga 2018. For a description of the applied reproduction technique, see chapter 12. On Jones’s color theory, see for instance Van Zanten 1977, 235–241; Flores 2006, 79–88 and Moser 2012, 44–58. See esp. Rodríguez Domingo 1998, 245–247; Barrios Rozúa 2016, 91–94, 152–154. On this point, see c hapter 20. Volait 2012, 49–70. As the family later moved to Sophienstrasse 25 in Charlottenburg, Gwinner commissioned another Moorish room at the new residence for the relocated dome. In 1978 Gwinner’s heirs sold the Partal dome to the Museum für Islamische Kunst in Berlin- Dahlem, whereas in 2000 it was integrated into the permanent collection of the Museum für Islamische Kunst on Berlin’s Museumsinsel, see Kröger 2004, 85; McSweeney 2015b.
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Du Sommerard’s display strategy devoted to the installation of historicist interiors for the showcase of artefacts on the one hand, they related to neo- Nasrid aesthetics and adopted their characteristic reproduction techniques on the other hand, both of which Owen Jones had made known internationally through his Alhambra Court. 1
Bringing the Alhambra to Florence –the Moorish Hall at Villa Stibbert
During the second half on the 19th century, the Italo-British art collector Frederick Stibbert (1838–1906) was pursuing the creation of a private museum at his villa in Montughi on the outskirts of Florence. Stibbert’s broad interests stretched from painting to furnishing, from textiles to ceramics, and thus reflected the general revaluation of the decorative arts that had emerged all over Europe during the 19th century. Yet one particular thing raised his passion more than anything else – the history of arms and military costumes, which is why at his Florentine villa he brought together a world-famous collection of European, Islamic and Japanese weapons.13 In comparison to other amateurs of Islamic art, such as Karl von Urach (1865–1925), about whom more will be said further below, Stibbert’s first- hand experience of Islamic countries was rather limited. In fact, it was merely based on a single journey to Egypt on occasion of the opening of the Suez Canal in 1869.14 From 1860 on, he acquired Islamic weapons all around Europe; first from the international market –especially World Fairs –, and then from Florentine dealers as well.15 The increase of this collection and his desire to better organize it led to the realization of a room in 1889 that would be specifically dedicated to Islamic armory. It was located in the museum section of the house, in a sequence of rooms that Stibbert had been arranging following
13 Upon his death, Stibbert’s intention was to donate his collection to the British Government, with the explicit requirement that it should be open to the public. However, this request was rejected, and in 1908 the about 30,000 collection items, together with his estate in Montughi, were transferred to the city of Florence and presented to the public as the newly founded Stibbert Museum. On the history of the collection see, for instance, Di Marco 2008. 14 However, it seems that he was only interested in Egypt’s pharaonic past, as can be judged from his sketchbooks (Florence, as, Taccuini di Viaggi, ms 641). 15 Becattini 2014a, 25; Becattini 2014b, 19–23. For further reading, see c hapter 9 in this volume.
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scenographic principles as from the mid-1870s.16 Designated from the start as a Sala Moresca (Moorish Hall), the walls and ceiling are covered with stucco decorations that faithfully reproduce ornaments taken from the Nasrid palaces of the Alhambra in Granada (fig. 16.1). As demonstrated elsewhere, contemporary Florence had not been left unaffected by the international Alhambra fashion,17 the undoubtedly most impressive example being the interior of the synagogue (fig. 16.2), whose walls were decorated with patterns from Jules Goury and Owen Jones’s two-volume book (1836–1845) on the Alhambra18 The use of orientalizing smoking rooms had by then reached the banks of the River Arno, as attested by surviving examples at Palazzo Oppenheim and Palazzo Levi (fig. 16.3). Contrary to most other interiors of this style, Stibbert’s Moorish Hall was not devoted to a recreational purpose. As mentioned before, it had, from its very first beginnings, always been intended as the centrepiece of his private museum instead. In spite of its suggestiveness, the interior decoration did not allude to the art objects displayed in the room directly, which were not related to al-Andalus at all but mostly to the Indian Raj, where Stibbert’s grandfather had made a fortune.19 Why then did Stibbert choose the Alhambra as his role model at all? In the absence of personal documents on the matter, we are only left to hypothesize. Although he had been to Cairo in 1869, it seems that the city’s Islamic heritage had not attracted his attention much.20 However, Stibbert had visited the Alhambra before, in 1861, which seemingly made a great impression on him: not only did he buy twenty-six plaster casts from Rafael Contreras’s famous studio, but also several photographs of the monument.21 The Alhambra’s popularity and evocative powers had not diminished during the second half of the 19th century.22 For the general public, it had become an emblematic architecture and was regarded as a stand-in for the entire history of Islamic art, just as it had for Owen Jones’s Alhambra Court at the Crystal Palace of Sydenham.23 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23
Stibbert’s museum is the result of numerous transformations and enlargements realized over the years. See Di Marco 2008, 105–131. See chapter 9 in this volume. For Tuscany in general, see Anselmi 1997–1999; Cardini 2012; Guarneri 2012; Stasolla 2013 . For related examples see Bush 2017. See chapter 21 in this volume. On the history of the family see Clearking/Di Marco 2009. There is no drawing of Mamlūk architecture or ornament in his sketchbooks (Florence, as, Taccuini di Viaggi, ms 641); Di Marco 2008, 63–64. Varela Braga 2016. As Tonia Raquejo Grado has shown, a particular Romantic attraction for the Alhambra had developed in Britain already during the first half of the century. See Raquejo Grado 1989. Varela Braga 2017b.
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The design of the Moorish Hall was supervised by the architect Cesare Fortini (d. 1894),24 who was also in charge of the renovation works of other parts of the Villa. Stucco decorator Michel Piovano was the person responsible for the implementation of the casts, as well as for the display of the objects.25 The walls, stucco ornaments of the ceiling, the windows and the floor of this hall are all executed in neo-Moorish style, with the installation of the stucco parts and stained glass windows dating to the end of 1889. At the beginning of the next year, green, white, blue and yellow neo-Moorish tiles were added that the Florentine manufacturer Ulisse Cantagalli (1839–1901) had created particularly for the room. The small staircase to the basement extended the stucco decoration. It seems that the original plan was to paint the room, as Fortini himself writes in a letter: “This is a room which will turn out very good when colored and gilded”,26 but in the end the room was left unpainted. Although the reasons for this decision are unknown, by leaving the walls white, the Moorish Hall alludes to the legacy of the objects on display, especially those from Mughal India, as the white walls echoe the marble walls of the Taj Mahal, the probably most emblematic and famous embodiments of Mughal architecture.27 The task of creating an Alhambresque room in fin-de-siècle Florence would certainly not have been a difficult one, since, as previous chapters of this book have proven, plaster casts of the Nasrid monument were available all over Europe.28 The Scuola professionale delle arti decorative industriali, founded in 1880 in Florence possessed a collection of six Nasrid casts, three of which are identical to Stibbert’s Alhambra casts.29 As already mentioned, Stibbert himself had furthermore acquired several plasters casts, as well as photographs, in Granada, which most probably served as templates for his Alhambresque decorations. Moreover, Stibbert’s library included copies of Murphy’s (1815) and Goury/Jones’s (1836–1845) publications on the Alhambra, which were important transfer media for the diffusion of the Alhambresque style.30 24 25 26 27 28 29 30
See Agonigi 2001, 10. Masi 2002–2003, 37. “E’ una stanza che farà molto bene, quando sarà anche colorita e dorata”, quoted from Becattini 2014c, 67 (Ariane Varela Braga’s translation). Such an association between the Alhambra and Mughal India can, for instance, be gathered from Diebitsch’s Moorish Kiosk, whose exteriors were ‘whitened’ when installed in Ludwig ii’s Linderhof in 1876; see Keller 2017, 185–195. See especially chapters 11 and 12 in this volume. These are now preserved in the gipsoteca of the Liceo Artistico Statale di Porta Romana in Florence. See Varela Braga 2016. See chapter 21 in this volume.
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These materials enabled Piovano to design Alhambresque decorations that, at first glance, seemed to be true to the original. This attention given to authenticity, however, was limited to ornamental details, and did not care for the overall disposition of the room. The Moorish Hall should therefore not be regarded as a copy of any real part of the Alhambra, but rather a re-creation based on a skillful collage of its various decorative elements. Piovano sampled existing patterns and registers, producing nonetheless yielded a perfectly plausible visual composition The layout of the dado consists of a geometric grid that recalls the faience mosaics (alicatados) of the original building; it is crowned by a frieze of pinnacles and other ornamental high relief elements covering the upper register of the wall. Above it, one finds a stucco ceiling resembling the star-shaped interlace ornamentation of Nasrid wooden artesonado ceilings.31 This condensed version of the Alhambra does not lack any of its most characteristic features: we find inscriptions, columns, capitals, transennae and muqarnas arches. Piovano plays with the outlines of these arches, flattens some on the walls to turn them into decorative frames for the shields and weapons on display. This subversion of architectural function of arches and their transposition into two-dimensional motifs, constitute a remarkable strategy for fitting the collection into the overall aesthetics. Despite the high ornamentation of the walls, the Moorish Hall this way succeeds in providing a highly suggestive, albeit not intrusive, background for Stibbert’s Islamic collection. 2
Installing a Neo-Moorish Style Room in Stuttgart’s Palais Urach
After having travelled the world, including large parts of North Africa, the Near East and Spain, the eccentric amateur Karl, Prince of Urach, Count of Wurttemberg,32 installed a private museum for his growing Islamic art collection at Palais Urach, the family residence at Neckarstraße 68, in Stuttgart.33 Frequenting the cultural centres of Paris and Cairo, where he owned various properties,34 Karl apparently was acquainted with the fashion of displaying
31 32 33 34
On the transmateriality observable in neo-Moorish ceilings, see chapter 22. For convenience, the abbreviated name, Karl von Urach, will be used in the following. On the adventurous life of Karl Prince of Urach, see Schmierer 1997; Schukraft 2007, 251– 252; Merk 2010. On Karl’s propery in Heliopolis (Cairo), see HStAS gu 10 Bü. 165; gu 120 Bü. 297. On the two Parisian properties at 16 rue Saint Guillaume and 208 Boulevard Saint Germain, see HStAS gu 120 Bü. 298.
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Islamic art in orientalising style rooms, which in the meantime had become a global trend. In contrast to the eclectic assemblage of Henri Moser Charlottenfels’s (1844–1923) early 20th-century smoking room at Charlottenfels Castle (Switzerland),35 inspired by Edmond de Rothschild’s (1845–1934) fumoir arabe, Karl von Urach limited himself to the reproduction of only two Islamic styles – Nasrid and Mamlūk. Both were important references in Karl’s life, since he had grown up in close proximity to Karl Ludwig Wilhelm von Zanth’s (1796–1857) Wilhelma.36 During his several journeys to and longer stays in Egypt, he furthermore gathered first-hand experience of Mamlūk architecture. Together with Stuttgart architect Karl Mayer (life dates unknown) the eccentric collector designed the so-called Arab Rooms (Arabische Räume), a series of orientalising interiors that, after Karl von Urach’s demise, had been made accessible to the public by his brother Wilhelm on June 1, 1926, and thereafter became a local attraction.37 In 1869, Karl’s mother Florestine (1833–1897), Duchess of Urach, Countess of Wurttemberg, acquired Palais Taubenheim, which thereafter became known as Palais Urach (destroyed 1944).38 According to documents at the city archive of Stuttgart (Stadtarchiv), Florestine submitted a project to connect the originally detached annex building with the main residence on first-floor level.39 The plans by aforementioned architect Karl Mayer date March 24, 1893, and were approved in April of the same year. Based on the submitted building applications it is possible to identify five different building phases (fig. 16.4): according to a typescript description of the Arab Rooms, most likely written for the public inauguration that took place after Karl’s death,40 works on the so-called Blue Hall (Blauer Saal), an Alhambresque style room, started in 1893 (fig. 16.5). During a second phase (1899– 1902), two neo-Mamlūk style rooms were added. The exhibition space was subsequently enlarged in 1907, 1909 and 1924–1925, using neo-Mamlūk style 35 36 37 38 39 40
On Moser’s style room, see Giese 2015; Giese 2016c; Giese 2019a; Giese 2019c; Giese/Varela Braga 2019. On the Wilhelma, see c hapters 4 and 8 in this volume. Claus Mohr, “Arabische Kunst in Stuttgart”, Deutsches Volksblatt, Stuttgart, No. 170, July 28, 1926, 6, HStAS, gu 120 Bü. 20; Walter Kast, “Ein Stück Orient in Stuttgart”, Stuttgarter Illustrierte –Das bunte Blatt, no. 23, 1933, 155, HStAS, gu 128 Bü. 364. Schmierer 1997; Merk 2010. Stuttgart. Baugesuch Ihrer Durchlaucht der Frau Herzogin von Urach Gräfin von Württemberg betreffend die Herstellung eines Flügelbaus am Palais Neckarstrasse No 68, StAS, Nachlass Mayer 32. Merkblatt für den Fremdenführer in den arabischen Räumen Neckarstrasse 68, HStAS, gu 120 Bü. 20.
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(fig. 16.6).41 Apparently the interior design of the three early rooms was not implemented before 1895, when the Stuttgart collector started searching for Nasrid and Mamlūk plaster casts, as well as for original woodwork and stained glass windows from Cairo, as attested by various hand-written letters from the legacy of the family.42 These letters allow for a deeper insight into the international network of the Stuttgart-based collector. Exceeding first expectations, they reveal that he entertained relations to the most important institutions and illustrious personalities of his time. Moreover, they also testify to the reproducibility and commercialisation of Islamic architecture in the second half of the 19th century. Most interesting in this regard is Karl’s correspondence to London and Madrid. As shown in previous chapters,43 both cities were important centres of the Moorish Revival and internationally known for their cast collections.44 With Henry Gillman (life dates unknown), the general manager of the Crystal Palace Company, Arthur Banks Skinner (1861–1911), the director of the South Kensington Museum, and Juan Facundo Riaño (1829–1901), the director of Madrid’s Museo de Reproducciones Artísticas and member of the Royal Spanish Academies of History, Language and Fine Arts,45 the key figures and key collections of historical casts were at Karl’s disposal. It thus seems obvious that Karl was not only interested in purchasing copies of Owen Jones’s Alhambra casts, which had been on display in a separate room of his 1854 Alhambra Court at Sydenham,46 but also in reproductions of two Mamlūk plaster casts kept at the South Kensington Museum (today the Victoria & Albert Museum).47 At a certain point, Karl seemingly intended to design his neo-Moorish style room after the model of Maximilian von Scherer’s Moorish Hall in Castell 41
Building application (Baugesuch), K. Mayer Architekt, Stuttgart, May 21, 1907, HStAS gu 10 Bü. 55; building application (Baugesuch), K. Mayer Architekt, Stuttgart, April 6, 1909, HStAS gu 10 Bü. 51; building application (Baugesuch), E. Barth Architekt, Stuttgart, June 11, 1924, HStAS gu 10 Bü. 55. 42 HStAS gu 120 Bü. 316. 43 See esp. chapters 11 and 12 in this volume. 44 The V&A’s vast collection of Islamic casts has been studied only partially so far. Whereas the Mamlūk casts that primarily came from Cairene buildings are widely unpublished still, its extensive collection of Alhambra casts and models have been the object of various publications, see esp. Raquejo Grado 1987, 456–559; Leslie 2004; Rosser-Owen 2011. As for the mentioned cast courts, see Harrod 1985. 45 On Juan Facundo Riaño, see chapter 7 in this volume. 46 Jones 1854, 86–88. For further reading see Ferry 2007; Calatrava 2010; Varela Braga 2017b. 47 See hand-written letter from Arthur B. Skinner to Baron Charles de Neuffen, London, July 8, 1896, HStAS gu 120 Bü 316; payment receipt from Arthur B. Skinner to Baron Charles de Neuffen, London, July 15, 1896, HStAS gu 120 Bü 316.
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Castle, built in 1891–1894 at the outskirts of the Swiss town of Tägerwilen by Stuttgart architect Emil Otto Tafel (1838–1914).48 This neo-Nasrid hall, designed after the Alhambra’s Sala de las Dos Hermanas and executed by means of plaster casts,49 is one of the most important interiors of its kind in Switzerland. It became even known in Germany, as attested by a telegram sent on November 2, 1896, from the painting and plaster workshop Schmidt & Söhne in Zurich to the Royal Court Plasterer (Kgl. Hofstuckateur) Eugen Rau in Stuttgart. It indicates that Schmidt & Söhne, who had executed the stuccowork in Tägerwilen, had been asked by Karl von Urach to provide a general view of the Swiss interior and six close-ups of the neo-Nasrid stuccowork.50 In addition, the Swiss workshop agreed to provide one plaster cast of each Moorish mould (“maurische Modelle”), along with a corresponding license for a price of 600 Frs. According to Karl von Urach’s hand-written comment on the back of the telegram, the stucco decoration in Castell Castle was not authentic enough for the demanding collector. This is where Juan Facundo Riaño comes into play, whom Karl had contacted in 1898. Unfortunately, Riaño was unable to satisfy Karl’s demand for original Alhambra casts, since neither the Royal Academy of History nor the Royal Academy of Fine Arts in Madrid possessed any. In a hand-written letter from February 17, 1898,51 Riaño recommended Karl to try his luck in Granada and get in touch with Mariano Contreras Granja (1853–1912).52 From where Karl eventually got his Alhambra casts is difficult to say, for there are no further documents referring to any purchase in Spain. Interestingly enough, some wall surfaces of the Blue Hall must have been executed in another material. Thus, after visiting the Arab Rooms in November 1902,53 aforementioned architect Emil Otto Tafel encouraged Karl von Urach in a hand-written letter to follow his idea of substituting the wallpaper of the Alhambresque style room for a rougher surface structure including neo-Moorish ornaments, “eine rauhere Fläche mit maurischen Ornamenten”. He recommended Karl to use lincrusta, a deeply embossed wallcovering that could be easily designed in different ornamental styles. Tafel even offered to bring neo-Nasrid models for an on-site 48
On Tafel’s Moorish Hall, see Meyer 1903; Abegg/Erni/Raimann 2014, 340–360; Giese 2018c, 144–148; Giese 2019a, 67–73; as well as c hapters 8 and 19 in this volume. 49 On this point, see c hapter 8. 50 HStAS gu 120 Bü. 83. 51 HStAS gu 120 Bü. 316. 52 On the activities of the different members of the Contreras family, see chapter 11 in this volume. 53 Hand-written letter from Emil Otto Tafel to Karl von Urach, Stuttgart, November 28, 1902, HStAS gu 120 Bü. 161.
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inspection, as he possessed a small number, amongst which there probably also were the above-mentioned casts he had acquired during his study trip to Spain in 1891. One question that remains concerns the polychromatic scheme the collector and his architect had chosen for the Arab Rooms. As attested by contemporary descriptions, Karl von Urach apparently based the colour scheme of the Blue Hall on Goury/Jones’s Alhambra publications.54 According to Walter Kast’s description from 1933, it therefore seems that the colours of the Alhambresque style room had oscillated between blue and gold.55 The author payed special attention to the golden colour of the slim column shafts, which must have been inspired by Goury/Jones’s erroneous reconstruction of the polychromy of Nasrid columns.56 Judging from the available visual documentation, Karl nevertheless opted for a rather free translation of Nasrid architectural models by combining them with Mamlūk features, such as columns with relief ornamentation, or adding a neo-Mamlūk ceiling. On an ink sketch by Cairo-based architect Max Herz (1856–1919), conserved in Urach’s documentation, we therefore find the drawing of an almost identical ceiling with a star-shaped central melon dome (“plafond lis avec la coquille”).57 He had based this draft on a specimen from Baudry’s Hôtel Saint-Maurice58 and can therefore be regarded as the direct model for the ceiling of the neo-Moorish style room at Palais Urach. Not unlike Stibbert’s Moorish Hall, the main goal of the Arab Rooms thus was not to recreate an authentic replica of one of the most famous halls of the Alhambra –which, in contrast, had been the case for Castell Castel –but to re-contextualise the artefacts on display through what we might call a scenography parlante. All things considered, Karl von Urach’s neo-Nasrid style room 54 55 56 57 58
On the significance of the mentioned publication for the diffusion of the Alhambresque style in 19th-century Europe, see c hapter 21 in in this volume. Walter Kast, “Ein Stück Orient in Stuttgart”, Stuttgarter Illustrierte –Das bunte Blatt, no. 23, 1933, 550, HStAS, gu 128 Bü. 364. Goury/Jones 1836–1845, vol. 1, text accompanying plate 35. Croquis pour deux chambres en style arabe, Max Herz, 1898, HStAS gu 120 Bü. 316. For an illustration, see Giese/Varela Braga 2019, fig. 16. My thanks go to Mercedes Volait for pointing out this fact to me. Apart from the mentioned sketch, the Stuttgarter Hauptstaatsarchiv holds various undated pencil drawings related to the vestibule ceiling and the central lantern of the grand salon at the Hôtel Saint-Maurice, confirming its significance as a reference building of the time, see HStAS gu 120 Bü. 316. For detailed sketches of ceiling 2b, see Fürst Carl v. Urach, Plafond im Atelier, Karl Mayer, July 4, 1898, StAS Nachlass Mayer 32; Palais Urach, Maurischer Plafond, Karl Mayer, August, 1898, StAS Nachlass Mayer 32. For a historic photograph, see StAS Nachlass Mayer 32.
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attests the shift of the international Alhambresque style to the exclusive domain of private display and its subsequent adaptation to the personal taste of the collectors. 3
From Private to Public –the Arab Hall in Madrid’s Armory Museum
A further development in the appropriation of the Alhambra for museological purposes can be observed in the case of the Sala árabe (Arab Room) of the Museo de Artillería, also known as Museo del Ejército, at the Palacio del Buen Retiro in Madrid.59 In contrast to the examples from Florence and Stuttgart discussed before, it represents a case of integration of a neo-Nasrid style room into a public museum. Designed by Sevillan sculptor and plaster decorator Manuel Castaños (lifedates unknown) and inaugurated in 1903,60 the room was conceived for the purpose of housing the collection of Maroccan arms, as well as weapons that allegedly belonged to the last ruler of Granada, Muḥammad xii (r. ah 887/891–897 / ad 1482/1486–1492), better known as Boabdil, which had been donated to the Spanish state by Dona María del Carmen Pérez de Barradas y Bernuy, Marquesa de Viana (1828–1901).61 The room was thus dedicated to the display of testimonies of Spain’s Islamic heritage and trophies of its recent territorial ambitions in North Africa, following the Hispano-Moroccan Wars (1859–1860 and 1893–1894) and had a great symbolic significance.62 Designed to commemorate the ‘memory of the Reconquista’, “el recuerdo de la Reconquista”,63 the room was situated on the first floor of the palace, next to the main hall of the building, the Salon del Reino –a place designed to glorify the power of the Spanish Monarchy during the reign of Felipe iv (r. 1621–1665). The layout consists of a central hall with two smaller lateral spaces (alcobas), both separated by muqarnas arches. Such arches, whose most typical embodiment one finds in the Lion’s Palace of the Alhambra, had become just as stereotypical for the Alhambresque as the horse-shoe arches of the
59 60
61 62 63
Museo del Ejército 1958, 37. The life and activity of Castaños is not well documented, expect for his work at the Casino de Murcia, were he was involved in the creation of several rooms, including an Arab Hall that presents a mixture of elements from the Alhambra and the Royal Alcázar of Sevilla. See Melendreras Gimeno 1995. Catalogo 1953, 211. See Martin-Márquez 2008. Catalogo 1953, 205.
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Mosque-Cathedral of Córdoba had for neo-Moorish architecture in general. Owen Jones’s Alhambra Court was a central starting point for the increase of the international visibility of these muqarnas arches not only in Great Britain but also in many other countries (fig. 16.7).64 The Spanish pavilions at international exhibitions, such as the 1878 World’s Fair in Paris, further promoted its popularity.65 Similar to the Blue Hall at Palais Urach and in contrast to Stibbert’s unpainted private showroom, the Sala árabe displays a very polychrome decoration whose color scheme more closely follows that of Nasrid architecture. Moreover, in Madrid, the material characteristics of the historic prototype has been more closely followed than in Stibbert’s Moorish hall, as the columns and capitals were carved from marble and the traditional mosaics of the dados (alicatados) made from ceramic tiles.66 With its lavish and colourful decorations, the Arab Room of Madrid’s Museo de Artillería exemplifies a different strategy for the display of weapons than those observed so far. Whereas in Stibbert’s Moorish Room Michele Piovano had integrated the armoury and weapons into the interior decoration by placing them under small, two-dimensional arches inspired by the Court of the Lions, now serving as frames instead of supporting structures (fig. 16.8), in Madrid, there is no tentative of dialogue between the interior decoration and the displayed artworks. Instead, the function of the neo- Nasrid stuccowork is to establish a colored background for the exhibition of trophies of Spain’s glorious past. The scenography was mainly based on several showcases for the display of weapons and costumes in Alhambresque style, which had been donated to the museum together with the Boadbil Collection, composed of a selection of Islamic weapons (fig. 16.9).67 Whereas showcases inspired by Nasrid style had also been used for the palace of the Countess of Lebrija in Seville mentioned above, these Madrid ones were much more refined. Their designs resembled small exhibition pavilions and alluded to Rafael Contreras’s controversial restoration of the eastern pavilion of the Court of the Lions at the Alhambra, which, although de-restorated by Leopoldo Torres Balbás in 1934, left a lasting mark on the collective memory
64 65 66 67
See chapter 18 in this volume. See chapter 4 in this volume. For a synthetic presentation on the subject, see for instance Calatrava 2015. For further information on the material composition of the mentioned room, see chapter 11 in this volume. The museum catalogue mentions that the Boadbil collection was made ‘together with the showcases that contains them’ (“en unión de la vitrina que los contiene”, Ariane Varela Braga’s translation). See Catalogo 1953, 211.
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of the building and influenced contemporary architecture and decorative arts in Spain and beyond.68 4
Museum Display and Alhambresque Style
What had started as part of the historicist movement in search of new interior design principles in the 1840s, entered the area of private museum display by mid- century. Promoted by internationally recognized exhibition pavilions such as Owen Jones’s 1854 Alhambra Court or Carl von Diebitsch’s 1867 Moorish Kiosk, the Alhambra style became a generic and comprehensive metaphor for the Islamic arts, which, as part of showrooms, allowed for the re-contextualisation of the artworks on display. As discussed in connection to Stibbert’s Moorish Hall, this even affected objects from Islamic regions other than al-Andalus. Being one of the most successful orientalising architectural languages of the 19th century, the Alhambresque style came to be seen as a generic representation of Islamic art. This way, it served as a powerful matrix, charged with different layers of meaning, including those of the bourgeois collectors, for whom the style and its aristocratic connotation echoed their own ambitions, or socio-political statements, as seen for the case of the Sala árabe in Madrid. 68
See Giese/Varela Braga 2017c, as well as chapter 18 in this volume.
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Illustrations
figure 16.1 Florence, Villa Stibbert, Moorish Room, 1889 source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / rabatti & domingie
figure 16.2 Florence, Synagogue, general view of the interior, 1874–1882 source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / rabatti & domingie
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figure 16.3 Florence, Palazzo Levi, Room in the Alhambresque Style, 1890–1893 (?) source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / rabatti & domingie
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figure 16.4 Stuttgart, Palais Urach, Arab Rooms, floor plan, E. Barth, 1924 source: © hstas gu 10 bü. 56
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figure 16.5 Stuttgart, Palais Urach, Arab Rooms, neo-Moorish style room (Blauer Saal), Karl Mayer, begun in 1893 source: © hstas gu 99 bü. 557b
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figure 16.6 Stuttgart, Palais Urach, Arab Rooms, neo-Mamlūk style room, Karl Mayer, begun in 1907 source: © hstas gu 99 bü. 557b
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figure 16.7 View of the Alhambra Court. Illustrated London News, 36.1038, 30 June 1860, supplement (private Archive)
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figure 16.8 Florence, Villa Stibbert, Moorish Room, detail of the framing devices, 1889 source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / rabatti & domingie
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figure 16.9 Madrid, Palacio del Buen Retiro, Sala árabe at the Museo de Artillería, around 1910 source: © museo del ejército
c hapter 17
Stylistic Eclecticism and its Oriental Languages Alhambrismo in St. Petersburg Katrin Kaufmann In May 1861, the brothers Heinrich (1835–1900) and Wilhelm Schneider (1839– 1921), two talented daguerreotypists from the Grand Duchy of Baden, arrived in St. Petersburg, where Prince Nikolai Iusupov the Younger (1827–1891) became their first client.1 Over ten days the Schneiders documented the palace at 94 Naberezhnaia reki Moiki that Nikolai Iusupov had redesigned with interiors in various styles. The resulting series of colored stereoscopic daguerreotypes contains two images of its so-called Vostochnaia gostinaia –the Oriental Living Room –that showed a multitude of exotic furnishings, including an eye- catching frieze and a peculiar column, oriental fabrics and carpets, weapons, and the portrait of a Persian Shah (fig. 17.1).2 While these images might indeed represent the earliest photographic representations of an Orientalizing room in Russia, such interiors actually were widespread at the time, with their numbers increasing in the following decades. Given the size and cultural diversity of the Tsarist Empire one would expect a variety of Orientalizing architecture that should be just as diverse as its many geographic, cultural, historical, and political contexts. Based on the author’s PhD dissertation, the scope of the following contribution, however, is limited to the architectural landscape of St. Petersburg alone: while many Orientalizing buildings and interiors once present in the city have in the meantime vanished, it still offers many instructive examples. The then Russian capital was a fertile ground for new architectural trends, not only because of its political status but also because it was home to the Imperial Academy of Arts, the country’s leading institution for the formation of future architects. Motifs of Islamic architecture had been introduced in Russia as early as the 1770s through picturesque garden pavilions in so-called turetskii stil’ (Turkish style). Mainly based 1 As for the Schneiders’ family business, see Geiges 1989; Wilder 2008. 2 Today the thirteen daguerreotypes are held at the Arkhangel’skoe Estate Museum, a former residence of the Iusupov family, about 20 km west of Moscow, see Garbar/Shamshimila 2004; Machugina 2014. For more on the Oriental Living Room at Iusupov Palace and its later transformation see Giese/Varela Braga et al. 2016, 1339–1341.
© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2021 | DOI:10.1163/9789004448582_019
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on examples of Ottoman architecture, the popularity of this style did not only highlight the intensity of the political contacts between the Ottoman and Tsarist Empires but also picked up fashionable trends in architecture and garden design with origins in England (fig. 17.2).3 Several decades later, Auguste de Montferrand’s (1786–1858) Moorish Pavilion (Pavillon Moresque, 1823–1824) in Catherinehof marked the emergence of a new Orientalizing style called mavritanskii stil’ (Moorish style) that instead featured structural elements and ornaments borrowed from the Islamic architecture of al-Andalus (fig. 17.3): Montferrand would add horseshoe arches to his design that resembled for instance those on the façades of the Mosque in Córdoba. Although this was the only motif from Islamic architecture the architect adopted, it was responsible for the building’s particular oriental twist. Turkish and Moorish were the most popular styles among Russia’s Orientalizing architecture whose use would, with a few exceptions, be restricted to interiors. It is, in retrospect, difficult to assert which one of these styles was more popular; yet since Turkish interiors were usually solely constituted by using appropriate furniture and textiles but rarely through fixed or lasting details, rooms in neo-Moorish style are preserved more frequently as their stucco decorations would remain even when the furniture changed. Among the landmarks on which architects would base their designs, there was one that stood out for being used more frequently than any other: the Alhambra of Granada. However, non-Russian scholarly literature so far has addressed these widespread and far-reaching adaptations of the Nasrid palaces in Tsarist Russia only little, and even in Russia the subject is rather marginal.4 Yet Russian Alhambrismo5 actually was a considerable phenomenon of stylistic eclecticism in St. Petersburg that, as a reaction to a demand for more individual designs of buildings and
3 Cp. the mosque-like pavilion on Count Zakhar Chernyshiov’s estate in Iaropolets and the turetskii kiosk (Turkish Kiosk) in Catherine ii’s Tsarskoe selo Residential Park. The former was an exact copy of William Chambers’s Mosque (1761) in Kew Gardens. On the Turkish style in Russia, see Spashchanskii 2009; Sosnina/Val’kovich 2017. 4 See the second chapter of Irina Andronova’s PhD dissertation on Orientalizing interiors in Russia (Andronova 2008, 42–170), as well as Korobova 2009. In their publications on the Muruzi House, Aleksandr Kobak and Lev Lur’e give an overview of the context in which neo- Moorish architecture was created, see Kobak/Lur’e 1988a; Kobak/Lur’e 1988b; Kobak/Lur’e 1990; Kobak/Lur’e 1996. 5 The term Alhambresque was already in use during the 19th century to describe designs derived from the ornamental decorations of the Alhambra, while the term Alhambrismo was introduced in musicology before Pedro Navascués applied it to architecture in the 1970s and 1980s, see Navascués Palacio 1973, 79, 93, 193.
350 Kaufmann furnishings, had replaced neoclassicism: At one time, there were at least fifty interiors and one façade with neo-Moorish elements in St. Petersburg. 1
The Reception of the Alhambra in St. Petersburg
It is a well-known fact that the revaluation and promotion of the Islamic heritage of the Iberian Peninsula that emerged in the second half of the 18th century, along with a general enthusiasm for Spain and its culture, had both been crucial for the development of Alhambrismo in architecture. Another important factor adding to the vogue were Washington Irving’s (1783–1859) influential Tales of the Alhambra (1832) that popularized the romantic idea of the Alhambra as a ‘fairytale palace’ and consequentially turned Granada into the main destination of the writers and artists who travelled to Spain in the 19th century. A Russian diplomat, Prince Dmitrii Dolgorukov (1797–1867), had joined Irving on his journey from Seville to Granada and would stay with him at the Alhambra between May and June 1829.6 Irving had been a popular figure in Russia already in the 1820s, and his texts were received with great excitement, which is why some of his Tales of the Alhambra had been translated almost immediately.7 It should therefore come as no surprise that, at the time, the Alhambra and Spanish culture were cherished by Russians in spite of the large geographical distance separating Spain and the Russian Empire. It is not possible to retrace any specific artistic developments of neo- Moorish style in Russia, yet what can be said with certainty is that the reception of the Alhambra evolved through different historic stages. This involved that the means through which any knowledge of its decorative forms was transmitted to Russia –a process that was of course fundamental for the gradual adoption of the Alhambra –had changed throughout the decades. These different stages will be described in the following together with examples of Russian neo-Moorish style that can illustrate these developments. In addition, 6 Due to the many graffiti visitors had left on the palace walls, Dolgorukov donated the first visitor’s book (libro de firmas) to avoid further destruction. It contains signatures and poems of visitors between 1829 and 1872; there is an online version: (accessed 9/20/2019). Irving recalled his Russian friend in the first chapter of his book, see Crayon [Irving] 1832, 3–4. After Irving’s death, Dolgorukov published the poem Ia znal ego (I knew him, 1863) in which he commemorates both, the writer and the Alhambra. 7 Two of Irving’s Tales of the Alhambra were published in 1832 in the periodicals Moskovskii Telegraf and Teleskop, another seven followed until 1834. Apart from this, a French translation of the book circulated as well, see Tiurin 2007, 26, 29–30, 36, 99–117.
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cited passages from contemporary literature will serve as cultural subtexts to complete the picture of how the Alhambra had been received in Russia. At the beginning of the 1830s, for instance, Nikolai Gogol (1809–1852), who had just moved to St. Petersburg, made an interesting suggestion in his essay On Present-Day Architecture while imagining what the city might look like in the future: There is a mine whose existence hardly anyone suspects. It is an utterly unique, special world whence Europe has taken the least of all. I mean oriental architecture. […] It is an architecture conceived for a life given over to pleasure, for providing man with cheerful, luminous abodes. […] Why would we not want to transplant them in our soil?8 Gogol’s controversial text was a harsh critique of contemporary architecture. Its publication in 1835 coincided with a time when Russia started exploiting the “mine” mentioned in the text more intensively.9 Before its publication, Gogol added a note to the essay, stressing that aesthetic sensibility had in the meantime improved all over Europe, so that there now even were Russian architects whose buildings could be regarded tasteful and original. Gogol made special mention of architect Aleksandr Briullov (1798–1877), whose architecture fully embodies the first phase of Alhambrismo in St. Petersburg and the reception of the Alhambra in Russia and to whom we will therefore turn to now. 2
Phase One: Early Neo-Moorish Interiors and Illustrated Publications on Nasrid Décor, ca. 1830–1845
Aleksandr Briullov10 was the first Russian architect to use structural elements and ornaments that clearly referenced the Islamic architecture of al-Andalus. 8
9 10
“Est’ rudnik, o kotorom edva tol’ko znaiut, chto on sushchestvuet; est’ mir sovershenno osobennyi, otdel’nyi, iz kotorogo menee vsego cherpala Evropa. Ėto –arkhitektura vostochnaia. […] Ėta arkhitektura kak-to imenno sozdalas’ dlia zhizni, otdannoi naslazhdeniiam, dlia vesiolykh, svetlykh zhilishch cheloveka. […] Pochemu by, kazalos’, nam ne perenesti ikh na svoiu pochvu?” Nikolai Gogol’ in Ob arkhitekture nyneshnego vremeni, from the anthology Arabeski (Arabesques), published in 1835 (accessed 9/20/2019). English translation by Thomas Campbell. It is disputed in what year exactly between 1831 and 1834 Gogol wrote the text, see Moore 2014, 42. For detailed comments on Gogol’s essay, see Keyes 2010; Moore 2014. For further information on the biographies and works of all architects mentioned in this contribution, see Kondakov 1915; Kirikov/Ginzburg 1996; Isachenko 1998.
352 Kaufmann The first examples thereof are two interiors, one for Iuliia Samoilova’s (1803– 1875) manor Grafskaia Slavianka (1830–1835) in Pavlovsk, and the other consisting of a neo-Moorish bathroom (1838–1839) in the Winter Palace for Empress Aleksandra Fiodorovna (née Princess Charlotte of Prussia, 1798–1860), built a few years later.11 It had, of course, only been possible to design such neo-Moorish interiors after detailed knowledge of the Alhambra had become available in Russia. Briullov, who had not visited the Alhambra in person, would base his drafts on publications, such as James Cavanah Murphy’s Arabian Antiquities (1815), while his neo-Moorish bathroom is a very early response to some of the plates in Jules Goury and Owen Jones’s (1836–1845) Plans, Elevations, Sections and Details of the Alhambra that had been published only shortly before.12 These brief observations helped to identify the main criteria of early Russian Alhambrismo and neo-Moorish style. While Romantic literature shaped the public image of the Alhambra, profound scholarly knowledge of Nasrid décor arrived in Russia through the illustrated publications that architects used as source material for their neo-Moorish designs.13 The same approach is found in the earliest extant example of a neo-Moorish interior in St. Petersburg on the second floor of the former villa of Aleksei L’vov (1798–1870) at 22 Karavannaia ulitsa, most probably built in 1841 when architect Al’bert Kavos (Alberto Cavos, 1800–1863) was reconstructing the mansion’s main wing.14 Many of its decorative elements have survived and display simplified versions of Nasrid originals, including narrow columns with neo-Nasrid capitals, imitations of Islamic transennae windows as well as a muqarnas frieze (figs. 17.4a–17.4b).15 Circular elements structure the ceiling based on Western design principles, whereas the desired Alhambresque touch was solely achieved by integrating eight-pointed stars and vegetal ataurique ornamentation. Although likewise
11 Briullov’s role as a pioneer of neo- Moorish style has been discussed earlier, see Kaufmann 2019b. 12 See Kaufmann 2018, 328–329; Kaufmann 2019b. 13 Among the earliest publications containing detailed pictorial materials on the Alhambra are the Antigüedades árabes de España (Madrid, 1787/1804) and Laborde 1812. The most important 19th-century publications on the Alhambra appeared until 1845. 14 Aleksei L’vov had been a violinist and composer and might have gotten to know architect Al’bert Kavos because he had been the son of a renowned composer and conductor from Venice, who had settled in St. Petersburg as musical director of the Imperial theatres. Kavos would specialize in the construction and acoustics of theatres. Among his works are the Mariinskii Theatre in St. Petersburg and the Bolshoi Theatre in Moscow. 15 The lower part of the walls had been hidden behind a protective panelling because the room had been used as a college classroom in recent years.
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inspired by contemporary Alhambra publications, this interior can be considered a much more original interpretation of Nasrid décor than Briullov’s, although the latter may have inspired Aleksei L’vov to commission an interior of this style for his villa. Being the Maestro of the Imperial Chapel and a frequent guest of the Tsar’s family, it is very likely that L’vov had seen the bathroom of the Winter Palace with his own eyes, especially since it was occasionally used as a representative environment for intimate get-togethers.16 A description of the Alhambra in the Khudozhestvennaia gazeta (Literary Gazette) from 1838 illustrates how much contemporaries were inclined to imagine it as an enchanted castle in line with Washington Irving’s Romanticism: “The palaces of the Alhambra, which could only be described in a fairy tale, differ from all the landmarks of antiquity and the Middle Ages in terms of their immense splendor and unique character.”17 Mikhail Zagoskin’s (1789– 1852) novel Toska po rodine (Homesickness), published little later in 1839, is another exemplification of the appeal that Spain and its Islamic heritage had in Russia. The story begins with Zagoskin’s hero dreaming of exploring the Orient, upon which he, to the astonishment of his friends, decides to travel to Andalusia –a choice he justifies with that he speaks no oriental language but Spanish, which he had learned to read Don Quixote in the original, whereupon he adds: Besides, I regard Spain as in every wise a new land as Persia, India, and China. Without leaving Europe, I shall see a wealth of things of which I hadn’t the foggiest notion. And what weather, my friend. What women! … And the ruins of the Moorish castles! And the orange groves!18 The notion of Spain as a yet unknown and –at least partially –oriental European country was widespread at the time, as were many other clichés about Spain. It is furthermore interesting to note that Zagoskin, who had never visited the country himself, obviously possessed information sufficient enough that it allowed him to create detailed and convincing descriptions of Spanish 16 17
18
See Zimin 2012, 402; Pashkova 2014, 259. “Ėti Al’khamrskie [sic] chertogi, kotorye tol’ko by i opisyvat’, chto v volshebnoi skazke, otlichny ot vsekh pamiatnikov drevnosti i srednikh vekov, svoim bezmernym velikolepiem i kharakterom, tol’ko emu odnomu prinadlezhashchim,” Khudozhestvennaia gazeta, 4, 1838, 138. “K tomuzh, Ispaniia budet dlia menia tochno takoi-zhe novoi zemleiu, kak Persiia, Indiia, Kitai, i ia, ne vyezzhaia iz Evropy, uvizhu t’mu veshchei, o kotorykh ne imeiu poniatiia. A kakoi klimat, moi drug! Kakie zhenzhchiny! … A ėti razvaliny Mavritanskikh zamkov! Ėti pomerantsovyia roshchi!” Zagoskin 1839, 14. English translation by Thomas Campbell.
354 Kaufmann cities, including the architecture and gardens of the Alhambra and the Genera life Palace in Granada.19 While it was hardly possible for any Russian to visit Spain or even the Alhambra in the 1830s, the number of travelers to the South European country would increase during the 1840s, thereby marking the begin of another stage in the history of the reception of the Alhambra in Tsarist Russia. 3
Phase Two: In-Depth Studies in Granada and the Manifold Use of Neo-Moorish Style, ca. 1845–1865
Among the most renowned Russians visiting Spain, and particularly Granada, during the 1840s were publicist Vasilii Botkin (1812–1869) and composer Mikhail Glinka (1804–1857), who both created artistic reproductions of things they had seen and heard in Spain.20 Another consequence of the fast-spreading enthusiasm for Spain and its Islamic heritage was that at least eight Russian architects traveled to Granada between 1845 and 1865 to study the Nasrid palaces in situ. This group mostly consisted of the top graduates of the Faculty of Architecture of the Imperial Academy of Arts who had been awarded one of the few travel grants that would allow them to continue their studies abroad for several years.21 One of them, Aleksandr Krakau (1817–1888), visited the Alhambra in 1848 and was, like most visitors, impressed by the architecture and the diversity of its –in his view –unusual decorations.22 For all we know he was the first Russian architect to have ever studied the Alhambra in detail. A large album of about sixty drawings, today held at the Scientific-Research Museum of the Russian Academy of Arts in St. Petersburg (NIMRAKh), bears witness to this
19 20
See Zagoskin 1839, 148–155, 173–178, 203–206. Botkin published his essays Pis’ma ob Ispanii (Letters on Spain) in the literary journal Sovremennik (The Contemporary) between 1847 and 1851, with a complete edition following in 1857. Glinka, who had studied Spanish folklore music and dance for two years, composed the overtures Aragonskaia khota (Aragonese Jota, 1845) and Noch’ v Madride (Summer Night in Madrid, 1848), thereby introducing Spanish motifs into Russian music. 21 Students with scholarships would first study various architectural landmarks before focusing on a single landmark and then draw a survey and graphic restoration or reconstruction of it. Rome and Paris were the main destinations of graduate architects until around the middle of the 19th century when it became possible for them to travel more and further abroad to widen their interests. On the Russian pensionerstvo see Gavrichkov 1993; Bogdan/Shuiskii 2000; Alekseeva 2007. 22 See rgia (Russian State Historical Archive), f. 789, op. 1, ch. 2 1848, d. 3407, l. 2.
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artistic endeavour.23 Many years after his return to St. Petersburg, Krakau would design a neo-Moorish dining hall for the mansion of Baron Alexander von Stieglitz (68 Angliiskaia naberezhnaia, 1859–1862, fig. 17.5). The comparison of the surviving stucco decorations with Krakau’s Alhambra drawings indicates that the architect must have used them as templates.24 Altogether three Russian architects devoted their final projects, which they were obliged to submit as part of their scholarships, to the Alhambra. While Pavel Notbek (1824–1877) for this purpose created drawings, models and plaster casts between 1852 and 1862, Karl Rakhau (1830–1880) and Karl Kol’man (1835–1889) compiled a graphic survey of the Tower of the Princesses (Torre de las Infantas) and drafted plans for its restoration between 1861 and 1863. Notbek, whose Alhambra-related oeuvre is discussed in more detail in c hapter 12, had justified the long duration of his stay with the large number of ornaments and vaults to be studied.25 By comparison, Rakhau and Kol’man explained their choice in much greater detail: In one of their letters to the Council of the Academy of Arts, they spoke of the “strange neglect” of Moorish style, furthermore asserting that any scholarly knowledge of it was still quite superficial when compared to other past styles, after which they concluded: It is clear that we, who have devoted so much of our precious time to studying the Moorish style and producing our work, never meant to make it the dominant style in our buildings, which should be nothing more than expressions of our beliefs and needs. Our day and age is not Moorish to the same extent it is neither Gothic, Roman nor Greek. We are obliged to study each of them [i.e. all styles, author’s note] and have them only as a base and point of departure when we apply architecture to our needs and aspirations. –That is why, acknowledging the Moorish style as equally worthy of study along with the others, we engaged in investigating it and thus making our contribution to art history’s progress.26 23 24
See NIMRAKh, А-25174-A-25235 and fig. 12.7 in chapter 12 of this volume. The stucco decoration has been repainted white in the meantime, and the whole building is currently under restoration. 25 See rgia, f. 789, op. 2 1854, d. 66, l. 1. 26 “Poniatno, chto my, posviativshchie stol’ko dragotsennogo vremeni na izuchenie mavritanskogo stilia i ispolnenie nashei raboty, ne imeli nikogda v vidu sdelat’ gospodstvuiushchim ėtot stil’ v nashikh postroikakh, kotorye dolzhny byt’ ni chem inym, kak vyrazheniem nashchikh ubezhdenii i potrebnostei. Nash vek stol’ko ne goticheskii, ne rimskii i ne grecheskii, nasha obiazannost’ izuchit’ kazhdyi iz nikh i imet’ tol’ko kak osnovanie i tochku, iskhodia pri primenenii arkhitektury k nashim potrebnostiam i stremleniiam. –Vot pochemu priznavaia mavritanskii stil’ odinakogo dostoinym izucheniia naravne s prochimi, my zanialis’ razrabotkoi sei s namereniem dobrosovestno ispolnit’
356 Kaufmann Both architects did not only stress that the Moorish style was worth studying; indirectly, they also confirmed that it could be occasionally used in contemporary architecture if required. Yet after their return to St. Petersburg, only Karl Rakhau –and not Karl Kol’man –would apply the style he had studied so intensively to his architectural practice.27 During this second phase of the Alhambra’s reception, the meticulous analysis of the monuments of Granada was a major priority for Russian architects. This inclination was not solely rooted in personal preferences and tastes: the Council of the Imperial Academy of Arts itself had for instance obliged Pavel Notbek to study the Islamic heritage of Spain during his journey abroad.28 By mid-century, Russia’s Hispanophilia had penetrated so many artistic genres, including literature, that Koz’ma Prutkov satirized it in a poem entitled Zhelanie byt’ ispantsem (The Desire to Be a Spaniard, 1854).29 Already the first verse makes explicit mention of the Alhambra and alludes to a variety of stereotypes associated with Spain at that time.30 Recollecting the previous examples of the period’s architectural Alhambrismo, it is important to point out that around the year 1860 neo-Moorish style would be used for interiors with very different functionalities. Its use for Baron Alexander von Stieglitz’s representative dining room was quite a unique choice in its time. But as the style would, in Russia, become more commonly applied to rooms with an intimate character,31 it seems surprising that it would eventually find its way into a private Orthodox chapel, designed by architect Harald Bosse (1812–1894) and installed at the mansion of the Bariatinskii family at 46–48 Ulitsa Chaikovskogo between 1858 and 1861.32 Vladimir
27 28 29 30 31
32
trud pered nami, prinosia tem nashu leptu v razvitie istorii iskusstva,” rgia, f. 789, op. 4 1864, d. 127, l. 1–2. English translation by Thomas Campbell. Some of Rakhau’s works in neo-Moorish style are mentioned in c hapter 22 of this volume. See chapter 12 in this volume. Koz’ma Prutkov was a pseudonym for a collective of four authors, Aleksei Tolstoi (1817– 1875) and his cousins Aleksei, Vladimir and Aleksandr Zhemchuzhnikov. The poem was published in the second 1854 issue of the Sovremennik. In other countries, similar neo-Moorish dining rooms would nonetheless be set up in palaces and hotels, e.g. in Egypt (former al-Ǧazīra Palace, today the Marriott Hotel in Cairo, architect Carl von Diebitsch, 1863–1864), Switzerland (the former Hotel National, today Hotel Schweizerhof in Zurich, architects Heinrich Honegger-Näf and Julius Bosshard, 1881, not preserved) or Germany (Hotel Halm in Constance, architect Otto Tafel, 1887–1888). Neo-Moorish style was widely used for Jewish places of worship since the inauguration of the synagogue in Dresden (architect Gottfried Semper, 1838–1840). For more on this topic see Künzl 1984. In contrast, the author is not aware of any other examples of Christian places of worship in neo-Moorish style.
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Bariatinskii (1817–1875), a nobleman and military officer, commissioned the St. Mary Magdalene Chapel to commemorate his deceased mother, Mariia Bariatinskaia (née Maria Wilhelmina Louise Keller, 1792–1858). Established at her former apartment on the second floor, neo-Moorish style had been chosen for the interior decoration of this chapel with its cross-shaped ground plan, with the exception of the iconostasis, which had been executed in Russian style (fig. 17.6).33 Similar to the Hall of the Two Sisters (Sala de las Dos Hermanas) of the Alhambra, squinches with muqarnas that together form an octagon had been used as a transitional space between room and cupola. The design of the cupola was based on Bosse’s own and original ideas: the dome was stuccoed and painted, with small openings piercing the walls, similar to those of a ḥammām, although not in the traditional star shape but executed as eight-lobed oculi. Furthermore, semi-circular niches covered with semi- domes were added to each side of the iconostasis behind lobed arches on columns with neo-Nasrid capitals. Bosse’s drawing shows the same alicatados (tile mosaics) in the lower wall zone that Briullov had previously planned for the bathroom of the Winter Palace. Both had based their ideas on the pattern as depicted in a plate in Jules Goury and Owen Jones’s Plans, Elevations, Sections and Details of the Alhambra.34 In contrast to the muqarnas frieze above the wall zone and the painted decorations of the semi-domes, these alicatados would never be realized. The chapel of Bariatinskii Mansion was not Harald Bosse’s first neo- Moorish interior. Already in the 1840s he had used the same style for a few single rooms of residential houses, whose construction and furnishing had become his specialization and trademark.35 There is no doubt that he was well-acquainted with Aleksandr Briullov’s neo-Moorish interiors, since he had been his assistant in the 1830s before starting his own business. Given the discussed examples, both Briullov and Bosse are to be regarded historically significant figures for the further development of neo-Moorish style in St. Petersburg. However, if seen in a wider perspective, the style remained a rather
33
34 35
The chapel was closed in 1917 and dissolved a few years later. Some of its structural elements are preserved, yet its decoration is lost. A few historic photographs prove that the interior had originally been implemented more or less in accordance with Bosse’s plans as depicted in his drawing, see for example garf (State Archive of the Russian Federation), f. 643, op. 1, d. 191, neg. lpr-38473a. For more on Harald Bosse and the Bariatinskii Mansion see Andreeva 2009 (especially 155–161); Andreeva 2012 (especially 122–133). See NIMRAKh, А-20621 and Kaufmann 2019b. Bosse had for example furnished a bedroom in neo-Moorish style for Ivan Pashkov’s residence at 39 Liteinyi prospect (1843–1845), yet only a few of its elements have survived.
358 Kaufmann marginal phenomenon in their respective oeuvres that was characterized by a broad stylistic diversity.36 Until 1865, neo-Moorish was only one of various Orientalizing styles present in St. Petersburg. Interiors and pavilions in so-called Turkish style were likewise common,37 as were many other Orientalizing interiors whose appearance cannot even be assigned to any specific Islamic tradition or that included a rich style-mix.38 The 1859/60 architectural competition for a new living room at the Winter Palace exemplifies the wide range of stylistic possibilities: drafts by Ippolito Monighetti (1819–1878), Ivan Gornostaev (1821–1874) and Nikolai Briullov (1826–1885) –albeit all of them unrealized –referenced Nasrid, Ottoman, Persian and Mughal architecture.39 4
Phase Three: The Neo-Moorish Style as Part of the Architectural Repertoire, ca. 1865–1917
The third phase of Russian Alhambrismo, which can only be touched on here briefly, spans the years between about 1865 and the October Revolution of 1917. Among the diversity of Orientalizing architecture, neo-Moorish style had, by then, become dominant. Studies, undertaken by architects in Granada, had supplemented previous Alhambra publications with more profound knowledge of the architecture and decorative details of the Nasrid palaces.40 The
36
37
38 39 40
Even though Aleksandr Briullov’s training was based on neoclassicist principles, he is considered one of the first architects of Russian historicism or eclecticism as even his earliest projects would apply several historicist styles to one single building, see for example Ol’ 1955; Mikishat’ev 2012; Guseva 2014. On occasion of Harald Bosse’s 200th anniversary a conference on historicism took place in St. Petersburg (see Arkhitektura ėpokhi istorizma 2012). For more on historicism or eclecticism in Russia see, for example, Kirichenko 1978; Punin 2011; Punin 2014. Cp. particularly the so-called Turkish Study of the Marble Palace (architect Aleksandr Briullov, 1848–1850) and the Turkish Bath (architect Ippolito Monighetti, 1848–1853) in Tsarskoe selo (today Pushkin). For more on these examples see Stepanenko 2002; Trubinov 2009; Toeseva 2014; Giese/Varela Braga et al. 2016, 1336–1339. For example, the so-called Aziatskaia komnata (Asian Room, 1851–1853) of the Catherine Palace in Tsarskoe selo. Long attributed to Ippolito Monighetti, it was proven in 2009 that it had originally been designed by Heinrich von Mayr (1806–1871), see Toeseva 2009. See NIMRAKh, А-7006 and Listov 1976, 77; NIMRAKh, А-11831; Relikviia, 31, 2014, 33. See chapter 12 for more details on this topic. Although some Russian architects still visited the Alhambra after 1865, they would not study it as attentively as Aleksandr Krakau, Pavel Notbek, Karl Rakhau and Karl Kol’man had. At the Academy, however, the students would still occasionally copy Nasrid decorations.
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result was that Alhambresque style had become essential for the repertoires of contemporary architects, making neo-Moorish interiors a conventional element in many palaces and mansions of St. Petersburg, as shall be demonstrated with the following examples.41 Some of the best-known early interiors of this phase are the boudoir of Vladimir Palace (26 Dvortsovaia naberezhnaia, architects Aleksandr Rezanov and Ieronim Kitner, 1867–1872, fig. 17.7) and the Cabinet of Villa San-Galli (62 Ligovskii prospekt, architect Karl Rakhau, 1869–1872, fig. 17.8). In contrast to some of their predecessors, these were works of architects who had first- hand, personal knowledge of the Alhambra, while other examples, such as the exceptional Muruzi House by Aleksei Serebriakov (24 Liteinii prospekt, 1874– 1877, figs. 17.9a-c),42 which, in addition to its unique interiors also incorporates façades with neo-Moorish elements, were built by architects who had acquired their knowledge of Nasrid decorations from within St. Petersburg only. By this time, the builders of neo-Moorish interiors were not only aristocrats but also merchants and factory owners –which was for instance true for the Brusnitsyny brothers, who installed a small Moorish room, probably a smoking room, next to the ballroom of their villa at 27 Kozhevennaia liniia (architect Anatolii Kovsharov, 1884–1886, fig. 17.10). While it had become a common trend to copy the Alhambra’s most characteristic elements, it was similarly frequent to remodel or blend them with elements alien to Spain’s Islamic heritage. That is why all the examples of this subchapter differ from the Alhambra as much as they do from each other, with many showing some very own pecularities. A characteristic feature of the neo-Moorish living room of Villa Derviz by Piotr Shreiber (33 Galernaia ulitsa, 1885, fig. 17.11), for instance, is the extensive use of gold leaf, while the interior of Villa Spiridonov by Vasilii Svin’in is a rare example for the use of tiles (58 Furshtatskaia ulitsa, 1895–1897, fig. 17.12). In contrast, the arches of the neo-Moorish interior at Villa van der Pals by Julius Ernst Kristian Johannsen (8–10 Angliiskii pereulok, 1901–1902, fig. 17.13) incorporates forms derived from Art Nouveau. The last neo-Moorish interior we know of was established at Villa Koenig around 1911 by Ieronim Kitner (A Pirogovskaia naberezhnaia). Although it seems that neo-Moorish fashion was already declining around 1900, it was the October Revolution that marked its definitive end.
41 42
Some of these examples are also discussed in chapter 22. On the use of neo-Moorish style for the façades of residential buildings, including the Muruzi House, see Kaufmann 2017.
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Learning from Alhambrismo
That Tsarist Russia embraced neo-Moorish style with so much enthusiasm might at first come as a surprise. Given its geographical location it would have seemed more likely for Russian architects to base their ideas on models derived from the traditions of their neighbors, such as the Ottoman Empire, or to borrow them from the architectural traditions of Russia’s ‘own Orient’, that is, its Central Asian colonies, such as the Timurids’ medieval buildings in Samarkand. A vital point for why the Alhambra had gained so much momentum was that it had, at the time, become a popular topic in many artistic and literary genres all across Europe, inspiring authors to write romantic literature and artists to create equally romantic paintings, but also motivating architects and scholars to pursue in-depth analyses that were often accompanied with rich pictorial materials. By comparison, the visual resources on Ottoman architecture available in Russia were much rarer, and even scarcer for Timurid architecture. It was not until the end of the 19th century that Russian scholars began studying the heritage of the Timurids in more detail, with the result that the very first building in St. Petersburg that included neo-Timurid elements in was erected in the early 20th century.43 Although it is true to say that the emergence of architectural Alhambrismo was based on the reception of Nasrid architecture in Western Europe, many of its earliest examples appeared in Russia, not in Germany or even Spain. However, it took many decades for the rediscovery of the Alhambra, which had started in the 18th century, to find a reflection in Russian architecture of the 19th and early 20th century. Given that neo-Moorish interiors in St. Petersburg were created over a period of roughly eighty years, their analysis cannot only help to gain a better understanding of the factors that had led to the rise and development of neo-Moorish fashion in Europe but also provide valuable information on the art-historical formation of and the techniques used by contemporary Russian architects. 43
A mausoleum in Samarkand had been one source of inspiration for the Mosque of St. Petersburg (7 Kronverkskii prospekt, architect Nikolai Vasil’ev, 1909–1921). On the appropriation of Timurid architecture in the early 20th century, including the example of the Mosque of St. Petersburg and the reasons for its choice, see Kaufmann 2020.
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Illustrations
figure 17.1 Heinrich and Wilhelm Schneider, St. Petersburg, Iusupov Palace on the River Moika, Oriental Living Room, 1861, colored stereoscopic daguerreotype, 7.2 x 10.4 cm. gmu Arkhangel’skoe, Mff-1172 source: © gmu arkhangel’skoe
figure 17.2 Unknown photographer, Turkish Kiosk in the Catherine Park in Tsarskoe Selo, ca. 1911. TsGAKFFD, G-17280 source: © tsgakffd
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figure 17.3 Auguste de Montferrand, Pavillon Moresque, ca. 1823, ink and watercolor on paper, 57.4 х 46.5 cm. NIMRAKh, А-5848 source: © nimrakh
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figure 17.4a St. Petersburg, Villa of Aleksei L’vov, Interior in neo-Moorish style, Al’bert Kavos, 1841 source: © nikita andreev
figure 17.4b St. Petersburg, Villa of Aleksei L’vov, Interior in neo-Moorish style, Al’bert Kavos, 1841 source: © nikita andreev
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figure 17.5 Luigi Premazzi, Dining Hall in the Villa of Baron Alexander von Stieglitz, 1871, watercolor and gouache on paper, 39.9 x 54.9 cm. The State Hermitage, or-44610 source: © the state hermitage
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figure 17.6 Harald Bosse, Chapel at Bariatinsii Mansion, 1858, ink and watercolor on paper. NIMRAKh, А-6275 source: © nimrakh
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figure 17.7 St. Petersburg, Vladimir Palace, Boudoir, Aleksandr Rezanov and Ieronim Kitner, ca. 1870 source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / katrin kaufmann
figure 17.8 St. Petersburg, Villa San-Galli, Study, Karl Rakhau, 1869–1872 source: © katrin kaufmann
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figure 17.9a St. Petersburg, Muruzi House, Gate to Yard, Aleksei Serebriakov, 1874–1877 source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / katrin kaufmann
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figure 17.9b St. Petersburg, Muruzi House, Staircase, Aleksei Serebriakov, 1874–1877 source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / nikita andreev, katrin kaufmann
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figure 17.9c St. Petersburg, Muruzi House, Detail of a wall of the Smoking Room, Aleksei Serebriakov, 1874–1877 source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / nikita andreev, katrin kaufmann
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figure 17.10 St. Petersburg, Villa Brusnitsyny, Smoking room, Anatolii Kovsharov, ca. 1885 source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / nikita andreev, katrin kaufmann
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figure 17.11 St. Petersburg, Villa Derviz, Living Room, Anatolii Kovsharov, ca. 1885 source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / katrin kaufmann
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figure 17.12 St. Petersburg, Villa Spiridonov, Interior in Neo-Moorish Style, Vasilii Svin’in, 1895–1897 source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / katrin kaufmann
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figure 17.13 St. Petersburg, Villa Van der Pals, Interior in Neo-Moorish Style, Julius Ernst Kristian Johannsen, 1901–1902 source: © katrin kaufmann
pa rt 5 Transmitting Islamic Aesthetics Across Centuries
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1 Architectural Transformation
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c hapter 18
The Fortune of the Court of the Lions and the Court of the Dolls Artistic Translations and Processes of Decontextualization Francine Giese and Ariane Varela Braga The Patio de los Leones or Court of the Lions, executed during the second period of Muḥammad v’s (r. ah 763–793 / ad 1362–1391) reign as the centerpiece of his newly created palace, known by specialists as Palacio del Riyāḍ (fig. 18.1),1 ranks among one of the most famous parts of the Alhambra. Described, depicted and reproduced by European artists, architects and photographers, the Nasrid patio has been the stage for oriental tales and exotic reveries ever since. Exactly this romantic imagery, however, has been a great obstacle for scientific approaches back then and, to some extent, still is even today. Even though the ornamentation and polychromy, the general layout and typological characteristics of the court have been study objects since the 19th century, the exact dating of the Court of the Lions and the Court of the Dolls (Patio de las Muñecas) at Pedro i’s (r. 1350–1369) private palace at the Alcazar of Seville (fig. 18.2), which shares many similarities with the former, is still a matter of debate.2 It therefore is difficult to assert with certainty if one of the palatial
1 Fernández-Puertas 1997a. 2 The main contentious point regards the persistence of the court with surrounding arcades and rooms on all four sides. While this disposition can be traced back to the Umayyad Patio de los Pilares of Madīnat az-Zahrāʾ, according to Antonio Almagro there was no subsequent use of such court schemes in al-Andalus until Muḥammad’s Court of the Lions, Almagro Gorbea 2008, 27. On the other hand, in Castile, the 13th-century patios of the Alcázares of Segovia, Guadalajara and Seville (Gothic palace of Alfonso x), as well as the reduced version without surrounding arcades at the palace of Don Fadrique in Seville (today Real Monasterio de Santa Clara), studied by Antonio Almagro Gorbea, Julio Navarro Palazón and Miguel Ángel Tabales, anticipate the Nasrid example and therefore may suggest an independent Christian reception of the Umayyad court scheme that could have influenced the Court of the Lions, see Navarro Palazón 2007; Almagro Gorbea 2008, esp. 57–104; Muñoz/Tabales 2011, 145–150; Almagro Gorbea 2013, esp. 26–27. This theory is contested by Juan Carlos Ruiz Souza, who emphasizes the Islamic roots of the Patio del Vergel of Tordesillas and the subsequently executed patio de los Leones, see esp. Ruiz Souza 1998. Our thanks go to Juan Carlos Ruiz Souza for sharing his point of view with us.
© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2021 | DOI:10.1163/9789004448582_020
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architectures might have been a prototype for the other. Although both palaces are considered outstanding examples of the artistic entanglement between Nasrid Granada and Castilian Seville, and even though their layouts and architectural features would be received as architectural models at least on local level, for example in the patios of 16th-century Seville’s Casa de Pilatos and Palacio de Lebrija,3 they would remain mostly unique monuments within the architectural landscape of medieval Iberia, with Pedro’s audience hall, located on the first floor of his palace in Seville, being one of the very few exceptions of a medieval re-interpretation of the Court of the Lions and the Court of the Dolls (fig. 18.3). As one of the main features of the Court of the Lions –and of its Sevillian sibling –, the court arcade follows a compositional scheme that had already been introduced to al-Andalus in the 8th century through the Umayyad mosque of Córdoba.4 The main elements of this arcade consist of composite supports of marble columns and superimposed brick piers, which frame a richly decorated zone with polylobed or muqarnas arches and sebka panels. For Pedro’s audience hall this general layout has been applied to an interior space and transformed into a two-dimensional wall decoration set onto a surface design following the layout of the monumental Ambassador Hall. This translation of the open court scheme into an interior architecture thereby anticipated later adaptations described further below. The complex interrelations between the artistic and chronological connections and local receptions as they appeared at the Court of the Lions and Court of the Dolls would be revived during the 19th century, when European travelers and local monument conservators made both architectural structures the center of a reawakened interest in Spain’s Islamic past. At that time, both patios, especially their stucco decorations, were in a deplorable state of conservation. The works required for their restoration intensified during and after the 1830s. Following a general trend in 19th-century monument conservation, described by Rafael Cómez Ramos as Romantic Historicism, “historicismo romántico,”5 large parts of the ornamental surfaces would be replaced by plaster casts.6 At the same time, these interventions heavily impeded on the
3 On the Palacio de Pilatos, see Lleó Cañal 2017, with further references. On the palace of the Countess of Lebrija, see Museo-Palacio 2002. 4 Giese 2014; Giese 2016a, 282–288, fig. 69b. 5 Cómez Ramos 2018, 187. 6 On the early restorations of the Court of the Lions, see Rodríguez Domingo 1998; Barrios Rozúa 2016. Restoration works in the Court of the Dolls started in 1833, see Chávez González 2004; Cómez Ramos 2018.
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original architectural layout of both patios. Between 1847 and 1856, the architect Juan Manuel Caballero (lifedates unknown) completely transformed the upper Renaissance gallery of the Court of the Dolls in Seville, whose original appearance Joseph-Philibert Girault de Prangey (1804–1892) depicted in his Monuments Arabes et Moresques de Cordoue, Séville et Grenade.7 During this intervention, Caballero replaced the patio’s upper arcade with an Orientalizing court façade based on plaster casts reproducing the surface ornamentation preserved on the ground floor and other rooms of the palace.8 In 1850, plaster casts of the Alhambra would substitute the previously applied stuccowork.9 The result was an eclectic mix of Mudéjar and Nasrid ornamentation. At the Alhambra, Rafael Contreras Muñoz (1824–1890) remodeled the eastern pavilion of the Court of the Lions in accordance with an earlier project proposed by architect Salvador Amador (1813–1849).10 Contreras consequently substituted the existing pyramidal roof with a hemispherical dome of glazed tiles that he furthermore surrounded with a belt of stepped merlons (fig. 18.4). As one of the most contested interventions of the Alhambra’s conservation history, the restitution of the eastern court pavilion, which Rafael would make widely known through his architectural models,11 was a significant contribution to the popularization of an Orientalized version of the Court of the Lions, which would henceforth become an important reference for subsequent replicas. 1
Owen Jones’s Alhambra Court and the Universalization of the Court of the Lions
The year 1854 marked a major step in making Western audiences acquainted with the Alhambra, especially the Court of the Lions, as this was the year when the Alhambra Court at the Crystal Palace of Sydenham was inaugurated. The Court had been created by British architect Owen Jones (1809–1874), 7 8 9 10 11
Girault de Prangey 1837–1839, “La Giralda et l’Alcazar de Séville”, pl. 5. Chávez González 2004, 73–74; Cómez Ramos 2018, 184, 188–189. Cómez Ramos 2018, 189–190. Salvador Amador, Informe facultativo del estado actual de la Alhambra de Granada, Granada, December 23 1846, 3, agp, 12014/13. Most notable are the models from 1852 held at the Escuela Técnica Superior de Arquitectura de la Universidad Politécnica de Madrid (etsa-u pm) and from 1866–1868 at the Victoria and Albert Museum in London, museum n. 927–1900. Partial versions are conserved at the Stibbert Museum in Florence, dating to approx. 1860, Inv. 5515 and in the collection of the Museum of the Royal Academy of Fine Arts in St Petersburg, mid-19th century (?), Inv. am-507, see Giese/Varela Braga 2017c, 98–105, figs. 5–6.
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nicknamed ‘Alhambra Jones’,12 who had been one of the first to appreciate the monument for its architectural features alone, thereby surpassing previous Romanticizing connotations of enchantment and chivalry and offering the first sober and rational analysis of its basic structures and decorations. His seminal work carries the title Plans, Elevations, Sections and Details of the Alhambra and is based on studies he had undertaken together with his colleague Jules Goury (1803–1834). Published between 1836 and 1845, it succeeded in changing the European perception of the Nasrid palace complex, which would soon after become a central cornerstone for its inclusion to the pantheon of universal architecture.13 The decorative scheme Jones had created for the Crystal Palace at the 1851 Great Exhibition in London had been a great success and a demonstration of a modern application of the Alhambra’s polychrome decorative system. Next, the architect would go about a major didactic project: the establishment of a universal museum in Sydenham, South London. This idea had been born from the need of finding a way to reuse the first Crystal Palace while at the same time enlarging and transforming it into a location for permanent exhibitions.14 At this second Crystal Palace, Owen Jones and his fellow architect Matthew Digby Wyatt (1820–1877) displayed a series of architectural structures known as the Fine Art Courts or Architectural Courts, which were intended to evoke the history and progression of styles. The Courts were located on the northern part of the Crystal Palace and divided into two alleys; along the western axis one would find an Egyptian, Greek, Roman, and the Alhambra Court, all designed by Jones, whereas Wyatt had been responsible for the Byzantine, Medieval, Renaissance and Italian Courts along the eastern axis. This panorama of historic styles was completed by a Pompeian and an Assyrian Court. Overall, these spaces illustrated a three thousand-year-long history of the arts and were further categorized as either pagan or Christian. Kathryn Ferry and Juan Calatrava furthermore note15 that what set the Alhambra Court apart from the others was that it was the only construction at Sydenham devoted to an Islamic style and the only one based on one single historic building alone.16 This exceptionalism had been inspired by Jones’s biography, who valued the 12 13 14 15 16
Ferry 2004, 97. On the history of the publication, see Darby 1974, 42–55, Galera Andreu 1992, 180–207, and Ferry 2003, 175–188. After a long period of neglect, this second Crystal Palace has become a new research object in more recent years. See Piggott 2004; Moser 2012; Nichols 2015. Ferry 2007, 228; Calatrava 2015, 21. According to the original plans, the Pompeian and Alhambra Courts were conceived as refreshment rooms; see Darby 1974, 337.
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Nasrid palaces as the apex and epitome of Islamic art in general. As an Islamic architectural structure once captured by the Catholic Kings, the Alhambra furthermore provided the perfect transitional space between the two alleys of the Courts, symbolizing the conceptual shift from pagan to Christian arts as well as their intersection. An equal surface of approximately 100 square meters had been assigned to all courts. This modular layout meant that Jones had to arrange and adapt his reconstruction of the Alhambra in line with the space available. Accordingly, the Court had never been planned as an exact copy but rather as an artistic re- creation of the Alhambra, as Jones himself asserts: The limited space at our command, and the necessity to perform in a few months what with the Moors was doubtless a work of years, has prevented our doing more than reproduce some of the interesting features of these remains; and in making our selection, we have endeavoured to utilize the space at our command so as to unite as far as possible whatever could best recall the main features of the original, and at the same time convey the most useful lessons.17 Jones divided the ground plan of the Alhambra Court into two equal-sized main sections. The first half was the most spectacular and showcased a downsized version of the Court of the Lions. Evoking an atmosphere of the past, visitors would be able to stroll between the colonnades, around the patio, and listen to the water flowing from the central Fountain of Lions, a full-size reproduction by Swiss sculptor Raffaele Monti (1818–1881). The second half of the court was again subdivided into two equal-sized areas, with the first consisting of the Hall of Justice (now known as Sala de los Reyes), whereas the second was split into the Hall of the Abencerrajes (Sala de los Abencerrajes), a Cast Room and a room furnished with divans. Hence, the Court was in no way intended as a facsimile of the Nasrid monument or of any of its parts; instead, it clearly differed from the original in terms of its floor plan, size, and ornamentations.18 Notwithstanding these differences, Jones was keen to point out the quality and faithfulness of his recreation, which he had based on his architectural drawings and the “collection of plaster casts and impressions on unsized paper” he had gathered during his second stay in Granada in 1837.19 Thanks to this material, all ornaments had been “carved, moulded, cast” and fixed by a team 17 18 19
Jones 1854, 30, author’s italics. See Ferry 2007; Calatrava 2010 and Varela Braga 2017b. Jones 1854, 3.
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of British craftsmen working under Jones’s close guidance.20 The casts and drawings themselves were exhibited at the Court as well, allowing visitors to compare the ornaments on site. Even though Jones was conscious about the differences, which he explicitly pointed out in his guidebook to the Court,21 it would nonetheless be often regarded as an accurate reproduction of the original and a perfect representation of Islamic architecture. The Court of the Lions occupied most space and therefore drew most of the visitors’ attention. Due to spatial limitations, the number of arches had been reduced, the famous court pavilions omitted and many ornaments simply repeated in different parts. To make it easier for his audience to compare both buildings, Jones included to his Guidebook plans and elevations of the Alhambra’s Court of the Lions and his re-creation at the Crystal Palace (figs. 18.5-18.6). A closer look at the long section of the Court allows for a more detailed analysis of Jones’s transformations and adaptations: he simplified the rhythm of the arches by reducing them to those labeled A/B/C/E/F and omitting the last three arches (G/H/I).22 The short sections of the court, in the original building the location of the famous Alhambra pavilions, were replaced with five reiterated double-column arches (D). One of Jones’s greatest modifications consisted in the exclusion of the pavilions, which he instead transposed to the richly adorned, exterior façade he had composed by concentrating elements from different parts of the Alhambra palaces into one single place. Historic photographs of the Court (fig. 18.7) and statements by Jones confirm that the center doorway of the façade had been intended to reproduce the muqarnas arches of the Hall of the Mocárabes (1), whereas the designs of the two side doorways had been based on the arches of the pavilions of the Court of the Lions (2).23 This way Jones had not only been able to provide a new view of the Nasrid palaces, with color and ornament pervading the interior and exterior; he had also succeeded in decontextualizing a specific element of the interior –the muqarnas arches –by changing them into ornaments suited for the exterior
20 21
22 23
Jones 1854, 3. In the Guidebook to the Court, he presented his reflections on a general state of decadence in the arts and an analysis of the aesthetic principles of the Alhambra. Jones firmly believed that these principles should be followed in order to improve contemporary ornament and decorative arts. The architectural features of the Court of the Lions and in particular the rhythm of its arcades has been the object of a close study by Georges Marçais, see Marçais 1957, 99–102. Jones 1854, 60 and 62.
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of buildings, especially their façades. By detaching the arches from their original contexts, they received more prominence, to the effect that they would eventually become symbols for the entire monument itself. What furthermore supported this process was that most images of the Alhambra Court disseminated at the time in single photographs or the illustrated press privileged exterior views of the Court, its ornamented façades, muqarnas arches, and its fountain.24 Before its final destruction in 1936, the Alhambra Court of the Crystal Palace had attracted thousands of visitors and would thus develop a great impact on the popularization of the building and its architectural elements, which would thereafter be perceived as key features of Alhambresque decoration in general. The Stalactite Gallery of the Villa of Sammezzano in Italy attests the great popularity of the style (fig. 18.8).25 Designed by Ferdinando Panciatichi Ximenes d’Aragona (1813–1897), who had visited the Crystal Palace at Sydenham in 1864, this gallery incorporates a series of arches similar to those of the Alhambra Court (fig. 18.7, n. 1). Another example with similar features is the Sala árabe of the Museo del Ejército at Madrid’s Palacio del Buen Retiro (fig. 18.9).26 Designed by sculptor and stucco decorator Manuel Castaños (lifedates unknown) and inaugurated in 1903, this Arab Room is entirely polychrome, a trait it shares with both Panciatichi’s Gallery and Jones’s Court. Two of its arches were based on the side entrances of the Alhambra Court (fig. 18.6, n. 2), yet in this case adorn the entrance to two lateral spaces (alcobas). Both examples show how muqarnas arches would be applied to interiors, but they would be used for exteriors as well. The façade of the villino Villegas (demolished c. 1950), the Roman home and studio of Spanish artist José Villegas Cordero (1844–1921) is one example thereof. Built between 1887 and 1890 by Sicilian architect Ernesto Basile (1857–1932),27 its exterior included a central muquarnas arch with Nasrid capitals, which were clearly meant to allude to the original Court of the Lions. Moreover, the simpler arches employed for the interior patio and the muqarnas arches for the exterior are distinguished in a way that is quite similar to how Jones had differentiated both for his Alhambra Court (fig. 18.10). However, in this case two small decorative oculi had been added to the muqarnas arches that make them look ‘domesticated’ and ‘Italianized,’ with the whole structure resembling a Renaissance loggia.
24 25 26 27
Varela Braga 2017b, 79–81. Varela Braga 2017b, 82–83. Museo del Ejército 1958, 37. De Simone 1999; Tabbal 2019; and chapter 9 in this volume.
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From Exterior to Interior: the Court of the Lions in 19th-Century Spanish Residential Architecture
In 19th-and 20th-century Spain, the Court of the Lions was equally popular among members of the aristocracy and wealthy bourgeoisie, who would incorporate the open court scheme into their palaces and residential homes.28 These two to three-floor buildings would be constructed around a central courtyard, which Ignacio González-Varas has identified as a common feature of Madrid’s palatial architecture.29 One of the earliest replicas of the Court of the Lions in the Spanish capital was the covered courtyard of Montijo Palace, which the Countess of Montijo (1794–1879) had conceived as a place for social gatherings (fig. 18.11). Also known as La Serre, Rafael Contreras executed its interior design between 1855 and 1858.30 Given Rafael’s profound knowledge of the Nasrid original,31 the imprecision by which the main features of the Court of the Lions had been reproduced for this hall seems the more striking. Whereas the stuccowork and twin columns with their characteristic shaft rings were both based on the original building, the court arcade’s rhythmic sequence, along with its arches and sebka panels had been simplified considerably. Especially noteworthy is the absence of the muqarnas arches that had contributed to the international success of Owen Jones’s Alhambra Court. Moreover, for the palace in Madrid the open patio has been transformed into an interior with an iron and glass roof, the latter of which would soon after become a constant element of 19th-century replicas, not only in Spain but also abroad.32 In contrast to Pedro i’s medieval re-interpretation of the open court scheme, however, the Serre stands for a then-changed reception of the Islamic architecture of al-Andalus. Although it is true that Pedro’s audience hall shows a similar shift from the exterior to the interior, the approach of 19th-century architects differs fundamentally and would involve a translation of the traditional disposition of medieval prototypes. In 19th-century Madrid, the Nasrid patio had long since become a solely architectural and decorative motif completely detached from its original 28 29 30 31 32
Rodríguez Domingo 1996, vol. 1, 348–355. González-Varas Ibañéz 2010b, 204. On Madrid’s palatial architecture, see Navascués Palacio 2010 and González-Varas Ibañéz 2010a, 147–207, with further references. See chapters 8 and 18 in this volume, as well as El nuevo domiclio 1886; Panadero Peropadre 1992, 879–880; Panadero Peropadre 1994, 37; Rodríguez Domingo 1996, vol. 1, 341, vol. 2, 163, 173. Contreras Muñoz 2007 [1885], 235–244. See for instance the neo-Moorish Hall of the Eberhardsbad in Bad Wildbad, executed in 1896–1897 by Eisenlohr & Weigle, Giese 2017b, 65–70.
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cultural meaning and context. The popularized version of the Court of the Lions had become too strong to allow for a more liberal, more contemporary re-interpretation. Instead, a reduced and slightly altered version of the patio would be used to express the social status of members of the elite.33 While one-story replicas of the Court of the Lions would be found across Europe during most of the 19th century, in Spain the two-story solution with either an open gallery or interior court façade on first floor level was dominant. Although it seems likely, it can only be assumed that the contemporary reception had been influenced by the formal similarities between the Court of the Lions and Court of the Dolls, along with the enthusiasm of 19th-century artists and architects for both patios.34 The patios of the Xifré and Anglada Palaces in Madrid, built in 1862–1865 and 1878, respectively, are particularly noteworthy in this regard, as well as replicas in Catalonia and Cartagena from the late 19th and early 20th century. The patios for entrepreneurs José Xifré Downing (1822–1868/69) and Juan de Anglada y Ruiz (b. 1829) were created by two major protagonists of the Moorish Revival –Rafael Contreras and French architect Émile Boeswillwald (1815–1896)35 –and entail an ambitious program adopting trends that at the time had become fashionable in other European metropoles such as London (figs. 18.12-18.13). This influence becomes even more obvious by comparing Rafael Contreras’s early reception of the Nasrid patio at Montijo Palace with his later re-interpretation at Anglada Palace.36 Whereas the Serre stands for a mainly national reception of historic prototypes, the patio of Anglada Palace refers to models outside of Spain that had shaped the perception of the Court of the Lions and contemporary replicas thereof. In his review of the 1895 33
34
35 36
The use of historicist languages, among them neo-Moorish style, in Madrid’s 19th-century palatial architecture became an important factor especially for the increasing number of palaces and hotels of the financial aristocracy, who seized the opportunity to appropriate a glorious past to which they, obviously, had never belonged, González-Varas Ibañéz 2010a, 151. It should be noted that although it is in some cases difficult to clearly attribute it to either the Court of the Lions or the Court of the Dolls, what is certain is that the design of the upper arcade is based on a variation of the corresponding lower court arcade rather than on a conscious juxtaposition of Nasrid and Mudéjar models as suggested by Nieves Panadero and González-Varas, see Panadero Peropadre 1994, 37; González-Varas Ibañéz 2010b, 203. See chapters 8 and 11 in this volume. On the mentioned palaces and their patios, see Navascués Palacio 1973, 265–267; Panadero Peropadre 1992, 881, 890–892; Panadero Peropadre 1992, 37; Rodríguez Domingo 1996, vol. 1, 349, 350–351; González-Varas Ibañéz 201a, 162–163; González-Varas Ibañéz 2010b, 89–91, 200–205; Ordieres Díez 2015.
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Exposición artística at Anglada Palace, José Ramón Mélida questioned the idea of the patio árabe as a faithful copy of the Nasrid original.37 Even though Rafael Contreras had indeed based his 19th-century re-creation on Alhambra casts, the general layout of the court arcade and the choice of arches at Anglada Palace indicates that the designs for the court had actually been based on another source –Jones’s Alhambra Court, which by the time had become an influential model even for 19th-century architects and patrons in Spain. Other architectural examples from Europe and elsewhere demonstrate how much the reception of the Nasrid patio would gradually detach itself from the Alhambra. Moreover, they also attest that and how Jones’s modifications of the historic prototype eventually became the default model for many reproduced versions of the Court of the Lions.38 An important prerequisite of this development was the increasing de-contextualization of the architectural space and its components as illustrated by the Xifré and Anglada patios. For these courtyards the interior and exterior façades, as well as the spectacular arches of Jones’s famous replica had been used as prototypes to be re-arranged in correspondence with the architect’s ideas. Moreover, the muqarnas arches of these courts were manifestations of the patrons’ ambitions to adapt and adopt the latest artistic trends cultivated in the most important cultural centers. Unlike the more intimate Serre, the Xifré and Anglada patios were conceived as the representative centers of their respective palaces. Merging historic and contemporary references, particularly the emblematic Court of the Lions, the two-story layout of the Court of the Dolls and of Jones’s 1854 Alhambra Court, was a means for José Xifré and Juan de Anglada to proudly display their cosmopolitanism. Similar tendencies of recombining references taken from various sources are observable in Catalonia as well. One of the most spectacular examples is the extravagant re-creation of the Nasrid patio at Villa Hispanoárabe on the foothills of Tibidabo Mountain in Barcelona, built in 1893 by Catalan architect Manuel Vega y March (1871–1931) on behalf of Teresa Miguez Borrego (1858– 1898).39 The court arcade of this integral reinterpretation of the Nasrid original shows an uninterrupted sequence of muqarnas arches (fig. 18.14). A more faithful reproduction of the Court of the Lions, however, is the eclectic villa La Giralda in L’Arboç (Tarragona), built by industrialist Joan Roquer Mari (lifedates unknown) in 1902 to commemorate his honeymoon trip through 37 38 39
“A propósito del patio árabe, conviene deshacer un error que está rodando como bola de nieve: se dice y repite que es reproducción fiel del famoso de los Leones, de la Alhambra. Nada más inexacto,” Mélida 1895, 336. See for instance Varela Braga 2017b, 79–83; Emparán Fernández 2018. For a detailed description of the mentioned villa, see Beltrán Catalán 2015.
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Andalucia (fig. 18.15).40 Unlike the majority of the residential examples previously discussed, the Alhambresque open-air patio at La Giralda incorporates the central fountain of the Court of the Lions. Another, third, variation of the Nasrid court scheme is the Edificio Alhambra at calle Berlinés 5 in Barcelona, built for the German physician Otto Streitberger (life dates unknown) around 1890 as a gift for his Andalusian wife Rosario Pequeño.41 It belongs to a vast group of residential houses constructed around a central Alhambresque courtyard and covered with either a dome or a glass-and-iron construction –that had made its appearance in the newly urbanized neighborhoods (ensanche) of the Catalan capital as of the 1870s.42 By taking a closer look at the patio of the Edificio Alhambra (fig. 18.16), it becomes apparent that its reduced size, the regularly arranged arches and uniform sebka panels, the absence of twin columns and Nasrid shaft rings, as well as the disposition of the upper court façades do not follow the Nasrid original that gave the building its name, but instead refer to the Court of the Dolls. This is remarkable insofar as Pedro I’s Mudéjar patio would usually have been identified with an aesthetic language that, for the most time, had been foreign to the region. For as José Manuel Rodríguez Domingo has pointed out, Catalonia, unlike other parts of the Iberian Peninsula, had been exposed to the cultural and artistic traditions of al-Andalus only very little.43 Given this lack of direct influences during the Middle Ages, the increase of neo-Moorish buildings and interiors in Catalonia in the 19th century, especially after the Hispano-Moroccan War of 1859–1860, might thus be less regarded as the offspring of Iberian traditions than as the reaction to a then prevalent international fashion.44 Catalan architects would even export the Alhambresque style to other Spanish regions such as Murcia. Víctor Beltrí’s (1862–1935) Alhambresque patio at Casa Zapata in Cartagena, created in 1909 for Miguel Zapata Hernández (1879–1912), an influential member of the local mining industry, for instance proves that the Nasrid tradition remained an important reference point for Catalan architects.45 A typewritten 40 41 42
43 44 45
Rodríguez Domingo 1996, vol. 1, 352, vol. 2, 155. Rodríguez Domingo 1996, vol. 1, 351, vol. 2, 145; Cadafalch 1994 306. Noteworthy are the Palacio Mercader and the Casa Almendro, built by Jerónimo Garnell i Mundet in 1871, or the slightly later Goytisolo and Taltavull Houses, executed in 1874 by the master builder José Xiró Jordá, see Rodríguez Domingo 1996, vol. 1, 350, vol. 2, 127, 138, 139, 140; Cadafalch 1994, 304–305. Rodríguez Domingo 1996, vol. 2, 126. On the Islamic Revival in Catalonia, see Revilla 1984; Rodríguez Domingo 1996, vol. 2, 126–156. Víctor Beltrí, Proyecto Hotel D. Miguel Zapata, Cartagena, December 1909, amc, CH01703- 00007. The project has been accepted on May 31, 1910 by the Comisión de Ensanche y Saneamiento, on June 6, 1910 by the Inspección municipal de sanidad del primer distrito
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report signed by Zapata and Beltrí further specifies that the spatial distribution of the building followed the common 19th-century disposition,46 with public rooms located on the first floor and private rooms on the second.47 In accordance with the aforementioned specifics of 19th-century building practices, the central, two-story courtyard would be furthermore covered with a glass-and-iron construction (fig. 18.17). Casa Zapata can best be described as a modernist building, yet with a strong neo-Gothic tonality pointing towards the Catalan School, and it was furthermore drafted during a period when Beltrí’s oeuvre experienced stylistic and compositional rejuvenations.48 It therefore seems quite astonishing that Beltrí had chosen an Alhambresque patio to serve as the functional and compositional center of his state-of-the-art building. Bringing together the vibrant modernist appearance of the building’s shell and the nostalgic Alhambresque language of the patio furthermore highlights the limitations of neo-Nasrid architecture. As a historicist reproduction of a 14th- century prototype and mainly based on the ornamental qualities of the Court of the Lions, Beltrí’s patio lacks the potential for further artistic development as observed in the rest of the building. 3
Pavilions and Fountain: Evocative Symbols and the Representation of National Identity
Apart from its general outline, other characteristic elements of the Court of the Lions, particularly the court pavilions and the central fountain, were considered equally emblematic and became widespread during the 19th century thanks to many depictions in the illustrated press. Such popular representations helped shape the public perception of the building and its parts, and to evoke the exotic atmosphere of the Nasrid patio.49 Two important displays in
46 47 48 49
and finally authorized by the municipal council (Ayuntamiento) on June 8, 1910, amc, Licencia de obra de la casa Zapata, CH01703-00007. On Víctor Beltrí, see Pérez Rojas 1986, 416–453; on Casa Zapata, see Navascués Palacio 1993, 341–342; Rodríguez Domingo 1996, vol. 2, 213; Pérez Rojas 1986, esp. 434–435. Miguel Zapata and Víctor Beltrí, Memoria, Cartagena, April 21, 1910, amc, Licencia de obra de la casa Zapata, CH01703-00007. González-Varas Ibañéz 2010b, 203–204. Pérez Rojas 1986, 434. A great number of replicas of the Fountain of the Lions had been inspired by Owen Jones’s Alhambra Court and immediately followed its first introduction. For it, the original alabaster basin, famously sitting on the backs of twelve lions carved in white marble, had been reproduced in full size by Swiss-born sculptor Raffaele Monti (1818–1881), see
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Spain’s capital demonstrate how much attention the pavilions and fountain of the Court of the Lions received during the 19th century, the Pabellón Real (Royal Pavilion) of the 1883 Exposición Nacional de Minería, Artes Metalúrgicas, Céramicas, Cristaleía y Aguas Minerales on the one hand, and the Salón or Patio árabe (Arab Hall or Patio) on the other, with the latter having been installed at the National Archaeological Museum of Madrid at the end of the 19th century. Both were linked to two important protagonists of Spanish art history, Ricardo Velázquez Bosco (1843–1923), an architect and professor at the Escuela de Arquitectura de Madrid,50 and Rodrigo Amador de los Ríos y Villalta (1849– 1917), the son of José Amador de los Ríos and head of the Medieval Department of the National Archaeological Museum. To illustrate the extraordinary nature of both displays for Madrid’s history requires further explanations: While the 1883 fair has been described by José Sierra Alvarez as the first modern national industrial exhibition in Spain, “la primera exposición nacional moderna de la industria española,”51 the Arab Court at the National Archaeological Museum formed a part of the renewed display of one of the country’s most prestigious institutions.52 Given Velázquez Bosco’s later position as inspector of the Alhambra’s restoration works and his pro-conservationist approach,53 it is rather surprising to note that he chose Rafael Contreras’s contested restitution of the eastern pavilion of the Court of the Lions as the prototype for the Royal Pavilion (fig. 18.18).54 This Alhambresque exhibition hall was located on the banks of a pond at Madrid’s Buen Retiro Park,55 which made for a picturesque setting, as had already been the case for Contreras’s remodeled Nasrid pavilion. In fact,
50 51 52 53 54
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Jones 1854, 75; D’Agati 1854, Deckers 2017; Bacchi 2018. In contrast, the reception of the court pavilions would start much later, see Giese/Varela Braga 2017c, 101–103. Baldellou 1990, 201. On Ricardo Velázquez Bosco’s impact on the history of Madrid’s Escuela de Arquitectura, see Prieto González 2004, 487–494. Sierra Alvarez 1987, 256. For a contemporary account on the 1883 exhibition, see Cortázar 1883. On the museum’s relocation to calle Serrano, the preceding exhibitions of 1892–1893, as well as the installation of the Patio árabe, see Rodrigo del Blanco 2017; González Pérez 2017, vol. 1, 469–487. Vílchez Vílchez 1990; Baldellou 1990, 157–184; Giese 2016a, 204–208. Rafael Contreras’s intervention has been in the center of numerous contributions dealing with the restoration history of the Alhambra, see for instance, Torres Balbás 1935; Alvarez Lopera 1977, 30–31, Vílchez Vílchez 1988, 235, 262, 501–518; Rodríguez Domingo 1998, 237, 240, 243; Vílchez Vílchez 1999, 53–66; Giese/Varela Braga 2017c, esp. 99, with further references. See the general plan of the exhibition area with indications of the various pavilions provided by Cortázar 1883, pl. 14.
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Orientalizing pavilions such as those in Granada and Madrid were attractions for tourists and other visitors alike who sought a Romantic backdrop for photos and souvenirs.56 The National Archaeological Museum’s Patio árabe embodies a basically different attitude by emphasizing Spain’s ambivalent relation to its Islamic heritage (fig. 18.19). Exhibiting original pieces as well as plaster casts and architectural models of the most important buildings of al-Andalus, some of which had been crafted by the Contreras workshop,57 the Arab court had been intended as a means to introduce the country’s Islamic heritage to a broader public. Special attention was given to the Alhambra, which was not only present through original pieces and architectural models, but also a life-size reproduction of the Fountain of the Lions. The latter has been installed on January 9, 1894 at the center of the Patio árabe by Mariano Contreras Granja (1853–1912), Rafael Contreras’s son and his successor at the Alhambra.58 Without the surrounding court arcade, the fountain had been re-invented in terms of a decontextualized and autonomous architectural element, offering the public a popular and easy-to-understand symbol for representing the era of al-Andalus. However, a significant number of items displayed at the Patio árabe had originally belonged to Mudéjar buildings in Toledo, León, Baena, Zaragoza and Seville, thereby reaffirming José Amador de los Ríos’s theory of Mudéjar architecture as a Christianized version of Ibero-Islamic art.59 While in the rest of Europe Alhambresque style had reached the status of a transnational fashion during the 19th century, although mostly limited to exoticism and Romanticism, in Spain it was the subject of ideological concerns that not only affected the country’s architectural practices and art history,60 but also the ways in which it would display the country’s heritage, especially when it came to integrating its Islamic past into a convincing narrative of national identity.61
56
57 58 59 60 61
For a contemporary photo of the Eastern court pavilion of the Alhambra, see for instance one by an unknown photographer (ca. 1900) depicting a disguised family group posing in front of it, Piñar 2003, 131. For a postcard of the Pavillón Real, see Hauser y Menet’s no. 1705, Madrid: Retiro, Templete árabe, 1904, mhm, Inv. 1991/001/0883. Revilla Vielva 1932. man, Archivo, 1894, exp. 2. See also Revilla Vielva 1932, 81, no. 208; González Pérez 2017, vol. 1, 280. See Bueno Fidel 1987, 58; Urquízar Herrera 2009–2010, 213–215, as well as chapter 1 in this volume. See chapter 4 in this volume. On this point, see for instance Hertel 2012.
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Architectural Transformations in 19th-Century Europe and the Spanish Exception
Although constructed almost simultaneously during a period of intense artistic exchanges between al-Andalus and the Crown of Castile and León, the Court of the Lions and Court of the Dolls actually represented exceptions within the architectural landscape of medieval Iberia. Unlike polylobed arches, rib vaultings and sebka ornamentation,62 the general layouts of both patios would be applied to local architecture only, and it would not be before the middle of the 19th century that European architects would adapt both patios more frequently in the course of a newly sparked admiration for the Islamic and Mudéjar heritage of Seville and Granada. Only after the open court scheme had been transformed to an interior space would Alhambresque patios become integral parts of the palatial architecture of the 19th and early 20th century. Initially, neo-Nasrid patios would usually be restricted to an exclusive circle of aristocrats, wealthy amateurs and entrepreneurs, whereas the broader public would learn of the Alhambra through contemporary re-interpretations displayed at national and international exhibitions as well as through the illustrated press. We can thus observe two largely independent modes of re-interpretation of historic prototypes, with the first being exclusive, grandiose and extravagant and the second more popular, colorful and sensational. The Court of the Lions and its architectural features, on the other hand, reached the status of national emblems in Spain’s ongoing process of identity-building during the 19th and early 20th centuries, for which the establishment of national and international fairs, along with museum displays, played a crucial role. 62
See chapters 13, 19 and 20 in this volume.
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Illustrations
figure 18.1 Alhambra, Court of the Lions, 1362–1391 source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / thomas scheidt, christian stein
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figure 18.2 Seville, Alcázar, Palace of Pedro i, Court of the Dolls, 1356–1366 source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / thomas scheidt, christian stein
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figure 18.3 Seville, Alcázar, Palace of Pedro i, Audience Hall, 1356–1366 source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / thomas scheidt, christian stein
Artistic Translations and Processes of Decontextualization
figure 18.4 Alhambra, Court of the Lions after 1866, Jean Laurent y Cia Madrid source: © amtub, inv. no. 6338
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figure 18.5 Owen Jones, Plan of the Court of the Lions in the Alhambra and its reduced version in the Alhambra Court. Jones 1854, 66–67
figure 18.6 Owen Jones, Elevations of the Court of the Lions in the Alhambra and its reduced version in the Alhambra Court. Jones 1854, 68
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figure 18.7 Philip Henry Delamotte, The Alhambra Court in the Crystal Palace of Sydenham, 1854, albumen print from collodion negative source: © london, victoria and albert museum
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figure 18.8 Regello, Villa of Sammezzano, Stalactite Gallery, Ferdinando Panciatichi Ximenes d’Aragona, after 1865 source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / rabatti & domingie photography
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figure 18.9 Madrid, Palacio del Buen Retiro, Sala árabe of the former Museo del Ejército, Manuel Castaños, ca. 1903 source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / THOMAS SCHEIDT, CHRISTIAN STEIN.
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figure 18.10 Ernesto Basile, Elevation of the villino Villegas, 1887 source: © rome, archivio storico capitolino
Artistic Translations and Processes of Decontextualization
figure 18.11 Madrid, Montijo Palacio, La Serre, Rafael Contreras Muñoz, 1855–1858. La Ilustración Española y Americana, xx, 30 May 1886, 332
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figure 18.12 Madrid, Xifré Palace, Alhambresque patio, 1862–1865, historic photograph from 1900–1920, Madrid, Fot. Lacoste. source: © biblioteca regional de madrid, 728.8(460.271) palacio de xifré (084.12)
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figure 18.13 Madrid, Angalda Palace, section, Emilio Rodríguez Ayuso/Rafael Contreras Muñoz, 1878. Anales de la construcción y de la industria iii, 1878, pl. 21
figure 18.14 Barcelona, Villa Hispanoárabe, Alhambresque patio, Manuel Vega y March, 1893 source: © institut amatller d’art hispànic. arxiu mas
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figure 18.15 L’Arboç (Tarragona), La Giralda, Patio de los Leones, 1902, historic postcard source: © oficina de turismo de l’arboç
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figure 18.16 Barcelona, Edificio Alhambra, patio, ca. 1890 source: © institut amatller d’art hispànic. arxiu mas
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figure 18.17 Cartagena, Casa Zapata, Alhambresque patio, Víctor Beltrí, 1910 source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / thomas scheidt, christian stein
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figure 18.18 Madrid, El Buen Retiro, Pabellón Real, Ricardo Velázquez Bosco, 1883 source: © museo de historia de madrid, inv. no. 2001/0 38/0 033
figure 18.19 Madrid, Museo Archeológico Nacional, patio árabe source: © madrid, muséo arqueológico nacional
c hapter 19
Domes Reinvented
Changing Meanings and Artistic Translations of Ibero-Islamic Rib and Muqarnas Vaults Francine Giese Ibero-Islamic architecture is famous for its spectacular vaulting technique, with the star-shaped rib vaults of the Umayyad mosque of Córdoba (figs. 19.1a-c) and the intricate muqarnas domes of the Alhambra’s Lions Palace (figs. 19.2a-b) belonging to the most important exponents. Both vault types were used in preeminent spaces dedicated to the glorification of sacredness and power.1 Whereas in the Cordobese mosque four rib vaults, dating to the second half of the 10th century, are located within the maqsura and the first compartment of the central nave (Capilla de Villaviciosa) of al- Ḥakam ii’s 962–971 (ah 351–360/361) prayer hall extension,2 the Court of the Lions, which lies at the center of the corresponding palace and was built during the second reign of Muḥammad v (r. ah 763–793 / ad 1362– 1391), is surrounded on all four sides by halls with monumental muqarnas vaults, which range among the most striking and best preserved examples of the Islamic World.3 Islamic rib and muqarnas vaults were charged with a higher cultural meaning that emphasized the significance of particular spaces within buildings that were conceived as stages for religious and secular rulers, e.g., the Umayyad Caliph, who would present himself beneath the rib vaults of the Cordobese maqsura during Friday prayers. In this case, not only the rib vaults but the entire architectural disposition of the maqsura contributed to the sacredness of the space, which was located in front of the sumptuous mihrab and composed of a sequence of three centralized compartments separated from the rest of the prayer hall by an arcade of intersecting arches.
1 For more on this issue, see for instance Ruiz Souza 2000b; Feliciano/Ruiz Souza 2017, 10–14. 2 [Giese-]Vögeli 2000; Giese[-Vögeli] 2007, 90–106, 166–168; Giese 2016a, 145–156. 3 Ibrahim 2002, esp. 170–201; Pavón Maldonado 2004, 795–865.
© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2021 | DOI:10.1163/9789004448582_021
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A Shared Artistic Language: Ribbed Vaults and muqarnas Domes in Medieval Iberia
According to Juan Carlos Ruiz Souza, centralized spaces such as the Umayyad examples just described, witnessed an unexpected afterlife in the Christian territories of the Iberian Peninsula, during a time when the long tradition of centralized chapels and royal halls had been interrupted in the rest of Europe and would not make its comeback before the Renaissance.4 Numerous examples, especially from 14th-century Castile, have survived that not only include centralized plans but also the star-shaped rib vault once introduced to the peninsula through Córdoba’s Umayyad mosque. Overall, they reflect the unexpected departure from contemporary tendencies in Europe by reinforcing genuinely Iberian, especially Islamic, traditions instead. In fact, even after their establishment in the 10th-century, the Cordobese rib vaults remained important references within al-Andalus and the wider Islamic West as attested by the reinterpretations of the Umayyad models prevalent during the taifa, Almoravid and Almohad periods.5 Moreover, during the 11th century, the transfer of the Cordobese prototype from mosques to palaces can be observed for the oratories at the palace complex of the Aljafería in Zaragoza, built by Abū Ǧaʿfar Aḥmad i al-Muqtadir (ah 437/438–474 / ad 1046–1081), or the Capilla de Belén, an open pavilion at the former palace of Toledo’s taifa ruler Yaḥyā i al-Maʾmūn (ah 434/435–467 / ad 1043–1075), today the Convento de Santa Fé (fig. 19.3).6 Whereas the original vaulting of the Aljafería was destroyed during post-Islamic times, the much smaller and more modest structure of the Capilla de Belén entails a link between the monumental mosque of Córdoba and the intricate stucco vaults of Almoravid times.7 The association with religious and secular power remained an important aspect for these later examples and was even kept alive in the Kingdom of Castile and León, where centralized spaces covered by rib vaults are documented since the 12th century. Yet contrary to their Islamic counterparts, these vaults, intensively studied by Antonio Momplet Mínguez and María de los Angeles 4 Ruiz Souza 2001c, 10–11. 5 On the spread of the Islamic rib vault in post-Umayyad times, see [Giese-]Vögeli 2000; Ruiz Souza 2001c, 12–13; Giese[-Vögeli] 2007, 110–122; Giese 2018d, 210–212. 6 On the Aljafería, its post-Islamic reuse and architectural adaptations, see Iñiguez Almech 1948; Iñiguez Almech 1964; Ewert 1978; Iñiguez Almech 1980; Cabañero Subiza 1998. On the Capilla de Belén, see Calvo Capilla 1999b; Calvo Capilla 2002 and Calvo Capilla 2004. 7 Most noteworthy are the Almoravid domes of the Qubba Barūdiyyīn in Marrakesh (1109–1117) and the Great Mosque of Tlemcen (1135), see Giese[-Vögeli] 2007, 110–116, 170; Marcos Cobaleda 2015, 139–165; Almagro Gorbea 2015d.
412 Giese Utrero Agudo, are characterized by massive stone ribs with simplified designs that resemble those of Toledo’s nine-domed mosque at Bāb al-Mardūm (El Cristo de la Luz), built in 999/1000 (ah 390) and conceived as a ‘copy’ of those of Córdoba’s mosque.8 Their existence seemingly indicates a deliberate decision of Christian architects and their patrons to turn to these –by the time already archaic –examples of Toledo’s local architecture in order to use them as templates for new churches and chapels while at the same time disregarding the ongoing formal and technical changes of the rib vault taking place in the Islamic territories of the Iberian Peninsula and the Maghreb. Even more, once adopted, the rib vault would remain in the same early stage of its development for the next 200 years, lacking any effective attempt for artistic renewal. This might be one of the reasons why, in spite of their strong Islamic tonalities, the churches of San Millán (mid-12th c.) and Vera Cruz in Segovia (before 1208), San Miguel de Almazán in Soria (last third of the 12th c.), as well as that of the monastery Santa María de Armenteira (Pontevedra, early 13th c.) or the Talavera chapel of Salamanca’s Catedral Vieja (ca. 1200) are usually attributed to Romanesque architecture. For such cases the terminology of Románico andalusí, as introduced in this volume,9 might open a new path for a more comprehensive understanding of the different artistic layers of such vaultings, along with their architectural and socio-cultural contexts. The peculiar case of the Ascension Chapel, located on the northern side of the claustrillas, the smaller one of two cloisters of the Royal Monastery of Santa María la Real de las Huelgas in Burgos, on the other hand, evidences that there was another prevalent current within Castile’s medieval architecture that openly welcomed and adopted contemporary trends of Islamic architecture (fig. 19.4). Due to its function as the pantheon of the Kingdom of Castile this Cistercian convent, founded by King Alfonso viii (r. 1158–1214) and his wife Leonor of England (1161–1214) in the mid-1180s,10 is valued as one of the most important monasteries of the Iberian Peninsula.11 Even though there are textual sources corroborating these dates of foundation, the Ascension Chapel ranks 8 9 10 11
See esp. Momplet Mínguez 1992a, Momplet Mínguez 1992b, Momplet Mínguez 2000 and Utrero Agudo 2009. On the mosque at Bāb al-Mardūm and its rib vaults, see Ewert 1977, esp. 298–307; Giese[-Vögeli] 2007, 107–110, 170–171. See chapter 1 in this volume. According to Pablo Avella, contrary to the official date of foundation in 1187, the works on the complex began already in 1185, see Avella Villar 2008, 35. On Las Huelgas and its function as royal pantheon of the Crown of Castile and León, see for instance Sánchez Ameijeiras 1998; Karge 1999; Vestiduras Ricas 2005; Gómez Bárcena 2005; Alonso Abad 2007; Palomo Fernández/Ruiz Souza 2007; Avella Villar 2008; Alonso Álvarez 2013.
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among one of the most debated structures of medieval Iberia, especially since its exact function, correct stylistic attribution and foundation remain matters of ongoing controversies.12 Its stuccowork comprise of a tripartite muqarnas vaulting, sebka and ataurique decorations, along with a wide-spanned arch with a mixtilinear profile in the entrance section and a star-shaped rib vault above the centralized main space, which all undoubtedly show Almohad characteristics and make for one of the most contentious aspects of its architecture. To speak of a purely Islamic structure without taking into account its Christian patronage and its location within Castile and León, as Leopoldo Torres Balbás has done in the fourth volume of the Universal History of Spanish Art –Ars Hispaniae from 1949, would therefore go too far.13 It is still an open discussion whether the stuccowork actually dates from the founding period of the monastery, the 1180s, or if it was executed later, after the conquest of Seville in 1248, as Juan Carlos Ruiz Souza and Pablo Avella Villar have suggested.14 If the latter is true, it would have been King Alfonso x (r. 1252–1284) who would have commissioned an Almohad workshop to remodel the previous chapel in line with Seville’s prevalent artistic vocabulary. Provided the correctness of this assumption, the stuccowork of the Ascension Chapel would thus anticipate the translocation of artistic practices and visual languages from Seville to the northern territories of Castile and León, as seemingly confirmed by the royal palace of Tordesillas (today Royal Convent of Santa Clara), which Alfonso xi (r. 1312–1350) founded around the middle of the 14th century.15 A comparison between the rib vault of the Capilla Dorada in Tordesillas (fig. 19.5), a centralized chapel with strong Umayyad references,16 and the impressive group of Mudéjar lacería vaults from Seville17 reveals the same tendency of increasing the number of crossing ribs to yield an ornament-like composition. 12 13 14 15
16 17
See Avella Villar 2008, 37–8, with further references. Torres Balbás 1949a, 39, 268. Ruiz Souza 2001c, 16; Avella Villar 2008, 60. Ruiz Souza 1998; Ruiz Souza 2005; Almagro Gorbea 2007a, esp. 255–263; González Hernández 2007; Almagro Gorbea 2013, esp. 31–5; Gumiel Campos 2016, with an overview on the historiographical debate concerning the dating, attribution and reconstruction of the former palace. Ruiz Souza 2007, 214. Angulo Iñiguez 1932, 139–47. Even though the described vaults are younger than the dome of the Capilla Dorada, the lacería vault was used only sporadically across the northern territories of Castile, while in Seville, they were part of a widespread tradition. Diego Angulo therefore interprets the dome of Tordesillas, along with further examples from the monastery of Mejorada de Olmedo (second half of 15th c.) and the Convento de la Concepción Francisca in Toledo (1422), as echoes of the Seville school, “un reflejo de la escuela [sevillana]”, Angulo Iñiguez 1932, 143.
414 Giese The growing importance of the former Almohad capital as a new political and cultural center of Castile is emphasized by a third royal commission, this time, concerning the interior of the former Umayyad mosque of Córdoba.18 In this case, Enrique ii of Trastámara (r. 1369–1379) authorized the building of a royal burial chapel for his father Alfonso xi (r. 1312–1350), who had been interred at the cathedral of Seville against his dying wish, and for his grandfather Fernando iv (r. 1295–1312), who had been entombed in Córdoba in 1312 (fig. 19.6).19 The two-story chapel consists of a lower vaulted substructure and an elevated upper chamber, located in the East of the 10th-century compartment known as the Capilla de Villaviciosa, which after the conquest of the city by Fernando iii (r. 1217–1252) in 1236 would be used as the presbytery of the adjacent Christian nave. It is furthermore noteworthy that the general disposition of Enrique’s funerary chapel, as well as its proximity to the presbytery, followed burial traditions previously introduced in Alfonso x’s funerary chapel of Seville Cathedral, the former Almohad mosque, for his father Fernando iii and his mother Beatriz of Suabia (1198–1212).20 This two-story chapel would become an exemplary prototype for the Kings of Castile and León until the early 15th century, as testified by other royal burial chapels, such as those by Sancho iv (r. 1284–1295) in Toledo, Pedro i (r. 1350–1369) in Seville (later destroyed) and Enrique ii in Córdoba and Toledo.21 In Enrique’s chapels, the star-shaped rib vault as a marker of sacrality was replaced by a muqarnas dome, an architectural element that, according to Juan Carlos Ruiz Souza, originally had similar connotations. Besides, the use of muqarnas vaults for burial chapels in Córdoba and Toledo furthermore attests to the influx of new artistic trends from Seville, which is remarkable especially because of a general absence of muqarnas vaults in Christian palaces. On the other hand, we can observe a deliberate choice of exactly this vaulting type for Castilian royal burial sites, a trend that culminated in the reuse of a Nasrid muqarnas dome for the original resting place of the Catholic Kings, Isabel i of Castile (r. 1474–1504) and Fernando ii of Aragón (r. 1479–1516) at the former Monastery (ex-convento) of San Francisco in the Alhambra.22 In contrast, the dome of Enrique’s Cordobese chapel had
18 19 20 21 22
On the growing importance of Seville for the genesis of the modern state, “la Génesis del Estado Moderno”, see Ruiz Souza 2011b, 590–595. Ruiz Souza 2006a; Nieto Cumplido 2007, 460–466; Giese 2018b. There has been much debate on the date and attribution of Enrique’s Cordobese chapel as well, see for instance Amador de los Ríos 1882; Ortiz Juarez 1982; Ruiz Souza 2001b; Carillo Calderero 2009. Ruiz Souza 2006a, 10–12. Ruiz Souza 2006a, 14–15. Ruiz Souza 2000b, esp. 18–21; Ruiz Souza 2018b.
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passed through a local filter, resulting in a unique combination of ribbed and muqarnas vaults emulating the Umayyad vault in the adjacent Capilla de Villaviciosa and translating it into the visual language of the 14th century. Moreover, through their transposition from stone to stucco, the intersecting polylobed arches and intermediary muqarnas surfaces reinforce the transmaterial capacities of Islamic architecture.23 With its intricate Nasrid surface ornamentation and the integration of a Latin inscription, coat of arms and symbolic representations of castles and lions alluding to the Kingdom of Castile and León, Enrique’s Cordobese chapel represents a creative reinterpretation and hybridization of various historic references that ingeniously blends local traditions and foreign vocabularies. Likewise, it demonstrates how familiar medieval artisans and patrons had been with the different idioms of Iberia’s entangled artistic landscape as carriers of transcultural meanings and aesthetics. It might seem surprising that it was particularly this hybrid reinvention of the Umayyad rib vault at the Capilla de Villaviciosa that attracted the attention of 19th-century European artists and architects. While its 10th-century model would remain hidden behind a Baroque plaster vault until 1880,24 travelers would admire and depict Enrique’s chapel and its composite vault as of the 1830s, as is confirmed by the many book illustrations, sketches and paintings of this period by artists such as Alexandre de Laborde (1773–1842), Joseph- Philibert Girault de Prangey (1804–1892),25 architects Carl von Diebitsch (1819–1869) and Christian Friedrich von Leins (1814–1892),26 or German painter Wilhelm Gail (1804–1890).27 In turn, the massive Umayyad rib vaults of the three-partite maqsura would be depicted only rarely. Girault de Prangey’s illustrations for his 1837–1839 and 1841 publications, as well as colored plates of the 1879 Monumentos latino-bizantinos de Córdoba, a part of the larger publication project Monumentos arquitectónicos de España, were some of the few exceptions, showing at least the central maqsura dome.28 Given the outstanding importance of the Umayyad models for the further development of 23 24 25 26
27 28
For more on this issue, see chapters 21–23 in this volume. Nieto Cumplido 2007, 272. Laborde 1812, pl. xv; Girault de Prangey 1837–1839, Mosquée de Cordoue, pl. 2. Carl von Diebitsch, Gewölbe in der Capilla Real der Moschee-Kathedrale von Córdoba, 1846–1847, pencil on cardboard, amtub, Inv.-Nr. 41555; Christian Friedrich von Leins, Córdoba, Mosque-Cathedral, Capilla Real, exterior view, 1853/1854, pencil on paper, Stuttgart, University Library, Lein 059. Wilhelm Gail, Die königliche Kapelle in der Kathedrale von Córdoba. Einzug eines Kardinals, 1879, oil on canvas, Berlin, Galerie Volker Westphal. Girault de Prangey 1837–1839, pl. 8; Girault de Prangey 1841, pl. 6; Amador de los Ríos 1879, unnumbered.
416 Giese medieval architecture throughout the western Mediterranean, the smallness of the response might seem startling. One reason might be that 19th-century travelers had a predilection for the richly decorated wall surfaces of Nasrid architecture that led to an excessive enthusiasm for the Alhambra, which in the imagination of Westerners would be perceived as an epitome of romantic reveries and oriental tales.29 Nasrid ornamental design had been made known across Europe through book illustrations, paintings and photographs,30 and it certainly was this familiarity with the architecture and ornamentation of the Alhambra that had also guided the attention of Western travelers toward Enrique’s chapel. Even though the aesthetic impact of its vault is undeniable, it has so far not been possible to identify any 19th-century reinterpretations. Similarly, the star-shaped arrangement of the Umayyad vault was far less popular than the spectacular muqarnas vaults of the Alhambra. In 1852, Rafael Contreras Muñoz (1824–1890), commissioned by Queen Isabel ii (r. 1833–1868), had completed an impressive replica of the dome of the Hall of the Two Sisters for the Arab Cabinet of the Royal Palace in Aranjuez, whereas Owen Jones helped popularize Nasrid muqarnas domes with his 1854 Alhambra Court, in which he had introduced a reduced version of the Abencerrajes dome to the general public.31 Ever since, muqarnas vaults would become standard elements of Alhambresque interiors throughout Europe. 2
The Rib Vault of Sammezzano’s White Hall: An Unexpected Trajectory
This, however, would not be the case for neo-Moorish rib vaults, which would be integrated into Orientalizing interiors only rarely. Their transfer differed strongly from that of the Middle Ages: instead of providing a comprehensive understanding of the borrowed motifs and architectural elements from within their original contexts, historic references would be detached and decontextualized from their artistic and cultural realities. Likewise, the diffusion and appropriation of Ibero-Islamic architecture and ornamentation would turn into a global phenomenon based on different trajectories and modes of reception. An interesting example is the monumental dome of the so-called White Hall at Villa Sammezzano in Reggello, a castle-like structure located some 40 29 30 31
See for instance Galera Andreu 1992; Barrio Marco/Fernández Bahíllo 2014; Galera Andreu 2018. Giese/Varela Braga 2017b. Jones 1854, 85–86.
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km south-east of Florence.32 It belonged to the Ximenes d’Aragona family, who at the end of the 16th century had migrated from the Iberian Peninsula to Tuscany. Between 1843 and 1887, Marquis Ferdinando Panciatichi Ximenes d’Aragona (1813–1897), a wealthy aristocrat, amateur and politician, rebuilt and enlarged what had been his family’s country retreat in line with his extravagant vision of an Oriental refuge. The octagonal ballroom, executed around 1863–1867,33 dominates the eastern half of the villa and evokes a direct appropriation of one of the most successful interior schemes of al-Andalus, that of a centralized space covered with a star-shaped rib vault as previously described (fig. 19.7). The White Hall is entirely covered in stucco ornamentation and connected to the surrounding rooms through eight archways. Its vertical outline consists of three main zones, starting with a sequence of eight intersecting ogee arches on ground level with lavish muqarnas decorations. A superimposed gallery opens to the central space through eight polylobed arches and serves as a transitional space between the intersecting arches on the first floor and the central dome. The latter is arranged in a star-shape of intersecting ribs and crowned with a small octagonal vault with a central pendant boss and eight star-shaped oculi filled with stained glass. The vault is furthermore surrounded by eight cartouches with Gothic inscriptions referring to different virtues.34 This eclectic combination of neo- Gothic and neo-Moorish elements is characteristic for Sammezzano’s decorative program and highlights its uniquely hybrid version of 19th-century historicism. As discussed elsewhere, the artistic legacy of al-Andalus was not the only Islamic source from which Ferdinando drew his designs,35 but the reception of the rib vault in Sammezzano is unique nonetheless. Whereas Mamlūk, Persian and Moghul motifs were largely copied from contemporary book illustrations,36 the trajectory of the star-shaped vault had a different origin, since throughout his entire life Ferdinando Panciatichi had never visited Andalusia and his extensive library did not include any books with illustrations of the lateral Cordobese maqsura vault reproduced in the White Hall.37 Furthermore, 32 33 34 35 36 37
Cerelli 2000–2001; Cerelli 2014; Godoli 2014; Varela Braga 2018. See also c hapters 9 and 21 in this volume. The dating is based on inscriptions in the White Hall and in a low service room above the dome, into which the exterior shell extends. pax / prudenzia / iustizia / libertas / fortitudo / misericordia / clemenzia / temperantia. Varela Braga 2018, esp. 295–299, with further references. This is discussed in more detail in chapter 21. Ferdinando acquired a volume of Girault de Prangey’s 1841 Essai sur l’Architecture des Arabes et des Mores en Spagne, en Sicilie et en Barbarie in 1852 and a second copy of the
418 Giese neither the Capilla de Belén nor the Capilla Dorada in Tordesillas had been accessible to 19th-century travelers. The oratory of the Aljafería in Zaragoza, on the other hand, shows the closest parallels to Sammezzano, especially due to its vertical disposition and the existence of an intermediary gallery between the intersecting arches on ground level and a star-shaped rib vault. As discussed before, the original dome, however, is lost. So, from where could Ferdinando have received his inspiration? For an answer to this question one has to leave the Iberian Peninsula and turn to Italy, where the Theatine monk and architect Guarino Guarini (1624–1683) had adopted the Cordobese rib scheme for the Baroque church of San Lorenzo in Turin (fig. 19.8). Built between 1668 and 1680 in the immediate vicinity of the palace of the Dukes of Savoy, the exterior of San Lorenzo follows the general outline of the palace’s façade, while the interior surprises with an octagonal layout that culminates in a wide- spanned rib vault with astounding similarities to the lateral maqsura vaults of Córdoba (fig. 19.1c). To explain the transculturation of one of the most popular vaulting types of al-Andalus to the Piedmont, it is necessary to take a closer look at Guarini’s biography. As a Theatine monk, the Modena-born architect had taken the road between 1656 and 1660, which would lead him as far as Prague and, most probably, Lisbon. Because of this itinerary we can assume that Guarini, while traveling to Portugal, will also have made halt in Córdoba to visit the Mosque- Cathedral. Despite the lack of confirming evidence, the close formal parallels between the rib vaults of San Lorenzo and Córdoba support this assumption.38 That the star-shaped vault of San Lorenzo was a totally new and foreign feature in Italian architecture was noticed by Guarini’s contemporaries, such as the Swedish Baroque architect Nicodemus Tessin the Younger (1654–1728), who visited the church in 1687 and described its dome as ‘exceedingly strange’, “eine über alle die massen frembde cuppel.”39 However, Guarini’s reception of the Cordobese rib vault is, by no means, a singular event in Piedmontese Baroque. Bernardo Vittone (1704–1770), for instance, whose buildings have been thoroughly studied by Paolo Portoghesi
38
39
same book in 1866 (see Cerelli 2000–2001, 242, 244). However, it only contained a section of the central maqsura dome, whose rib scheme considerably differs from the maqsura’s western and eastern vaults, see Girault de Prangey 1841, pl. 6. For a description of the different Cordobese rib schemes, see Giese[-Vögeli] 2007, 97–100, 103–105, fig. 42. Guarini used the Cordobese vaulting system also for other buildings, such as the churches Padri Somaschi in Medina (1660, destroyed in 1908) or San Gaetano in Nice (1683, unexecuted). On his biography and architectural oeuvre, see Portoghesi 1956; Guarino Guarini 1970; Meek 1988; Dardanello/Klaiber/Millon 2006. Laine/Magnusson 2002, 230.
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and Richard Buser,40 was not only responsible for the posthumous edition and publication of Guarini’s architectural treaty Architettura Civile, wherein he analyzed San Lorenzo and provided illustrations of the church, but furthermore adapted the star-shaped rib vault for Santa Maria della Visitazione in Valinotto (1738–1739) and, most probably, also for the chapel of San Luigi Gonzaga in Corteranzo (ca. 1760), another building attributed to Vittone. This acculturation process went even further: Vittone’s disciple Mario Ludovico Quarini (1736-ca. 1800) would also adapt the Islamic rib vault as introduced to the Piedmont by Guarini and use it for the Parrochiale di San Giacomo in Balangero, built towards the end of the century.41 Returning to the initial problem of identifying the prototype for the ribbed dome of the White Hall, it seems most likely that San Lorenzo had been the missing link connecting Córdoba and Sammezzano. Unlike the Iberian examples in Zaragoza, Toledo and Tordesillas, this church had been open to visitors throughout the 19th century, who could thus experience its dome directly. The impressive list of guests runs back well into the 17th and 18th century, among which we find Jakob Ignaz Hittorff (1792–1867), who in his travelogue provides us with a short description and various sketches of the church and its dome (fig. 19.9). The German architect had left Paris together with his younger colleague Karl Ludwig Wilhelm von Zanth (1796–1857) for an extended journey through Italy on September 28th, 1822,42 and had apparently been fascinated by the unexpected outline of the rib vault and its construction, which he described as a “bizzarerie.” Notwithstanding Hittorff’s bafflement, the highly expressive ribbed vault had become an essential characteristic of the local Baroque repertory and find later re-appropriations in 19th-century church architecture. As a matter of fact, the reception of Guarini’s architectural legacy, combined with elements from Filippo Juvarra (1678–1736) and Bernardo Vittone, is tangible in the oeuvre of Piedmontese architect Giuseppe Gallo (1860–1927), who is considered one of the main protagonists of Italian neo-Baroque,43 and whose church buildings bear witness to the intention of aspiring to revitalize the region’s rich architectonic heritage by reinventing its traditional vocabulary, including star-shaped rib vaults. His hand-written instructions for the vault construction at the parochial church Santissimi Apostoli Pietro e Paolo in Monasterolo di Savigliano (1900) or his 1911 project for the Cappella della 40 41 42 43
Portoghesi 1966; Buser 2006. For a contextualisation of Vittone’s oeuvre within Piemontese Baroque, see, for instance, Dardanello 2001. Viale 1963, 83. My thanks go to Richard Buser for pointing out this fact to me. Hammer 1968, 43–67; Kiene 2012. Volpiano 2002, esp. 22–29.
420 Giese Madonna at the Santuario della Madonna del Buon Consiglio in Castiglione Tinella reaffirm this general attitude toward the region’s rich architectural past.44 Although it is tempting to position Sammezzano’s White Hall within this neo- Baroque context, there is a regrettable lack of documents or visual evidence that would help shed new light on the creative process and possible prototypes. The unexpected trajectory as reconstructed here nonetheless seems one of the most convincing explanations so far and at the same time demonstrates that transfer processes are not always linear but can proceed in line with local or temporal shifts. In fact, the medieval examples of star-shaped rib vaults described further above demonstrate that first appropriations of Cordobese motifs had already taken place on the Iberian Peninsula, when the Islamic rib vault had been adopted by the taifa kingdoms and later incorporated into the architectural repertoires of Christian rulers. A second appropriation movement then took place in the 17th century, when the Cordobese rib vaults would be transculturized to the Piedmont and absorbed by local building traditions, a process that would gradually evolve into a defining characteristic of Piedmontese Baroque. Later, in the 19th century, Giuseppe Gallo’s buildings would then initiate a revival of Piedmontese Baroque and its spectacular vaulting types. Whereas Gallo had integrated rib vaults because he had regarded them a characteristic feature of Piedmontese Baroque, it was Ferdinando Panciatichi, the Florentine aristocrat with Spanish roots, with whom the process would come full circle, by returning the star-shaped rib vault to an Islamic –in this case: neo-Islamic – context. 3
Beyond Historic References
The end of the 19th and beginning of the 20th centuries would see some unusual reinterpretations of Ibero-Islamic vaults as well, with two examples being the impressive domes of the Moorish Hall at Castell Castle in Tägerwilen (Switzerland) and the Balneario in Archena (Spain).45 Both specimens are accurate replicas of historic models and incorporate sophisticated hybridizations with structural transformations that extend the –mainly formalistic –eclecticism of Sammezzano by far. In fact, they represent innovative blends of traditional vaulting and ceiling types by combining rib or muqarnas vaults with
44 45
Volpiano 2002, 25–29, 111–112, 128. On the Moorish Hall of Castell Castle, see chapter 8 in this volume; for the Balneario in Archena, see c hapter 20 in this volume.
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armaduras, the characteristic wooden ceilings of Ibero-Islamic and Mudéjar architecture.46 Executed between 1891 and 1894 by Stuttgart-based architect Emil Otto Tafel (1838–1914), the dome of the Moorish Hall at Castell Castle crowns an Alhambresque replica of the Sala de las Dos Hermanas (fig. 19.10). As can be expected from the Nasrid original, four muqarnas pendentives organize the transition from the square floor plan onto the octagonal vaulting zone. Diverging from the original, however, the dome does not consist of a complex network of muqarnas as found in the Alhambra but of an octagonal armadura. While this architectural element on the one hand resembles the traditional wooden eaves (alero) of the Alhambra, it on the other hand recalls the Umayyad wooden ceiling of the Mosque of Córdoba. Its unconventional octagonal shape serves as the base of a star-shaped rib vault imitating that of the Cordobese mosque’s central maqsura (fig. 19.1a). In spite of the extravagance of this combination, the different components of the vaulting zone –its pendentives, transitional armadura elements and the rib vault –exhibit an unexpected authenticity. Whereas simplifications of traditional techniques, including paintings instead of mosaics, had been applied to the rib vault, the ornamental composition and the color scheme of the dome’s interior shell by decorative painters from the Zurich-based company Ott & Witt,47 bear comparison with the precise representations of the Cordobese dome as depicted in the Monumentos latino- bizantinos de Córdoba.48 The same accuracy can be observed in the dome of a bath complex at the Balneario in Archena (Murcia) by Spanish stucco artisan and interior decorator Manuel Castaños (lifedates unknown).49 Executed around 1900, this stucco dome (fig. 19.11), the highlight of an Alhambresque staircase, consists of 46
For a general overview on armaduras, see Nuere Matauco 2003, with further references. On Nasrid armaduras, see López Pertíñez 2006. For a detailed analysis of 19th-century reinterpretations in St Petersburg, see chapter 22 in this volume. 47 During the last restoration, executed in May 2014 by Rolf Zurfluh, the signatures of various Zurich painters from the company Ott & Witt could be identified in the area of dome. According to Regine Abegg, the decorative program of the Moorish Hall is attributable to Eugen Ott, who had studied Islamic polychromy during an extended stay in Morocco, Abegg/Erni/Raimann 2014, 356. The extensive oeuvre of Ott & Witt in Switzerland is the focus of a recent contribution by Marc Seidel, see Seidel 2019. 48 See also the preparatory sketches, published in the 2011 edition of the volume, Monumentos 2011. 49 Rodríguez Domingo 1996, vol. 2, 208. For an overview on the history and evolution of the thermal bath of Archena from the 16th to the 20th centuries, see Lisón/Lillo 2003. A collection of historic photographs by E. Acosta is preserved at the archive of the Ayuntamiento de Murcia, aam, Est. 11, Tab. D, No. 25.
422 Giese three superimposed levels that, this time, were based on the muqarnas dome of the Abencerrajes Hall (fig. 19.2b). The characteristic star-shape outline of the Nasrid dome had been the starting point of Castaños’s design, onto which he would place a lantern with sixteen paired windows. Whereas the lower zone of the Archena dome thus follows the Islamic model quite accurately, Castaños decided to use a rather unconventional composition for the upper zone, by replacing the central muqarnas vault of the Abencerrajes Hall with a hybrid reinterpretation of a muqarnas frieze, onto which he would furthermore attach eight stucco panels resembling wooden armaduras to form the base of a much smaller muqarnas vault covering the vertex field.50 The addition of an armadura alludes to Seville, where Castaños had lived, more precisely, to the city’s many Mudéjar ceilings,51 and can be regarded as his personal signature, not least since he would add similar references to the decorative program of his Patio árabe at the Royal Casino in Murcia.52 Overall, Castaños’s Archena dome clearly demonstrates the potentials of 19th-century reinventions of Ibero-Islamic vaulting traditions, which would go far beyond mere recreations of historic references. 4
Continuity versus Innovation
During the Middle Ages, Islamic rib and muqarnas vaults would not only be commonly known in the Islamic territories of al-Andalus but also find their way into the artistic repertory of Christian architecture. This was the result of an appropriation process, through which the formal characteristics and cultural meanings of architectural elements would be adopted and reshaped in line with the different needs and realities as encountered in the new cultural environments. The resulting medieval replicas bear witness to the continuation of artistic and cultural traditions across cultural borders in the Iberian Peninsula, thereby also attesting the various degrees of familiarity of artisans and patrons of different cultural backgrounds with the aesthetics of their respective Christian and Islamic Other. In contrast, the examples of Sammezzano, Tägerwilen
50
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Mariano Contreras Granja (1853–1912) had already executed a similar reinterpretation of Nasrid muqarnas domes some years before, during the restoration of the Madraza Yusufiyya at Granada (founded by Yūsuf i in ah 750 /ad 1349) in 1893, see López Guzmán/ Díez Jorge 2007, esp. 95–97. If Castaños had been aware of this version cannot be confirmed at this point. See for instance Cañas-Palop 2000; Albendea Ruz 2011. For more information on the Murcia building, see the following chapter.
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and Archena highlight the degree of alienation during the 19th century that detached architects and patrons from the historical sources and their original contexts. It thus seems that the Islamic rib and muqarnas vaults had not so much been adopted because of their capacity to ennoble and sanctify spaces, but because of their aesthetic potential to renew the art of vaulting in the West.
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Illustrations
figure 19.1a-c Córdoba, Mosque-Cathedral, Umayyad rib vaults, 962–965/6, a. central maqsura dome, b. western maqsura dome, c. Capilla de Villaviciosa, rib vault source: © a–b. bildarchiv foto marburg / thomas scheidt, christian stein; c. © francine giese
Domes Reinvented
figure 19.2a-b Alhambra, Lions’s Palace, muqarnas domes, 1362–1391, a. Sala de las Dos Hermanas, b. Sala de los Abencerrajes source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / thomas scheidt, christian stein
figure 19.3 Toledo, Convento de Santa Fé, Capilla de Belén, rib vault, 1043–1075 source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / christian stein
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figure 19.4 Burgos, Royal Monastery of Santa María la Real de las Huelgas, Ascension Chapel, rib vault, after 1248 (?) source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / christian stein
figure 19.5 Tordesillas, Royal Convent of Santa Clara, Capilla Dorada, rib vault, before 1350 source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / christian stein
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figure 19.6 Córdoba, Mosque-Cathedral, Capilla Real, vault, 1371 source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / christian stein
figure 19.7 Regello, Villa di Sammezzano, White Hall, dome, ca. 1863–1867 source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / rabatti & domingie photography
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figure 19.8 Turin, San Lorenzo, dome, Guarino Guarini, 1668–1680 source: © francine giese
figure 19.9 Jakob Ignaz Hittorff, Turin, San Lorenzo, sketches and description, Notes de voyage de Paris à Turin source: © universitäts- und stadtbibliothek köln, 5 p 182
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figure 19.10 Tägerwilen, Castell Castle, Moorish Hall, dome, Emil Otto Tafel, 1891–1894 source: © kanton thurgau, amt für denkmalpflege
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figure 19.11 Archena, Balneario, Alhambresque staircase, dome, Manuel Castaños, ca. 1900 source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / christian stein
c hapter 20
The Hybridization of Sebka Ornament Francine Giese and Ariane Varela Braga Apart from the Nasrid Court of the Lions at the Alhambra in Granada and the Mudéjar Court of the Dolls in Pedro i’s (r. 1350–1369) palace at the Alcázar of Seville, as well as Ibero-Islamic rib and muqarnas vaults, which have been addressed in more detail in the previous chapters, the sebka ornament witnessed a growing popularity in Christian and Jewish architecture during the Middle Age and the 19th century. As a genuinely Islamic invention, sebka is another successful motif of Islamic origins that can be read as an expression of the transcultural reality of medieval Iberia. During the 19th century, on the other hand, Europeans would associate sebka ornamentation with the exotic and the, in their view, unconventional language of Islamic art, to the effect that it would thus become a powerful leitmotif for the Moorish Revival.1 Both instances are characterized by negotiations over historic references, which would, under the given circumstances and historic contexts, allow to open up new and differing artistic paths. Adopting Peter Burke’s terms, they can be thus rightfully described as processes of cultural hybridization,2 offering a variety of responses that would become synonymous with the refined cultural achievements of al-Andalus themselves. If regarded as processes of creative reinterpretation, such hybridizations of sebka are able to shed light on two functions of ornamentation that often appear as intertwined –to carry meanings that are often related to identity, as well as social, political or territorial aspirations, on the one hand, and artistic transformations on the other. 1
Towards Transcultural Ornamentation
The origins of sebka ornament go back to the Umayyad Mosque of Córdoba, whose prayer hall al-Ḥakam ii (r. ah 350–366 / ad 961–976) had extended in the second half of the 10th century. Within this newly created section, systems of intersecting arches were installed in the first compartment of al-Ḥakam’s 1 See for instance the description of Ibero-Islamic elements (“maurische Bauformen”) by German architect Karl Ludwig Wilhelm von Zanth, Zanth 1855–1856, vii. 2 Burke 2009.
© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2021 | DOI:10.1163/9789004448582_022
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central nave, today known as Capilla de Villaviciosa, and the sumptuous, tripartite maqsura.3 Composed of a two-story interlaced arcade, the arch systems bring forth the impression of a complex, network-like structure.4 This feature would later gradually evolve into a common surface ornament of superimposed blind arches that in their development became more and more complex and which would find some of its most striking manifestations in the taifa-period Aljafería of Zaragoza (between 1049 and 1082). Accordingly, a surprising range of the arch systems of this fortified palace confirm “[…] the loss or suppression of static-constructive conception, i.e., an inclination towards a pure show façade (Schaufassade) –not devoid of mannerist traits.”5 However, sebka would not turn into a purely ornamental element of Ibero-Islamic architecture and spread across al-Andalus before the rule of the Almohad dynasty (1147–1269). Important examples of this decorative sebka exist in the former Almohad capitals of al-Andalus and Morocco, among them the Patio de la Casa de Contratación and Patio del Yeso (mid-12th century), both at the Alcázar of Seville, as well as the minarets of the mosques in Rabat (unfinished) and Seville (built around 1195) (fig. 20.1).6 Following the conquest of Seville by Fernando iii of Castile and León (r. 1217–1252) in 1248, Almohad craftsmen fled in large numbers to the last remaining Islamic territory on Iberian ground, the Nasrid Emirate of Granada, thereby intensifying the influences of Almohad building traditions on the local architecture. One of the best-known examples of such post-Almohad or proto-Nasrid architecture is the Cuarto Real de Santo Domingo in Granada, which was built by order of Muḥammad ii (r. ah 671–701 / ad 1273–1302) in the late 13th century.7 The à jour technique of the sebka panels of this palace anticipates later developments of Nasrid surface ornamentation that would eventually culminate in the Alhambra’s Lion’s Palace, which Muḥammad v (r. ah 763–93 / ad 1362–91) had built during the second period of his interrupted reign.8 With its abundant stuccowork, this latest addition to the Nasrid palaces of the Alhambra unfolds a rich panorama of Ibero-Islamic ornamentation, including sebka in à jour technique and two-dimensional wall panels (fig. 20.2). 3 For an illustration, see chapter 13 in this volume. 4 Camps Cazorla 1953; Ewert 1968; Giese 2014; Giese 2016a, 126–136. 5 “[…] den Verlust oder die Verdrängung statisch-konstruktiven Denkens, d.h. die Neigung zur reinen Schaufassade –nicht frei von manieristischen Zügen”, Ewert et al. 1997, 157, English translation by the author. For a detailed description of the arch systems, see Ewert 1978. 6 Ewert 1968; Ewert 1978; Manzano Martos 1995; Ewert et al. 1997; Almagro Gorbea 2007c; Tabales Rodríguez 2010. 7 Almagro/Orihuela 1995; Almagro Gorbea 2002. 8 Fernández-Puertas 1997a, 94–104; Pavón Maldonado 2004, esp. 730–733.
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Both types of sebka show a general disposition of two to three superimposed ornamental layers that can still be identified unimpededly. However, the study of Nasrid stucco ornamentation still remains a challenging endeavor, especially in respect to the Lion’s Palace and its patio, which due to the interventionist restoration policy of the 19th century make it very difficult to identify which parts of the stuccowork really stem from Nasrid times. In fact, the members of the Contreras family, which were in charge of the conservation of the Alhambra and its ornamental surfaces between 1841 and 1907, would use plaster casts taken from remaining stucco panels within the Alhambra palaces to restitute missing parts. This leaves a certain degree of uncertainty as to the original composition of the decorative program in theses spaces. Due to the fact that the plaster casts came from the very same palaces allows us to draw at least some conclusions about what the decorative skin of the Court of the Lions and the adjacent galleries and halls might once have looked like, as well as about the aesthetic principles of Nasrid ornamentation.9 A closer look at one of the sebka panels of the western court gallery (fig. 20.3a) allows to discern three superimposed and independently designed layers (1)-(3) which were based on motifs and compositional rules that go back to Umayyad times. Accordingly, the backgrounds or first layer (1) consist of Nasrid floral and vegetal decorations (ataurique), which are usually composed of buds, stylized fruits, palm leaves, palmettes, or pine cones in various combinations. Similar motifs already existed in the wall decorations of Abd ar-Raḥmān iii’s (r. ah 300–350 / ad 912–961) reception hall (Salón Rico) in Madīnat az-Zahrāʾ. These limestone incrustations, however, follow a different compositional structure, characterized by a central trunk (Mittelstamm) with symmetrical tendrils.10 The Umayyad and Nasrid example together demonstrate that the layout of these dense vegetal decorations would usually be based on strict geometrical principles. The second layer of sebka ornamentation (2) could include epigraphic ribbon decorations, as in the depicted example (fig. 20.3b), whereas the third and
9
10
The aesthetic principles of Nasrid ornamentation of the Alhambra were closely studied by Spanish scholars before they would receive more global attention in recent years, this being the result of more holistic approaches for contextualizing Nasrid ornamentation. Most noteworthy among the Spanish contributions are Pavón Maldonado 1975; Prieto y Vives 1977; Pavón Maldonado 1981; Fernández-Puertas 1997a, esp. 94–141. As for the broader conception of the Nasrid ornament of the Alhambra, see for instance Grabar 1992; Robinson 2008; Bush 2018. See esp. Ewert 1987; Ewert 1993; Ewert 1995; Ewert 1996. On the further development of Ibero-Islamic ataurique, see Ewert 1987; Ewert 1998; Pavón Maldonado 2004, with a comprehensive overview from the Umayyad to the Mudéjar ages.
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uppermost layer (3) would consist of the aforementioned network of superimposed arches (fig. 20.3c). At a time of intensified building activity and artistic exchange between the Nasrid court of Granada and the Castilian court of Seville, Muḥammad V’s building activity and ornamental program left a lasting impression on Pedro i (r. 1350–1369) and his half-brother Enrique ii of Trastámara (r. 1369–1379).11 As a result, the cultural coexistence and artistic entanglement of medieval Iberia revealed itself in a transcultural aesthetic palpable in the 14th-century palaces of Pedro i in Tordesillas (main façade) and Seville,12 Enrique ii’s Royal Chapel of the Mosque-Cathedral of Córdoba (completed in 1371),13 or the Synagogue El Tránsito in Toledo, built by Pedro’s royal treasurer (almojarife), the Jew Samuel ben Meir ha-Levi Abulafia (ca. 1320–1360).14 The decorative program of all these buildings comprise many similar traits, especially with respect to the use of sebka ornamentation for highlighting spaces of special importance, such as the main façade, the monumental courtyard, or the representative halls of Pedro’s palaces, but also the walls surrounding the altar, such as in Enrique’s Cordobese chapel, or the Torah ark (heikhal), such as in the Toledan synagogue (figs. 1.3.4–1.3.5). We therefore can conclude that by the 14th century, the use of sebka had become widespread across the Christian territories of the Iberian Peninsula, so that it, by then, would be regarded an expression of courtly culture and an ‘element of prestige’.15 Accordingly, sebka ornamentation henceforth served as a social, and less religious, marker and would be used for both profane and sacred buildings, regardless of the cultural or religious identities of the patrons. Moreover, even though Juan Carlos Ruiz Souza and María Angeles Jordano Barbudo have suggested that the Christian and Jewish examples in question could be attributed to Islamic workshops,16 they also show traits that clearly set them apart from their Nasrid counterparts. Such differences include the introduction of coats of arms and heraldic symbols, such as castles and lions (Alcázar of Seville, main façade, fig. 20.6), but also animals (Alcázar of Seville, Patio de las Doncellas, fig. 20.4) or vine leaves (El Tránsito, 11 12 13 14 15 16
See for instance Ruiz Souza 2004, esp. 24–27; Ruiz Souza 2013a–b; Ruiz Souza 2014b; Gumiel Campos 2016, as well as chapters 3 and 14 in this volume. Ruiz Souza 1996; Ruiz Souza 2002, 137; Almagro Gorbea 2005; Almagro Gorbea 2013; Gumiel Campos 2016. Ruiz Souza 2006a, 15–21; Jordano Barbudo 2011, 139–161; Giese 2018b, with further references. Ruiz Souza 2002, esp. 233–238; Muñoz Garrido 2014, 173–197; Muñoz Garrido 2010; Lahoz Kopiske 2018. “un elemento de prestigio,” Muñoz Garrido 2010, 136. Ruiz Souza 2002, 235–237; Jordano Barbudo 2011, 147.
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fig. 20.5), which are proof of the adaptation and reinterpretation of Islamic models for yielding creative hybridizations of sebka to be used in Christian and Jewish buildings alike. 2
The Internationalization of Sebka in the 19th Century
In the 19th century, the break away from traditional models of European art and the fascination for exotic models was reflected in the numerous pattern books and encyclopedias of ornament that began flourishing from the 1830s onwards.17 These publications offered architects and decorators alike a multitude of examples taken from an increasing number of historic styles, including those of the Islamic variety, of which the Alhambra had become regarded as a general incarnation, thanks to the various travelers and artists who had been visiting the palace complex since the end of the 18th century. These pattern books most often only contained images without any further explanatory text except for the occasional, albeit rather brief introductions, thus providing transfer media that would soon turn out to be essential for the international recognition and diffusion of sebka ornament. More often than not, pattern books would consist of compilations that reproduced details taken from more expensive and specialized architectural publications, yet they would at times also incorporate ornaments that had been copied directly from the objects preserved at museums and private collections. The Encyclopédie universelle d’ornements antiques by Charles-Ernest Clerget (1812–1870?), published in Paris around 1840, is an instructive example of the first practice. It includes a great number of mauresque (Moorish) ornaments, among them also several sebka motifs. Although the author does not make any explicit mention of the sources of these illustrations, they can be easily identified as direct copies from James Canavah Murphy’s (1860-14) The Arabian Antiquities of Spain (1815) (figs. 20.7a-b). By comparison, Joseph Cundall’s (1818–1895) Examples of Ornament (1855), published in London fifteen years later, provides a selection of ornaments that were mostly drawn from items preserved at the city’s museums, including a chromolithographic plate of “Alhambresque”18 ornaments depicting two sebka from Jones’s Alhambra Court at the Crystal Palace of Sydenham (fig. 20.8). The chromolithographs to Jones’s seminal Grammar of Ornament, published a few years later, in 1856, would show a greater diversity of
17 18
Snodin/Howard 1996, 54–60; Durant 1986; Labrusse 2014, 280–290. Cundal 1855, pls. 12 and 13.
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sebka (fig. 20.9), which he had based on details of his previous volumes of Plans, Elevations, Sections and Details of the Alhambra (1836–1845). The Grammar would undoubtedly turn out to be the publication to contribute the most to the international dissemination of sebka in an either direct or indirect manner, yet foremost by providing illustrations that could be reused in other encyclopedias of ornament, such as Albert-Charles Auguste Racinet’s (1825– 1893) L’Ornement polychrome (1869–1873), Heinrich Dolmetsch’s (1846–1908) Der Ornamentenschatz (1887), or G.-.J. Mendel’s (lifedates unknown) Il Tesoro dell’ornato (1887) (fig. 20.10). Yet the ornaments of the Islamic World in general, and those of the Alhambra in particular, did not only bring new inspiration to Western architects and decorators. Their knowledge integrated a broader study of the principles of ornamentation and its development throughout history. Ralph Nicholas Wornum (1812–1877), for example, created his own drawings of the sebka ornaments as published in Jones’s Alhambra monograph to use them as illustrations for his lecture series on the history of ornament held at the Government Schools of Design in London and other parts of Great Britain between 1848 and the 1850s (fig. 20.11). He would later include a plate with a detail of the same motif to the chapter on “Saracenic ornament” of his Analysis of Ornament (1855).19 Furthermore, Islamic ornament played a well-known and crucial part in theoretical debates during the middle of the 19th century on ornamentation and its relation to crafts and industrial production.20 With the development of new technologies and the establishment of serial production, the material and symbolic interpretation of ornament was changing rapidly. By mid-century, several architects, artists and theorists asserted that ornament was experiencing a crisis and that it was no longer representative of contemporary culture. Traditional ornamental forms had been crafted manually, and it therefore seemed that they could hardly be adapted to modern means of production. At the London Great Exhibition of 1851, the decorative arts produced in the West appeared decadent, presenting infinite variations of historical styles or an overwhelming naturalism that harmed the functionality of objects. In contrast, the non-Western, particularly Islamic, decorative arts, showed a strong stylistic unity and far better harmony between its forms and ornamentation.21 The resulting options were two-fold: to either return to pre-industrial means of production by encouraging manually crafted goods that would, however, not 19 20 21
Wornum 1855, 72, plate 73. See also Rosser-Owen 2011, 55–56. Redgrave 1852; Semper 1852; Laborde 1856. For an introduction on the subject, see Labrusse 2007a, 32–53; Labrusse 2011; Varela Braga 2012.
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be able to compete on the market which would be the path later taken by William Morris (1834–1896) and the Arts and Crafts Movement –, or to adapt ornamentation to contemporary means of production. It was in this context that the non-mimetic arts of Islam seemed to constitute a valid model and source of inspiration for the future of Western decoration: due to the use of geometric shapes and flat colors, and the absence of shadows and high reliefs, Islamic decorations suited the needs of industrial production. These ideas quickly spread among the many Schools of Design in Great Britain and abroad, which was in great part due to Jones’s Grammar of Ornament, and its strong focus on Islamic styles.22 Whereas the East was usually considered the place of uncontrolled passions and unbound imagination, Jones proved that traditional Islamic ornamentation actually followed rational and systematic principles. His idea of a ‘grammar’ of forms and colors partially derived from the examples of Islamic arts would turn out to be very influential for theoretical reflections of the decorative arts until the early 20th century, from Camille Cernesson (1831– 1889) to Charles Blanc (1813–1882) to Alois Riegl (1858–1905).23 3
The Analytical Eye: from Ornament to Pattern
An important driver for the international appreciation of the sebka ornament in the 19th century were the publications by Girault de Prangey and Owen Jones, which were the first to incorporate accurate illustrations of sebka. Girault de Prangey had already devoted one plate of his Monuments Arabes et Moresques de Cordoue, Séville et Grenade (1837–39) to the Giralda in Seville and its various sebka ornaments, but it would not be before his next publication, Choix d’ornements moresques de l’Alhambra (1842), that he would take a closer look at the variations and details of the motif, representing the different layers and the materiality of the ornament (fig. 20.12), while simultaneously underscoring its tridimensional qualities by using strong contrasts of light and shadow. Moreover, just as with other examples in the book, he indicated the historic use of the motif in situ by depicting how the sebka had been integrated into its architectural environment in relation to the surrounding arches, columns, pillars and shafts.
22 23
The volume is considered as crucial for the reception of Islamic styles in Europe, see Sweetman 1988, 160–176; Crinson 1996, 30–36; Watanabe 1994, 439–442; Darby 1974; Darby 1983, 61–121; Labrusse 2007b; Labrusse 2011. Labrusse 2010/2011; Labrusse 2016.
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By comparison, a few years later Owen Jones would propose a completely different opinion concerning sebka in the second volume of his Alhambra monography, aptly entitled Details and Ornaments from the Alhambra (1845). Jones was clearly aware of the practical and decorative potentials of sebka for contemporary decorative arts, which becomes obvious in that he produced large-scale depictions, often even full or half-scale, of the motifs to facilitate its reuse. In Jones’s book, sebka is depicted as reduced to a mere pattern, completely abstracted from its original architectural context and detached from any indications as to its production method or authentic materiality. The use of the typically strong colors of chromolithography furthermore contributed to said detachment, as they ‘flattened’ the ornament by drawing the attention of spectators towards the two-dimensionality of its formal aesthetics, particularly the lines and colors. However, Jones had not been the first one to anticipate the potentials of sebka. The choice of dividing his publications into two parts –with the first volume being devoted to architecture and the second to ornament –had been a method Murphy had already established for his Arabian Antiquities of Spain (1815), a publication that in turn took its direct inspiration from the pioneering work Antigüedades árabes de España (1787–1804).24 Murphy’s work has in the meantime been criticized by many scholars, who have rightly observed that his plates offer a distorted and ‘Gothicized’ version of Ibero-Islamic monuments, especially the Alhambra.25 Yet this did, at the time, not change much about the importance his publication had for the early diffusion of sebka ornaments, as some of its examples would be included to pattern books, as has already been mentioned. If one compares Murphy and Jones’s treatments of sebka, one can assert that both privileged a specific mode of depicting the motif that stressed its abstraction and two-dimensionality. The selection of sebka itself already adds to this representation style in that it concentrates on wall ornamentation and not on the three-dimensional version of sebka used in architecture (fig. 20.3). By comparing similar motifs (figs. 20.13a-b), it can be noted that apart from the evident differences regarding details, the reproduction techniques –line engraving for Murphy and chromolithography for Jones – and alignment of the motif (horizontal versus vertical) –both authors provide a ‘superficial’ way of representation of sebka emphasizing the abstract values.
24 25
Scholz-Hänsel 1989; Rodríguez Ruiz 1992, 128; Almagro Gorbea 2015a. Raquejo Grado 1986; Raquejo Grado 1989; Andreu 1992; Villafranca Jiménez 2012.
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The same is true for the following example of a floral sebka (figs. 20.14a-b). Apart from differences regarding techniques and the attention given to details, the layers of this sebka, consisting of an ataurique with ribbon decorations, appear flattened once more. Moreover, Jones chose a frame for the motif comprising of numerous elements, thereby intensifying the impression of seriality. In other words, not only does Jones’s representation of sebka flatten the motif; it also indicates the potential of deliberately repeating the decorative element through serial reproduction, thereby reducing it to its pattern-like qualities, which would find a reuse especially in wall paintings, textiles and wallpapers.26 In fact, even Jones himself was amongst the first to reuse sebka for creating his own designs (fig. 20.15), as the basis for different patterns that all revolved around the idea of repeating lozenge-shaped ornaments, to yield ever more abstract patterns. Flat versions of sebka entertained great popularity in the years that followed the publication of Jones’s Grammar, especially because of its appearance on wallpapers and textiles, thus even conquering the sphere of domestic interiors. For France, the manufacturers Isodore Leroy and Desfossé et Karth were known for their exquisite Alhambresque wallpapers, while the Maison Corderier & Lemire and Mathevon et Bouvard produced valuable furniture and textiles of the same style in the 1860s, all with the characteristic vivid red, blue and golden colors that Jones had made known to a broad public through his chromolithographs.27 4
The Reinvention of Sebka Between the Second Half of the 19th and the Early 20th Century
In spite of its international success, the translation of multi-layered sebka ornamentation into flat patterns and their transfer onto wallpapers, textiles and mural paintings was not met with general approval. Prussian architect Carl von Diebitsch (1819–1869) was amongst those who criticized the practice on occasion of the Seventh Assembly of German Architects and Engineers in May 1852, which the report on this event, published in the Zeitschrift für Bauwesen, confirms: By pointing out that all previous attempts for imitating Arabic ornaments have failed so far, as they had only been painted or punched into leather
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As for wall paintings, see chapter 21 in this volume. For examples of this production, see Labrusse 2007b, 260–261.
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and thereby neglected the peculiar effect related to the relief, the speaker [Mister von Diebitsch from Berlin] evaluated the implementation of this arabesques in plasterwork as merely practical, [yet also] beautiful and easy-to-execute, since the material can be so easily poured as it can be cut. The essential character of Moorish ornaments is that they are not just placed onto the surface, but also carved out of it.28 Carl von Diebitsch knew what he was talking about. In the winter of 1846–1847 he had spent six months in Granada, thus making him the first German architect to study the Nasrid architecture, ornamentation and stucco techniques of the Alhambra.29 The sketches and drawings that resulted from these studies and of which most are today held at the Architectural Museum of the Technical University Berlin (amtub),30 indicate Carl von Diebitsch’s understanding of the structural properties of sebka ornamentation (fig. 20.16). This knowledge and his technical skills helped him become one of the most important representatives of the Moorish Revival. Whereas affluent clients, such as Frederik Stibbert (1838–1906) or Karl von Urach (1865–1925), would buy prefabricated plaster casts from Nasrid originals for their Alhambresque interiors, Carl von Diebitsch would compose his own sebka designs and reproduce them in accordance by means of the aforementioned casting technique and even apply them to the then still novel materials of cast iron and cast zinc.31 A close examination of his sebka design for the bath cabinet at Albrechtsberg Castle nearby Dresden (1850–1855) demonstrates how the Prussian architect would change the vertical alignment of the ornament’s sub-layers, by moving the ribbon decorations into the background, while the middle and uppermost levels would consist of floral and geometric sebka patterns
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“Indem der Redner [Herr von Diebitsch aus Berlin] die seither versuchten Nachahmungen arabischer Ornamente als unzulänglich nachwies, weil sie nur gemalt oder in Leder gepresst, die eigenthümliche mit der Farbe gepaarte Wirkung des Reliefs vernachlässigten, stellte er die Ausführung dieser Arabesken in Gyps als allein zweckmässig, schön und leicht ausführbar dar, weil dieses Material sich eben so bequem giessen als schneiden lasse. Der wesentliche Charakter des maurischen Ornaments sei der, dass es nicht auf die Fläche gesetzt, sondern aus derselben herausgearbeitet werde.“, Anon. 1852, 334, English translation by the author. Pflugradt-Abdel Aziz 2009. On Carl von Diebitsch’s training at the Berliner Bauakademie and his building projects in Germany and Cairo, see Giese/Varela Braga 2017a, with further references. For a selection of Carl von Diebitsch’s drawings at the amtub, see Giese/Varela Braga 2017a. Giese/Heller 2017; Pflugradt-Abdel Aziz 2017a.
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(fig. 20.17).32 Apart from that, his 1867 Moorish Kiosk demonstrates yet another way of how sebka could not only be used for state-of-the-art mediums, including cast iron and cast zinc, but also transformed into a novel ornament by dismantling the floral sebka of Albrechtsberg Castle (layer 2) into its basic elements (ribbed ataurique) and blending it with the –now central –motif of the eight-pointed star (fig. 20.18). At the beginning of the 20th century, there still was a demand in Spain for artistic experiments with Nasrid ornamentations, as proven by Manuel Castaños’s (lifedates unknown) neo-Moorish interiors: a staircase with adjacent rooms in the bath complex of the Balneario in Archena (ca. 1900),33 the Patio árabe at the Royal Casino in Murcia (1901–1904),34 and an Orientalizing style room at the Museo de Artillería in Madrid (inaugurated in 1903).35 The Alhambresque style remained the main point of reference for the sculptor and plaster decorator Castaños, just as it had been for Carl von Diebitsch. Even though very little is known about Manuel Castanõs’s life and work,36 his interiors nonetheless have a lot to say about his knowledge of the architecture and ornamentation of al-Andalus and especially the Alhambra. Accordingly, the characteristics of Castaños’s intricate versions of sebka, especially in relation to its three layers of ataurique, ribbon decoration and networks of superimposed arches, reveal the same understanding of Nasrid ornamentation as in Carl von Diebitsch’s designs (fig. 20.19). Similar to the Prussian architect, Castaños experimented with the different layers of sebka, with his personal style being most apparent in layer (2), for which he used a simplified and reduced version of Nasrid design. Likewise, eclectic tendencies are notable at the Casino of Murcia in the combinations of neo-Nasrid ornamentation and Almohad sebka (fig. 20.20). It is very likely 32 33
34 35 36
For definitions of the various sebka schemes and their components, see Fernández- Puertas 1997a, 96–103, fig. 64. Rodríguez Domingo 1996, vol. 2, 208. On the history and development of the thermal bath of Archena in the province of Murcia from the 16th to the 20th centuries, see Lisón Hernández/Lillo Carpio 2003. The collection of historic photographs by E. Acosta, which are mentioned in the previous chapter, are held at the archive of the Ayuntamiento de Murcia, aam, est. 11, tab. D, no. 25. Moreno/Vera Botí 1978; Guirao Lopez de Navas 1994, esp. 357–361; Rodríguez Domingo 1996, vol. 2, 209; Vera Botí 1991, esp. 134–169; Vera Botí 1998, esp. 21–26; Guirao López de Navas 2003. Museo del Ejército 1958, 37; Giese/Varela Braga 2019, 127–129. See also c hapters 11 and 16 of this volume. The biographies of other important stucco artists, including members of the influential Santisteban family, are similarly unknown. Limited information on Castaños’s life can be found in Melendreras Gimeno 1995.
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that the Seville-based artist was well-acquainted with these models, as they had been most prominently for the Giralda (fig. 20.2) and the façade of Pedro’s nearby palace (fig. 20.6). Contrary to the 14th-century appropriation of the motif by the Castilian king, the identity-creating dimension of the Almohad ornament within the local context of medieval Seville has long since been lost. 5
The Changing Perceptions of Sebka
As has been shown in the previous chapters dedicated to the transformations of the Court of the Lions and Court of the Dolls, the rib and muqarnas vaults, the reception and diffusion of Ibero-Islamic ornaments in general, and sebka in particular, was subjected to the same processes of cultural and artistic translations. The close examination of the entangled trajectories of sebka ornamentation showed how it shifted from a cultural marker to the exponent of a globalized fashion, with an almost unbroken fascination for this ornament throughout the centuries. What sets medieval Iberia and the 19th century apart, however, is that while it once had been part of a transcultural idiom used by different ethno-religious groups and across different social strata, during the latter period its function changed to a mere symbol of Oriental and neo- Islamic styles. After having been translated into a flattened graphical pattern it could easily be applied within all branches of the decorative arts, although this does not imply that its three-dimensionality did not ‘matter’ at all –neither in the literal nor metaphorical sense. Architects and artisans such as Carl von Diebitsch and Manuel Castaños would still base at least some of their designs on its physical and tactile qualities. Apart from that, Western appropriations of sebka would generally remain in the area of the abstract and geometrical, thus contributing to the renewal of the ornamental arts and paving the way to the experiments of Modernism in the early 20th century.
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Illustrations
figure 20.1 Seville, Almohad minaret (Giralda), blind sebka panel, completed in 1198 source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / thomas scheidt, christian stein
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figure 20.2 Alhambra, Lion’s Palace, western court arcade, two-and three-dimensional sebka, 1362–1391 source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / thomas scheidt, christian stein
figure 20.3 Alhambra, Lion’s Palace, western court gallery, schematic sketch of sebka, a. its three layers (1–3), b. middle layer (2), c. middle (2) and uppermost layers (3), 1362–1391 source: © nikolaos theocharis
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figure 20.4 Seville, Palace of Pedro i, Patio de las Doncellas, court arcade, detail of sebka, 1356–1366 source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / thomas scheidt, christian stein
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figure 20.5 Toledo, Synagogue of Samuel ha-Levi (El Tránsito), eastern wall, detail of central sebka panel, 1359/60–1361 (debated) source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / thomas scheidt, christian stein
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figure 20.6 Seville, Palace of Pedro i, main façade, sebka, 1356–1366 source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / thomas scheidt, christian stein
figure 20.7 Front of the Golden Saloon. a. Murphy 1815, pl. 75 (Heidelberg University Library). b. Clerget 1840, pl. 47, private archive
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figure 20.8 Alhambresque ornaments from Owen Jones’s Alhambra Court at Sydenham. Cundall 1855, pl. 12, private archive
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figure 20.9 Sebka ornaments, preparatory drawing for plate 41 of Owen Jones’s Grammar of Ornament (published in 1856) source: © victoria and albert museum, london
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figure 20.10 Sebka ornaments taken from Goury/Jones 1836–1845, reproduced in Mendel 1887, pl. 27, private archive
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figure 20.11 Ralph N. Wornum, Sebka ornament, bodycolour and gilding on paper, c. 1848 source: © victoria and albert museum, london
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figure 20.12 Sebka ornament (top left and top right) from the Patio de la Alberca. Girault de Prangey 1842, pl. 6, (baa, Geneva)
figure 20.13 Sebka ornament. a. Murphy 1815, pl. 71 (Heidelberg University Library). b. Jones 1845, pl. 13, (University of Miami Library)
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figure 20.14 Sebka ornament a. Murphy 1815, pl. 72 (Heidelberg University Library). b. Jones 1845, pl. 21, (University of Miami Library)
figure 20.15 Owen Jones, Drawing for a wall-paper or textile decoration, bodycolour, gouache on paper, unknown date source: © victoria and albert museum, london
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figure 20.16 Carl von Diebitsch, Alhambra, detail of sebka ornament, pencil drawing with watercolors on cardboard, 1846–1847 source: © amtub, inv. no. 41515
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figure 20.17 Dresden, Albrechtsberg Castle, bath cabinet, detail of sebka ornament, Carl von Diebitsch, 1850–1855 source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / rose hajdu
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figure 20.18 Ettal, park of Linderhof Palace, Moorish Kiosk, exterior, detail of sebka ornament, Carl von Diebitsch, 1867 source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / rose hajdu
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figure 20.19 Madrid, Palacio del Buen Retiro, Sala árabe at the Museo de Artillería, detail of sebka ornament, Manuel Castaños, inaugurated in 1903 source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / thomas scheidt, christian stein
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figure 20.20 Murcia, Royal Casino, Patio árabe, detail of sebka ornament, Manuel Castaños, 1901–1904 source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / thomas scheidt, christian stein
2 Transmateriality
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c hapter 21
Revisiting the Alhambra
Transmediality and Transmateriality in 19th-century Italy Ariane Varela Braga The growing interest for ornament, material culture and questions concerning the mobility and portability of objects have in recent years contributed to a stronger emphasis on the role of ornament as an ideal agent in processes involving transmedial and transmaterial transfers.1 During the Middle Ages, Islamic ornamental forms easily crossed borders, their abstract qualities facilitating their appreciation across religious and political divergences.2 The transmission of ornamental motifs was later on supported by engravings and patterns books, a phenomenon that was further accelerated in the 19th century. In the age of historicism and eclecticism, developments in the print industry provoked a substantial increase of illustrated publications including innumerable models that could be easily copied, transposed and adapted to various media and materials.3 The invention of new reproduction techniques –such as photography or electrotyping –led to what Malcom Baker defined as a “reproductive continuum.”4 The dissociation between ornaments and their original materiality was often pushed to its limits, thereby provoking moralistic criticism and encouraging theorists to focus more on the origin and theoretical or ideological place of ornament in contemporary culture.5 However, more often than not patrons or decorators did not regard questions of material transposition a 1 The subject for instance stands at the center of several contributions of Necipoğlu/Payne 2016 (see for instance Wolf 2016, Pesco 2016 or Payne 2016a). Another example is the project “An Iconology of the Textile in Art and Architecture” (2008–2016) led by Tristan Weddigen and its related publications. 2 For an introduction to the problems regarding Islamic ornament, portability and cross- cultural transfers, see for instance Shalem 1996 and Shalem 2016. 3 For a general overview, see Mainardi 2017. For questions of ornamentation see Durant 1986; Snodin/Howard 1996. 4 Baker 2010, 485. On architectural ornament and serial production, see Nègre 2006. 5 Moralistic considerations of ornament are, for instance, very present among British writes, such as A.W.N. Pugin, John Ruskin, Richard Redgrave, Matthew Digby Wyatt, Owen Jones; see Bøe 1957 or Rhodes 1983. Questions related to the origins of ornament and materiality were for instance developed by Gottfried Semper. See Mallgrave 1996; Payne 2012, 25–64; Payne 2016b.
© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2021 | DOI:10.1163/9789004448582_023
464 Varela Braga pressing issue, but rather an opportunity for easily creating eclectic architectures and interiors. Concentrating on some Alhambresque interiors realized in the second half of the 19th century in Tuscany and Emilia Romagna, this chapter discusses the role of books as transfer media and how they encouraged transmedial and transmaterial transpositions. 1
Building from Paper: Architectural and Ornamental Publications as Transfer Media
Since the invention of print in the 15th century and the first illustrated architectural treatises published in the early 16th century, loose engravings and illustrated books played a crucial role for the diffusion of –in particular, classical –vocabularies of architectural style across national, international and global levels. The spread of Islamic revival architecture in 19th-century Europe followed a similar path: the plates accompanying 18th-century travelogues and the many architectural and ornamental publications of the following century were the privileged transfer media for Western architects and decorators, especially those who lacked any direct knowledge of the original monuments. By mid-century, the circulation of Alhambresque style relied on an increasing number of supporting media –from plaster casts to architectural models, from spectacular exhibition pavilions such as Owen Jones’s Alhambra Court (1854) or Carl von Diebitsch’s Moorish Kiosk (1867) to photography and images published in the illustrated press.6 Yet in spite of this medial diversity, art and architectural publications continued to play a critical role as well. As Pedro Galera Andreu and many others have shown, volumes such as the pioneering Antigüedades árabes de España (1787–1804), promoted by the Real Academia de Bellas Artes de San Fernando of Madrid, Alexandre de Laborde’s (1773–1842) Voyage pittoresque et historique de l’Espagne (1806–20), or James Cavanah Murphy’s (1760–1814) Arabian Antiquities of Spain (1815) were important early transfer media.7 No less relevant for the popularization of the Alhambresque style were the picturesque views produced in the 1830s by artists such as David Roberts (1796–1864) or John Frederick Lewis (1805–1876).8 Yet 6 For a general introduction to plaster casts, see Frederiksen/Marchand 2010 and Lending 2017. For more on Jones’s Alhambra Court, see chapter 18 in this volume. As for von Diebitsch, see Giese/Varela Braga 2017a and the respective bibliography. 7 For a general introduction to this subject and further bibliography, see Calvo Serraller 1995; Galera Andreu 1992; Raquejo Grado 1986; Raquejo Grado 1989; Villafranca Jiménez 2012; Mulvin 2019. 8 Granada 1991. Galera Andreu 1992. Villafranca Jimenez 2012.
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even more pertinent for the appropriation of Alhambresque motifs were the publications by Joseph-Philibert Girault de Prangey (1804–1892), Jules Goury (1803–1834) and Owen Jones (1809–1874).9 By combining the abundance of colorful details and characters of the Romantic tradition with a new sense for visual precision, Girault de Prangey’s Monuments Arabes et Moresques de Cordoue, Séville et Grenade (1837–39), Choix d’ornements moresques de l’Alhambra (1842) as well as his rather historical-theoretical Essai sur l’architecture des arabes et des mores, en Espagne, en Sicilie et en Barbarie (1841) opened the path to a renewed appreciation of Ibero-Islamic architecture and decoration culminating in Goury and Jones’s seminal Plans, Elevations, Sections and Details of the Alhambra (1836–1845). Following the example of other Orientalist architects, such as Pascal-Xavier Coste (1787–1879), the two young men approached the Alhambra as a major work of architecture, looking beyond its popular image as a fairytale palace and proving that its ornamentation had in fact been based on mathematical and geometrical rules. Together, these publications provided invaluable visual material for the recreation of Alhambresque decorations. Beyond such volumes with a strong focus on architecture, the many pattern books that started appearing from the 1830s onwards were just as crucial, such as Charles-Ernest Clerget’s (1812–1870?) Encyclopédie universelle d’ornements antiques (c. 1840) or Joseph Cundall’s (1818–1895) Examples of Ornament (1855), which would also include motifs from the Alhambra.10 These books offered a variety of ornaments mostly presented as specimens detached from their original artistic contexts, thereby not only encouraging a culture of copy and paste, but also contributing to an intensified dissociation between form and material. Books such as Murphy’s Arabian Antiquities (1815), or Goury/Jones’s second volume of their Alhambra monograph, which carried the apt title of Details and Ornaments from the Alhambra (1845), devoted great sections to single ornamental patterns, thereby paving the way to a tendency that Jones’s other book, the popular and seminal Grammar of Ornament (1856), would help promote even further. The Grammar was the first truly encyclopedic publication on ornament. Illustrated with one hundred chromolithographic plates, it treated ornaments as essentially pure forms. The British architect would focus on formal principles of visual composition, that is, the interplay of form and color, as conveyed in the book’s thirty-seven theoretical propositions, thereby showing a general lack of interest in the material properties of ornaments as
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On Girault de Prangey see Quettier 1998; Mauron 2007; Labrusse 2011, 114; Pinson 2019. On Goury and Jones: Darby 1974; Darby 1983; Ferry 2004; Flores 2006. See chapter 20 in this volume.
466 Varela Braga they existed in situ.11 By looking at the plates of the Grammar of Ornament alone, it is hardly possible to gather any additional information in relation to the function or physical qualities of the real objects from which the motifs had been extracted. As they appear in the book, the patterns had been standardized through a process that highlighted their geometry, which would be even amplified by the application of chromolithography and the use of flattened colors.12 This was equally true for many other publications on ornament that would follow in the second half of the 19th century, such as Auguste Racinet’s (1825–1893) Ornement polychrome (1869–1873), which would thus encourage transmedial and transmaterial appropriations that would further accelerate the diffusion of ornamental patterns. 2
Re-inventing the Moorish Style: Transmateriality at the Villa of Sammezzano and Rocchetta Mattei
Marquis Ferdinando Panciatichi Ximenes d’Aragona’s (1813–1897) villa-castle of Sammezzano (1843-early 1900s) in Regello, near Florence, and Count Cesare Mattei’s (1809–1896) Rocchetta Mattei (1850-early 1900s) in Riola near Bologna, can be considered the two most important examples of Orientalizing architecture in Italy.13 As Ezio Godoli remarked, both represent late instances of “Romantic Orientalism”:14 contrary to historicist appropriations of Islamic styles as they were typical for the late 19th century, both buildings comprise an eclectic blend of stylistic elements from different cultures that creators and contemporaries alike would refer to under the general label of ‘Moorish’. However, Godoli pointed out that Sammezzano and the Rocchetta have much more in common:15 Firstly, Panciatichi and Mattei both were patrons and amateur architects who lacked any direct knowledge of Islamic monuments, since they had both never traveled to any Islamic country nor visited the Iberian Peninsula. Secondly, it seems that Jones’s Alhambra Court at the Crystal Palace of Sydenham had been their only source for analyzing the Alhambra’s 11
This would contribute to the idea that ornament could be considered an independent art form. See Frank 2001; Labrusse 2016; Varela Braga 2017d; Frank 2018. 12 On Jones’s contribution to the chromolithographic process, see Ferry 2003. 13 The construction of both ended after the deaths of their creators. On Sammezzano, see McCorquodale 1981; Tonelli 1982; Coignard 2003; Cerelli 2000–2001; Cerelli 2014; Bush 2017; Varela Braga 2018. On the Rocchetta Mattei: Palmieri 1931; Facci 2002; Holmes 2011; Facci 2012; Boscolo Marchi 2014; Stagni/Zanarini 2017. 14 Godoli 2014, 92. 15 Godoli 2014.
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architecture in its three dimensions.16 This model was, thirdly, supplemented by books as the primary transfer media they had at their disposal for creating their designs in collaboration with local artisans. Although there is no information available about Cesare Mattei’s personal library,17 the receipts preserved at the Florence State Archives allow us to –at least partially –reconstruct the original composition of Ferdinando Panciatichi’s oriental library at Sammezzano.18 Panciatichi started buying state-of- the-art publications on Islamic architecture and ornamentation as of the early 1850s. Among his first acquisitions of 1852 one finds Girault de Prangey’s Essai sur l’architecture des arabes (1841). From the plates of this publication he extrapolated the designs for the lateral doors of Sammezzano’s entrance hall, together with those of other decorative elements in the Hall of Lilies (Sala dei Gigli).19 A few years later, he purchased photographs of views of Spain, along with the three volumes of España Monumental y Artistica (1842), with Goury/ Jones’s Plans, Elevations, Sections and Details of the Alhambra (1836–1845) and Wilhelm Zanth’s Wilhelma (1855–1856) following suit, as soon would many other volumes on Islamic architecture.20 These publications provided Panciatichi with the visual inspiration he needed for the creation of the hybrid style of his villa, which he himself defined as a “Pagan Style whose main character is an assembly of the Arabic-Byzantine and Indo-European sort, and subject to innumerable modifications according to localities and materials found on site.”21 Despite this explicit reference to “materials,” Panciatichi rarely ever cared much about reproducing the original medium, thus limiting himself to formal appropriations only. As a matter of fact, Sammezzano’s decorations essentially rely on two relatively ‘modest’ and 16 17 18 19 20 21
While archival material confirms that Panciatichi visited the Crystal Palace at Sydenham in 1864 (ASFi, pxa, 160, f. 59), this unfortunately is not the case for Mattei, whose visit is based on assumptions only, see Holmes 2011, 150 and Facci 2012, 90. Borghi 1996 lists tMattei’s publications on electro-homeopathy, but says nothing about the content of the count’s library, which is still unknown. See Cerelli 2000–2001, 241–256; nota bene: the archival references in her volume do no longer correspond to the current classification system. On the family’s archive in general, see Santacroce 2014. See Varela Braga 2018. See Cerelli 2000–2001, 241–256 and Varela Braga 2018, 300, notes 30–33. “Style Païen dont le caractère principal est un ensemble du genre Arabo-Bysantin et Indo-Européen, sujet à d’innombrables modifications suivant les localités et les matériaux trouvés sur les lieux,” in: Album fotografico di Sammezzano [n.d.], first mentioned in Barducci 2018, 151. I would like to thank Ezio Godoli and Mauro Cozzi for bringing me in contact with Andrea Barducci. For sources on Sammezzano, see also Cerelli 2014. For Panciatichi’s comments on architecture, see Panciatichi 2000 and Cerelli 2000.
468 Varela Braga inexpensive media: paint and stucco, with the latter not only being reminiscent of the Alhambra’s original ornamentation but also belonging to an old tradition of Italy’s architectural and decorative savoir-faire.22 Moreover, Panciatichi, who possessed a gypsum mine, also experimented with other materials commonly used in local traditions, including terracotta and ceramics.23 It thus seems that he did not use commercial plaster casts, which had become more easily available since the second half of the century,24 but preferred the work of local artisans such as Vincenzo Buffi and his assistant Stefano Salvi for implementing his ideas, which he based on the visual sources found at his library.25 The aforementioned two-leaf door demonstrates this mode of adoption; its template was a horseshoe arch of the cloister of Tarragona Cathedral as reproduced on plate 1 of Girault de Prangey’s Essai sur l’architecture des arabes (figs. 21.1a-b). Another example are the muqarnas capitals at the Hall of Stars (Sala delle Stelle) and White Hall (Sala Bianca), whose designs were equally inspired by Goury/Jones’s and Girault de Prangey’s publications.26 The models Panciatichi used for his decorations were not only based on architectural elements, though; in addition, he would deliberately adapt patterns from other sources. Such was the case for a motif depicted on the cover of Owen Jones’ Grammar of Ornament, which he would reproduce as a bas-relief on the arches of an arcade leading from the Hall of Stars to the White Hall (figs. 21.2a-b). For yielding this result, he did not only modify the template’s original size, but also transformed it from a two-dimensional illustration into a three-dimensional stucco ornament. This combination of motifs from architectural history, fashionable graphic components from contemporary illustrations with Panciatichi’s personal reinterpretations thereof, accounts for one of Samezzano’s main characteristics.27 Inspired by the books from his well- equipped library, Panciatichi would deliberately combine various stylistic and cultural references in the spirit of the same Gothic-Moorish style that had been popular in his youth, that is, during the 1830s. In line with Sammezzano’s eclectic decorative program, the Hall of Lovers (Sala degli Amanti) possesses a white stucco ceiling whose formal prototype
22 23 24 25 26 27
On the history of the stucco’s technique, see: Bellini 2001. Cerelli 2000–2001, 94. See chapter 12 in this volume. See Cerelli 2000–2001, 355–356, 368–369; Varela Braga 2018, 16–17 and Barducci 2018, 156– 157. Unfortunately, no original drawings have survived, yet some plates were published in Ricordi di Architettura. Also, the living dates of both artisans are unknown. Varela Braga 2018, 299–300. This aspect is treated in more detail in the author’s forthcoming habilitation thesis.
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can be traced back to Mamlūk wooden ceilings as depicted in an example from Cairo on plate 69 of Émile Prisse d’Avennes’s (1807–1879) L’art arabe d’après les monuments du Kaire (1869–1877) a publication whose parts Panciatichi had purchased right after its release (figs. 21.3a-b).28 One recognizes the general structure of the coffered wooden ceiling with its decorated beams, which for the building had been executed in white stucco, along with some of the decorative elements, such as the quatrefoil ornamental motif inside a square, as that depicted in said plate. Yet there is no reference to the ceiling’s original material; Prisse d’Avennes’s plate had been used as a structural and formalistic device only. Other cases, however, do include reminiscences of the original materials. This, for instance, is true for the depiction of a 15tth-century qamarīya, that is, stained glass incorporated into latticework made from plaster, on plate 145 of Prisse d’Avennes’s L’art arabe. The composition of this glazing shows a flower arrangement in a vase on a small table –a motif painted over the walls of the Hall of Lilies. For the publication the qamarīya and its decorative frame had been enhanced, which is why some details on the plate allow to infer the original materiality: one sees small white dots, which, as Sarah Keller points out in the following chapter, refer to small holes in the plaster into which glass pieces would be inserted. At Sammezzano, these holes look like small balls, a form possibly inspired by the air bubbles of in Gothic stained-glass windows (figs. 21.4a-b),29 which seems to imply that the Islamic prototype had been westernized. Another example is to be found in the Hall of Mirrors (Sala degli Specchi), where Panciatichi used the pattern of a blank window at the Alhambra as depicted in Goury/Jones and transformed it into a golden and geometric, wooden mirror frame (figs. 21.15a-b).30 The visual sources of Cesare Mattei’s Rocchetta, on the other hand, are more difficult to identify, the reason of which being that the family archives have been dissolved in the meantime. In spite of this obstacle it is still possible to determine the use of popular motifs in many parts of the edifice, which indicates that the builder-owner must have been aware of some of the main publications on Islamic architecture and ornamentation. The stucco ribbon sebka ornaments on the walls of the, today heavily damaged, dining-room and the atrium resemble James Cavanah Murphy’s plates as 28 29 30
As attested from the receipts of the Libreria Ermano Loescher, 20 via Tornabuoni, Firenze, Palazzo Corsi, dated December 20, 1869, and March 10, 1870, for the first six parts of the book (ASFi, pxa 163, f. 280 and f. 380). Keller 2019b. See also chapter 15 in this volume. Goury/Jones 1836–1845, vol. 2, plate 43.
470 Varela Braga published in his Arabian Antiquities (plate 74), Charles Clerget’s Encyclopédie universelle d’ornements (plate 17) and Goury/Jones’ Alhambra (vol. 2, plate 31). Yet despite this resemblance, the source Mattei used probably was Goury/ Jones only, as can be deduced from the coloring of these decorations, which only makes use of the three primary colors (yellow/gold, red and blue), in accordance with Jones’s theory of the Alhambra’s original polychromy.31 The colors of the dining-room (fig. 21.6) follow almost exactly the same scheme of Jones’s chromolithography (fig. 21.7, detail on the right), wherein gold is replaced by a bronze hue. The same scheme was used for the atrium, yet in a slightly different, much more colorful version: here, the use of yellow would be limited to highlighting the motif’s geometrical structure, whereas the ataurique parts would be colored in red and blue for achieving a much more vivid visual effect (fig. 21.8). The same plate 31 of Goury/Jones’s book also served as the template for another type of ribbon sebka (fig. 21.7, detail on the left)32 as found on the Rocchetta’s exterior as well as its interior walls. In respect to the building’s exterior, the ornament was made from terracotta, whereas mortar had been the material of choice for the interior. Apart from material differences, both ornaments consist of a highly simplified, two-color version of the original motif’s polychromy (figs. 21.9a-b). Painting was also used for reproducing the original textures of ornaments in wood or stucco, which was the case for the battlements (fig. 21.9b) and the ceiling of the Turkish Bedroom (Camera Turca). The latter use a twelve- pointed star ornament that belonged to the wooden ceiling (armadura) of “the portico of the court of the fishpond [Court of Myrtles]” as depicted in Goury/Jones’s Alhambra and Jones’s Grammar.33 Here, however, the motif was painted a secco onto the ceiling, yet without any tentative so that the result would resemble the original material or manufacturing technique (figs. 21.10a- b). The chapel of the Rocchetta provides us with another instructive example for transmateriality, whose architectural composition and double register of arches has been considered a reference to the Mosque of Córdoba.34 Its walls 31
32 33 34
Mattei could have experienced its visual effect at Jones’s Alhambra Court, yet only under the assumption that he had visited the Crystal Palace. On Jones color theory, see Jones 1854, 42–47. As for contemporary applications thereof, see also Darby 1974, 262–290; Van Zanten 1977, 235–241; Flores 1996, 134–164; Flores 2006, 79–88. Goury/Jones 1836–1845, vol.2, plate 31. Goury/Jones 1836–1845, vol. 2, plate 46; Jones 1856, plate 42. Holmes 2011, 58; Godoli 2014, 94. Francine Giese, however, asserts that the black-and- white dichroism of the chapel is not reminiscent of Cordoba, but might instead refer to Tuscan prototypes, such as the Sienna Cathedral or simply indicates that Mattei had used
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are covered with painted patterns resembling Renaissance tapestry, whereas for the ceiling arabesques based on Mamlūk art were used. At a first glance, both are seemingly made of high-relief stucco, while a closer look reveals that they actually are trompe-l’oeil paintings on textiles (fig. 21.11). Yet the Red Room (Sala Rossa) certainly makes for the most original example of transmedial and transmaterial appropriations (fig. 21.12). The composition of muqarnas had been explained by Goury and Jones in the 1830s,35 and it also was him who would introduce this element to a greater public through his Alhambra Court at Sydenham in 1854 (fig. 21.13). In the accompanying guidebook to the Court, he included a description of such “stalactite[s],”36 explaining that for the dome of his reduced version of the Hall of the Abencerrajes he had used the modern technique of gelatin molds, which allowed him to produce stalactite combinations in series and save a lot of time for the construction of the dome. In comparison to these modern elements or the original’s elaborate and delicate honey-comb design, the Rocchetta’s simplified muqarnas seem rather primitive, suggesting that they had been produced by local artisans. The original plaster prisms were replaced by simplified diamond shaped elements of papier-mâché, whose decorative use for interiors had already been a widespread practice during the 17th and 18th centuries and that was similarly capable of reproducing decorative elements in large series.37 These prisms would be set next to each other and on different levels to achieve a visual complexity and dynamic similar to that of stalactites ceilings. 3
The Great Synagogue in Florence: Copy-Pasting Owen Jones’s Alhambra
Throughout the 19th century, neo-Moorish style was considered well-suited for synagogues, and the Great Synagogue in Florence, built between 1874 and 1882, made no exception here.38 Although the building had initially been planned
35 36 37 38
black-and-white depictions (engravings or photographs) of the original monument for designing his chapel. Goury/Jones 1836–1845,vol. 1, plate 10. See c hapter 19 in this volume. Jones 1854, 60–62, 85–86. The description was first published in Goury/Jones, vol. 1, plate 10. For an introduction to the subject, see Thorton 1993. For the use of papier-mâché for Alhambresque decorations in Russia, see chapter 22 in this volume. See Künzl 1984; Scott 2000; Kalmar 2001; Frübis 2018.
472 Varela Braga in a neo-Renaissance style, the Reale Accademia delle Arti del Disegno insisted that it should be built in an Orientalizing style instead. Architects Mariano Falcini (1804–1885), Vincente Micheli (1833–1905) and Marco Treves (1814–1897) eventually decided that it should look neo-Byzantine from the outside, while its interior should be executed in a highly polychrome neo-Moorish style (fig. 21.14).39 Painter-decorator Giovanni Panti (1835-ca. 1900?) was responsible for the synagogue’s interior decoration, for which he adapted some of the Alhambra’s wooden ceilings (armaduras), carved stucco wall decorations and tile mosaic dados (alicatados) and transformed the three-dimensional elements into bidimensional ornamentation. Laura Hamad has recently shown that Panti had studied Goury/Jones’s Alhambra monograph in the library of Florence’s Royal Academy.40 To be more exact, Panti actually based his decorative program mostly on the second volume, which Jones had published in 1845 and that offered a large variety of close-up details in high quality chromolithographs, often in half-size formats. Easily recognizable are the sebka motifs on plates 14 and 17, or the floral arabesques (ataurique) on plate 18 that cover the walls of the upper and lower galleries (figs. 21.15a-b, 21.16a-b), with the serially repeated magnified motifs resembling wallpaper. Using paint for the vast space furthermore had the benefit of being less costly than other alternatives. By comparison, the decorations of the Florentine synagogue seemingly copy Nasrid ornamentation more faithfully than the Rocchetta or Sammezzano. In many cases, however, the painter had modified Goury and Jones’s templates to better suit the building’s function as a place of worship for the Jewish community. Accordingly, certain elements had been ‘Hebraized’; for instance, there were depictions of the hexagonal Star of David in lieu of the eight-or more-pointed stars of Nasrid architecture; also, the Arabic language would be replaced with Hebrew. However, one of the greatest differences between the chromolithographs and Panti’s decorations were the color tones: he had substituted Jones’s vibrant and gaudy primary colors for an array of more low-toned ones, thus setting a more harmonious, warmer atmosphere –a more tamed version of Orientalism that matched the requirements of the local believers.
39 40
Kalmar 2013; Gargova 2018. Hamad 2015, 48.
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Alhambras in White Stucco: the Villa Stibbert and the Palazzo Levi
The latest developments in the serial production and commercialization of plaster casts during the second half of the 19th century made acquiring parts of the world’s most renowned historical monuments and using them for creating versions of them at home much easier.41 Casts were advantageous in that they were rather cheap, could take on all kinds of forms and therefore be used for all kinds of purposes. For European patrons and builders this implied that the diversity of materials at the Alhambra, including wooden armaduras, the tiles of dados, marble shafts and capitals, as well as the elaborated stucco work, could be reproduced by using the same material –plaster. Rafael Contreras’s (1824–1890) reproduction workshop in Granada promoted and encouraged this development by selling small architectural models of the Nasrid palaces and original-size plaster casts of some of its parts and as souvenirs.42 Accordingly, during his stay in Granada in 1861, Italian-British art collector Frederick Stibbert (1838–1906)43 bought twenty-six plasters casts from Contreras, including two capitals, reproduced inscriptions, parts of pilasters and cornices, as well as ceiling elements. These casts would later be used as templates for Stibbert’s 1889 Moorish Hall at Villa Montughi, where the marble shafts and columns, mosaic dados, wooden doors and ceilings of the Alhambra would all be executed in one and the same material: stucco (fig. 21.17). This reductive process inevitably changed how the monument would be perceived, that is, as a monument of bright white. That the stucco elements would be left unpainted added to this general misconception, with the only other colors coming from the tile pavement from Ulisse Cantagalli (1839–1901) workshop. The whiteness of walls of Stibbert’s Moorish Hall might seem exceptional, yet it was a frequent trait of Alhambresque interiors. Like the aforementioned Rocchetta Mattei, the Moorish Room at Palazzo Levi (late 19th century) included combinations of colored tiles and plaster casts, a typology common to Spanish patios (fig. 21.20).44 Originally the property of French art collector Pierre Amédée Foucques, baron de Vagnonville (1806–1876),45 Giorgio Enrico Levi (1849–1936) had purchased the building sometime after 1876. Born in
41 42 43 44 45
On the industry for producing casts, see Lending 2017 and Giese/Varela Braga 2017c, as well as chapters 11 and 12 in this volume, including their bibliographies. On Contreras, see chapter 11 in this volume. On Stibbert, see c hapter 9 in this volume. See chapter 18 in this volume. His collection of Etruscan artworks was donated to Florence after his death (Gamurrini 1877). Egisto Bracci (1830–1909) was responsible for the renovation of his residence on
474 Varela Braga Cairo to a Jewish family of Venetian origins, Levi was a bibliophile and amateur photographer,46 who shared with Stibbert a passion for horses and traveling. A photo at the Alinari Archives, dated May 12, 1889, the year when the construction works on Stibbert’s Moorish Hall began, portrays the Englishman together with Levi and other high-ranking members of Florence at the Cascine Hippodrome, suggesting that both men probably knew each other.47 By comparison, Levi’s Moorish Room is much smaller than Stibbert’s Moorish Hall and was probably intended as a smoking room.48 Its decoration is divided into two registers: whereas the surfaces of the floor and the dado are fully covered with colored tiles from the Cantagalli workshop (figs. 21.18a-b),49 uncolored plaster casts of different Alhambra parts conceal the ceiling and the upper walls (figs. 21.19-21.20). Despite the original intention of refurbishing the room with a smack of Ibero-Islamic exoticism, the lack of color is not capable of achieving anything other than a domesticated version of Alhambresque style. 5
Appropriating the Alhambra in the Land of Dante and Michelangelo
The popularity of the Alhambra in the West during the 19th century led to a diversity of appropriation methods and recreated forms that also reached Italy. Encouraged by architectural historicism and eclecticism, Alhambresque style proliferated among in domestic and public buildings, a vogue enabled by the various transfer media architects, patrons and decorators alike used as templates for their designs. Contemporary publications on architecture and ornament thus were one of the main visual resources for Alhambresque decorations, which due to parallel developments in the industry of cast productions,
46 47 48 49
piazza degli Zuavi that took place sometime between 1861 and the 1870s. See http://www. palazzospinelli.org/architetture/scheda.asp?offset=2190&ID=2695 (accessed 4/2/2019). An illustration of the façade of the palace was published Ricordi di Architettura. Raccolta di ricordi d’arte antica e moderna e di misurazione di monumenti, serie i, viii, 1885, plate 10 (“Palazzo Vagnonville piazza degli Zuavi”). Mancini 2006. Levi’s photographic archives are today held at the Alinari archives in Florence. Florence, Alinari Archives, photography number glq-F-005152-0000. On the relationship between smoking-rooms and Orientalism, see Marczoch 1989, 190–1; Giese 2015, 41, Giese 2016c. On the general history of tobacco rituals, see Burns 2007. The motifs on the dado correspond to nos. 30 and 31, published on plate 6 of the Cantagalli catalogue of 1887. During a visit to the Palazzo Levi, the author was able to confirm this information by analyzing some tiles that were misplaced and carried the Cantagalli mark on their back.
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would be fed into an infinite chain of reproduction. These publications made it easy to select motifs, to copy and paste them onto surfaces, to transfer them to new cultural contexts, as well as to modify them deliberately. As exemplified in this chapter, more often than not, the diversity of cultural appropriation methods would be met with equally diverse, transmedial and transmaterial transformations, resulting in the creation of a multitude of ‘Alhambras’ that echoed contemporary tastes and practical requirements.
476 Varela Braga
Illustrations
figure 21.1 Horseshoe arch of the cloister of Tarragona Cathedral. a. Girault de Prangey 1841, plate 1. b. Entrance hall of Villa Sammezzano source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / rabatti & domingie photography
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figure 21.2 a. Ornamental pattern on the cover of Owen Jones’s Grammar of Ornament. b. Its modified version at the Hall of Stars of Villa Sammezzano source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / rabatti & domingie photography
figure 21.3 A ceiling from Cairo. a. Prisse d’Avennes 1869–1877, plate 69. b. Stucco ceiling of the Hall of Lovers at Villa Sammezzano source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / rabatti & domingie photography
478 Varela Braga
figure 21.4 Qamarīya. a. Prisse d’Avennes 1869–1877, plate 145. b. Its painted transposition at the Hall of Lilies at Villa Sammezzano’s Hall of Lilies source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / rabatti & domingie photography
figure 21.5 Pattern from a blank window at the Alhambra. a. Goury/Jones 1836–1845, vol. 2, plate 43. b. Mirror from the Hall of Mirrors at Villa Sammezzano source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / rabatti & domingie photography
Revisiting the Alhambra479
figure 21.6 Ribbon sebka ornament from the dining-room of Rocchetta Mattei source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / rabatti & domingie photography
figure 21.7 Ribbon sebka ornaments as depicted in Goury/Jones 1836–1845, vol.2, plate 31 (detail)
480 Varela Braga
figure 21.8 Ribbon sebka ornament at the atrium of Rocchetta Mattei source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / rabatti & domingie photography
Revisiting the Alhambra481
figure 21.9 Ribbon sebka ornament on the exterior walls (top) and on the interior walls of Rocchetta Mattei (bottom) source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / rabatti & domingie photography
482 Varela Braga
figure 21.10 Twelve-pointed star ornament. a. Goury/Jones 1836–1845, vol. 2, plate 46. b. Its painted version at the Turkish Bedroom of Rocchetta Mattei source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / rabatti & domingie photography
figure 21.11 View of the ceiling of the chapel at Rocchetta Mattei, with arabesque ornaments painted onto textiles source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / rabatti & domingie photography
Revisiting the Alhambra483
figure 21.12 Muqarnas of papier-mâché at the Red Room of Rocchetta Mattei source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / rabatti & domingie photography
484 Varela Braga
figure 21.13 The composition of muqarnas from prisms and their different uses at the Alhambra, as depicted in Goury/Jones 1836–1845, vol. 1, text to, pl. 10
Revisiting the Alhambra485
figure 21.14 General view of the Great Synagogue of Florence source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / rabatti & domingie photography
486 Varela Braga
figure 21.15 Sebka ornament. a. Goury/Jones 1836–1845, vol. 2, plate 17. b. Its painted transposition at the Great Synagogue of Florence source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / rabatti & domingie photography
figure 21.16 Floral ornament. a. Goury/Jones 1836–1845, vol. 2, plate 18. b. Its painted transposition at the Great Synagogue of Florence source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / rabatti & domingie photography
Revisiting the Alhambra
figure 21.17 Detail from the ceiling of the Moorish Hall at Villa Stibbert source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / rabatti & domingie photography
figure 21.18 a. Tiles at the Moorish Room of Palazzo Levi source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / rabatti & domingie photography. b. tiles from cantagalli’s 1887 catalog
487
488 Varela Braga
figure 21.19 View of the Moorish Room at Palazzo Levi source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / rabatti & domingie photography
Revisiting the Alhambra489
figure 21.20 View of the Moorish Room at Palazzo Levi source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / rabatti & domingie photography
c hapter 22
Neo-Moorish Ceilings
On the Models and Materiality of Russian Alhambrismo Katrin Kaufmann Interiors in neo-Moorish style were also popular in Eastern Europe, especially in 19th-century Tsarist Russia. As shown in chapter 17, the Alhambra in Granada was mainly used as a model for designing such interiors in the Russian capital of St. Petersburg.1 First examples thereof were created as early as during the 1830s, but it would not be before the second half of the 19th century that they would become widespread. A comparative examination of these interiors, even if focusing on one single aspect only, can provide additional information, for example on the different approaches of architects. In the following, some of the extant ceilings of Russian Orientalizing interiors are compared with respect to their materiality, design and the templates the architects had used for drafting them. For a better contextualization, first a brief description concerning the possible models, the ceilings of the original Alhambra in Granada, is given. 1
The Ceilings of the Alhambra: Armaduras and Muqarnas Vaults and Their Reception in Russia
Two types of ceilings are the most common in the Nasrid palaces in Granada, namely, armaduras and muqarnas vaults,2 with the term armadura3 generally referring to the decorative ceilings that consist of uncountable single wooden 1 See Kaufmann 2018. 2 On the use of muqarnas vaults in al-Andalus and the Crown of Castile, see c hapter 19 in this volume. 3 The Spanish term is derived from the verb armar (to compose), which refers to that these ceilings would be assembled from many different wooden pieces. For Nasrid woodwork, especially roofs and ceilings, see López Pertíñez 2006, 211–290. The most renowned specialist in this field is the architect and carpenter Enrique Nuere Matauco, who has published several articles and books on the art of armaduras, see for example Nuere Matauco 1990, Nuere Matauco 1999, Nuere Matauco 2003. His book La carpintería de armar española (2003) contains a comprehensive glossary on the complex terminology of Nasrid wooden ceilings.
© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2021 | DOI:10.1163/9789004448582_024
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pieces, which, like a very elaborate jigsaw puzzle, together compose a type of decoration called lazo that is based on intricate straight lines or ribbons whose interlacing yields complex geometric patterns.4 Armaduras with lazo decorations show great complexity and were created mainly between the 13th century and mid-14th century. A change occurred under Muḥammad v (r. ad 1354–1359; 1362–1391 / ah 755–760; 763–793), when muqarnas, compositions of small prisms that had been previously reserved for adorning arches and capitals, would now be used for entire vaults.5 With their hundreds of plaster prisms arranged on several levels (pisos), muqarnas ceilings provided a new visual effect of three-dimensionality and depth.6 Occasionally, muqarnas and armaduras would appear in combinations: squinches with muqarnas could cover the upper angles of a square space and form the basis for a spherical wooden armadura.7 Starting in the middle of the 19th century, some architects trained at the Imperial Academy of Arts in St. Petersburg would study and document armaduras and muqarnas on site, especially in Granada.8 Upon their return to Russia, their visual studies would be exhibited at the Academy of Arts and sometimes even purchased for educational purposes. One of the most outstanding exhibits consisted of Pavel Notbek’s (1824–1877) plaster casts and models of the Alhambra that he had created during an extensive stay in Granada.9 Apart from this works, the popular publications on the Alhambra were also obtainable in St. Petersburg, for example at the Academy’s library. This meant that there was enough information and knowledge available during Tsarist times 4 This decoration type is the most common of the Alhambra, as it would not only be incorporated into wooden armaduras but also the ceramic mosaics (alicatados) used for adorning lower wall zones and the plaster panels that embellish upper wall zones. For a short introduction on the geometric lazo see Fernández-Puertas 1997a, 94–96. 5 In al-Andalus, muqarnas vaults existed since the 12th century. On muqarnas in general, see Fernández-Puertas 1997a, 93. 6 The muqarnas of the Western Islamic regions are unique, especially due to the great variety of prism shapes. 7 See fig. 22.8b below. 8 They had received a multi-year scholarship to go abroad and hone their skills. On the so- called pensionerstvo of Russian artists see Gavrichkov 1993; Alekseeva et al. 2007; Bogdan/ Shuiskii 2000. 9 On the mentioned cast and model collection and its display at the former Imperial Academy of Arts in St. Petersburg, see chapters 12 as well as appendices 1–30 in this volume. On Notbek’s collection, today kept at the Scientific-Research Museum of the Russian Academy of Arts (NIMRAKh), see Kondakov 1914, 104–105; Arutiunian 2012; Kondratenko/Savinova 2018. In 2018, the entire Alhambra Collection of the NIMRAKh, which had not been on display for many decades, was documented in photographs in collaboration with the University of Zurich. A selection of the models and casts has been published in Giese 2019b.
492 Kaufmann that would allow artists to appropriate and copy both muqarnas vaults and wooden armaduras. Entire muqarnas vaultings, however, were a very rare sight in St. Petersburg. Only the oriels of two neo-Moorish interiors at Villa San-Galli (1869–1872) and Muruzi House (1874–1877) were covered with muqarnas vaults.10 Especially the components of Villa San-Galli, painted in white, red, blue and gold, and adorned with an S-shaped vegetal and other decorations (fig. 22.1), bear much resemblance with some of the muqarnas of the Alhambra. At first glance, however, Russian ceilings in neo-Moorish style seemingly imitate armaduras more often than muqarnas vaults. Yet after taking a closer look at the designs of ceilings, whose templates are usually identified as Nasrid armaduras, this assumption will be questioned and eventually refuted, giving some indications as to the real models. 2
The Neo-Moorish Ceiling at Villa San-Galli: an Armadura in Stucco?
Villa San-Galli is also home to the ceiling in St. Petersburg with the most resemblance to Nasrid armaduras. Karl Rakhau11 (1830–1880) had designed the villa and its interiors for a Russian entrepreneur of Prussian origin, Franz San-Galli (1824–1908), around 1870.12 The ceiling of this neo-Moorish cabinet consists of a centerpiece (a) with a wide frame (b) (fig. 22.2). The brown color of the ceiling suggests wood as its material, yet a closer look shows that it entirely consists of painted stucco, with some golden, blue and red accents. This materiality thus clearly differs from that of Nasrid armaduras, which still changes nothing about the fact that the Alhambra had been its source of inspiration: the framing motif (b) does indeed imitate one type of armaduras, of which an example can be found at the Generalife Palace (fig. 22.3). Constructed during the reign of Muḥammad ii (r. ah 671–701 / ad 1273–1302), this one is classified as a so-called armadura apeinazado, which means that the rafters can be seen from below and form a simple geometric
10 11 12
The two buildings are located at 62 Ligovskii prospekt and 24 Liteinii prospekt, St. Petersburg. For Rakhau’s biography see Zodchii, 1, 1882, 12–13 (obituary); Kondakov 1915, 378; Isachenko et al. 1998, 1026; Kirikov/Ginzburg 1996, 260; Russian State Historical Archive (rgia), f. 789, op. 14-R, d. 5, l. 66–77. Franz San-Galli had this representative villa built next to his flourishing iron foundry. As to San-Galli and his company see Smyshliaev 2007, for the villa see especially Krechmer 2012.
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pattern of stars and knots on the inclined panels (paños or faldones).13 Karl Rakhau copied the motif, but, deviating from its original function and the traditional techniques, incorporated it into a flat ceiling for purely decorative reasons. Yet how did Karl Rakhau get to know this motif so well, given that among the relevant publications of the 19th century it had been published only once, and in a simplified manner?14 The answer is that the architect had been able to study the Alhambra in situ only a few years earlier. After graduating from the Imperial Academy of Arts in St. Petersburg in 1857, he had been sent abroad for six years to hone his skills. Before visiting Spain to study the architecture of the Alhambra, Rakhau had already traveled across Western Europe, particularly France and the United Kingdom.15 His colleague Karl Kol’man (1835–1889) later joined him in Granada, where they both worked on a graphic survey and reconstruction of the Tower of the Princesses (Torre de las Infantas) between 1861 and 1863.16 Consequently, Karl Rakhau would spend a lot of time at the Nasrid palaces, which makes it very likely that he himself had studied and recorded the motif in question. He created many drawings of the Alhambra, which today are held at the Scientific-Research Museum of the Russian Acade my of Arts (NIMRAKh) in St. Petersburg and unequivocally confirm Rakhau’s productivity and skillfulness as a draftsman.17 A comparison between the central motif of the ceiling at Villa San-Galli (a) and the decorations of the Alhambra clearly demonstrates that the former is in no way related to Nasrid armaduras, even though its polychromy and the lazo decorations might suggest something else. Instead, its source of inspiration were stucco panels of the central wall zone in the Hall of the Two Sisters (Sala de las Dos Hermanas) that had been created during the second reign of aforementioned Muḥammad v in the last third of the 14th century (fig. 22.4). The panels show a variation of the lazo-of-eight,18 which usually consists of a center (sino) of two overlapping, identical squares, with one 13 14
On this armadura at the Generalife see López Pertíñez 2006, 256. See the plate Sección trasversal de la Mezquita, en los reales alcázares de la Alhambra (Granada), an interior view of the oratory of the Partal Palace, published in 1863 in the fourth volume of the Monumentos Arquitectónicos en España (Gil Dorregaray 1856–1881). 15 See rgia, f. 789, op. 2 1857, d. 7, l. 24; rgia, f. 789, op. 2 1858, d. 54, l. 2, 14, 32; rgia, f. 789, op. 2 1859, d. 11, l. 33. 16 Their impressive drawings are held at the Scientific-Research Museum of the Russian Academy of Arts (NIMRAKh), see also chapter 12 in this volume. 17 As for the drawings Rakhau produced abroad, see Gavrichkov 1993. 18 The lazo-of-eight has its origins in al-Andalus. On the geometric principles of this decoration see Fernández-Puertas 1997a, 332–349.
494 Kaufmann of them rotated by 45 degrees, so that both together form a star of eight orthogonal points. In Spanish, this star shape is known as the primer cruce, the star of the “first crossing,” because it is composed of two overlapping –thus ‘crossing’ – squares.19 By extending the side lines of both squares and letting them intersect a second time, they form another star, yet this time with eight points at an angle of 45 degrees (segundo cruce). These lines are then folded several times in different angles to build a mosaic-like assembly of polygons around both interlaced stars that together yield an octagonal shape known as rueda.20 The panels of the Hall of the Two Sisters show such lazos whose outlines are accented by ribbons with a chain-like decor, whereas the polygons are adorned with beads and vegetal ornamentation (ataurique). Protruding pinecones are a another characteristic element of these panels, a detail that had also been included to Girault de Prangey’s 1842 publication, Choix d’ornements moresques de l’Alhambra, but is not found in any other relevant Alhambra publication of the time.21 And still it appeared on the ceiling of the neo-Moorish hall at Villa San-Galli as a highly precise reproduction. Since Rakhau’s materials at the NIMRAKh do not include any detailed drawings of the motif, it can only be assumed that the template for the ceiling’s centerpiece actually had been Pavel Notbek’s model of the Hall of the Two Sisters with its very precise, three-dimensional reproduction of the stucco panels, the first of altogether five he had created during his stay in Granada (fig. 22.5). Reproducing the entire hall, including the muqarnas dome, in a scale of 1:4, it is also the largest model of Notbek’s collection (cat. 3).22 As a former student of the Imperial Academy of Arts and one of its professors since 1870, Rakhau certainly had access to Notbek’s models, and could thus have copied the motif in question.
19 20
21 22
Terminology according to Fernández-Puertas 1997a, 95. Again, there is a rich vocabulary for describing such designs, including the different polygon types. Some are marked in fig. 22.4; they follow the terminology introduced in the manuscript Breve compendio de la carpintería de lo blanco y tratado de alarifes by 17th- century carpenter Diego López de Arenas (Seville, 1633, which has been published in a facsimile edition, together with an introduction and glossary by Manuel Gómez-Moreno (see López de Arenas/Gómez-Moreno 1966). See Girault de Prangey 1842, pl. 15. Notbek probably began to work on this model of the Hall of the Two Sisters after having encountered a similar one created by Rafael Contreras (1824–1890) between 1842 and 1847. Contreras’s model, later acquired by Queen Isabel ii of Spain (1830–1904, r. 1833– 1868), paved the way for his later career as restaurador adornista of the Alhambra, see González Pérez 2017, vol. 1, 162–164; González Pérez 2017, vol. 2, 82–89.
Neo-Moorish Ceilings
3
495
Alhambra Wall Decorations: a Popular, but Not the Only Model for Neo-Moorish Ceilings
In the second half of the 19th century, several architects used the wall decorations of the Alhambra as templates for designing neo-Moorish ceilings for domestic spaces in St. Petersburg. One of the most striking examples is located at aforementioned Muruzi House, built between 1874 and 1877 for Prince Aleksandr Muruzi (1807–1880). Planned by architect Aleksei Serebriakov (1836– 1905), it included the Prince’s twenty-six room apartment furnished in Rococo Revival style, with the exception of a private staircase and a smoking room, both in neo-Moorish style.23 The ceiling of the staircase shows the same motif of the Hall of the Two Sisters used by Karl Rakhau for Villa San-Galli only a few years before (fig. 22.6). In contrast, however, the greatly enlarged motif now occupies the entire ceiling. Whereas for the walls of the Alhambra several identically designed panels would have been arranged in grids by assembling them next to one another in vertical and horizontal direction, here the motif had been isolated, although it would still be framed by a frieze of interwoven ribbons similar to that of the wall panels of the Alhambra.24 Although there is a lack of documents proving that Serebriakov had actually known the ceiling of Villa San-Galli, this option is nonetheless likely, given that he used the same motif and polychromy to imitate wooden armaduras.25 Piotr Shreiber (1841–1903) was another architect who had incorporated the designs of stucco panels of the Alhambra into the ceiling of a neo-Moorish living room, yet this time for Sergei von Derviz’s private villa (1885).26 Shreiber adopted, for example, a motif of the southern wall of the Hall of the Ambassadors (Salón de Embajadores) that Owen Jones had published in Plans, Elevations, Sections and Details of the Alhambra, as well as in a colored version in the Grammar of Ornament (figs. 22.7a–b).27 Yet for his appropriation, Shreiber
23 24 25
26 27
Serebriakov was assisted by Piotr Shestov (1847–1914) and Nikolai Sultanov (1850–1908). On the Muruzi House see Kobak/Lur’e 1990, Kobak/Lur’e 1996. This frieze was the same that Notbek had reproduced in his model of the Hall of the Two Sisters. The same motif of the stucco wall panels of the Hall of the Two Sisters was reused around 1900 for the design of two ceilings of a villa at 9 Bol’shaia Koniushennaia Street, St. Petersburg. Located on the second and third floor, the rooms were installed either in 1899 or 1902 by architect Leonid Fufaevskii (1865–19??), see Kirikov 2003, 160–161. The villa is located on 33 Galernaia ulitsa, St. Petersburg. See Goury/Jones 1836–1845, vol. 2, pl. vi, no. 10; Jones 1856, pl. xlii, no. 2. On the geometric design of these panels, see Fernández-Puertas 1997a, 383–386.
496 Kaufmann had decided not to imitate wood by using brown paint; instead, he gilded the complete ceiling and varnished it in blue and red. The ceilings described so far are plane, as were most neo-Moorish examples in St. Petersburg. For a few individual cases, however, domes were a welcome alternative. Two examples thereof can help to verify the initial question as to whether Russian architects would have pursued the same methods in relation to the applied models and materials, or if their designs allow to draw other conclusions. The dome of the neo-Moorish Boudoir at Vladimir Palace (1867–1872) bears resemblance to Nasrid wooden domes, especially those of the pavilion buildings at the Court of the Lions (figs. 22.8a-b).28 Built around 1380, these domes rise above richly decorated muqarnas squinches.29 Although other decorative panels of the Boudoir clearly prove that its architect, Aleksandr Reza nov (1817–1887), or one of his assistants,30 had based his ideas at least partially on Owen Jones’s books,31 this does not seem to be the case for this dome, whose template is –despite the similarity to the domes of the pavilions in the Court of the Lions –to be sought in other publications related to Islamic art and architecture, for example Pascal-Xavier Coste’s Architecture arabe ou monu ments du Kaire, mesurés et dessinés de 1818 à 1826 of 1837.32 Coste had been the first to publish the depiction of the lazo decoration of a wooden pulpit (minbar) at Ibn Tūlūn’s mosque in Cairo, whose design matches that of the dome at Vladimir Palace (fig. 22.8c).33 The example demonstrates that Russian architects would not only use the Alhambra as the default model for neo-Moorish creations but take into account other visual materials and sources as well. Another dome that belongs to the neo-Moorish living room (ca. 1884) of Grand Duke Piotr Nikolaevich’s (1864– 1931) apartment at Nikolaevskii Palace and whose creation is usually attributed to Nikolai Basin (1845–1917), 28 29 30
31 32 33
The Vladimir Palace is located on 26 Dvortsovaia naberezhnaia, St. Petersburg. It was erected for Grand Duke Vladimir Aleksandrovich (1847–1909) and his wife Maria Pavlovna (1874–1920), see Korneva/Petritskii/Cheboksarova 2015. As is typical for the so-called armaduras ataujeradas, the carrying structures of the domes were hidden underneath decorative wooden panels. The coloring of these partially painted panels has disappeared almost completely. Aleksandr Rezanov worked on this commission together with Viktor Shreter (Viktor Johann Gottlieb Schröter, 1839–1901), Ieronim Kitner (1839–1929) and Andrei Gun (1841– 1924). There are indications that Kitner, who had visited the Alhambra shortly before, was also responsible for the design of the boudoir (see Nikolaeva 2007, 234–236, 240). See Kaufmann 2018, 330–331. See Coste 1837. The same motif was later included to L’art arabe d’après les monuments du Kaire, see Prisse d’Avennes 1869–1877, plate Spécimens de plafonds: dispositions d’octogones étoilés.
Neo-Moorish Ceilings
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demonstrates yet another mode of appropriation (fig. 22.9).34 Again, its squinches are adorned with muqarnas similar to those of the Alhambra, while the dome itself is an unusual interpretation of armaduras with lazo decorations: based on eight-pointed stars, its lines intersect and interlace in adventurous ways that have little in common with the highly complex geometrical patterns found in Granada. Additionally, four star-shaped openings were integrated into the dome that resemble the skylights (maḍāwī) typical of the brick domes of Muslim baths, for which the Alhambra’s Comares ḥammām is a very good example. In the Moorish living room, however, the ceiling is not translucent, which underlines that the main reason for integrating the star-shaped apertures had been their decorative value only. Overall, the dome does not follow through any of its models, although it is rather obvious that this unorthodox design had been inspired by the Islamic architecture of al-Andalus. Historic photographs show that the upper wall segments and the dome of Piotr Nikolaevich’s living room had first been painted in white only, thus implying that all other colors are later additions.35 This lack of color echoed the whiteness that characterized the Nasrid palaces during the 19th century, when most of the stucco’s original polychromy had vanished, thereby creating a stark contrast between the walls and the colorful tile decorations of the lower wall zones.36 4
The Significance of Materiality for the Reception of the Alhambra’s Formal Vocabulary
The wall and ceiling decorations of the Alhambra usually consisted of two to three different materials: whereas the lower wall zones would be adorned with mosaics of ceramic tiles (alicatados), the upper parts would be covered with stucco panels and friezes. As has already been mentioned, the ceilings would, on the other hand, usually consist of wood (armaduras) or plasterwork (muqarnas vaults). That wood was not the material of choice for neo-Moorish ceilings in Russia but would often be imitated, has already been observed many 34 35 36
The Nikolaevskii Palace is located on 4 Ploshchad’ Truda, St. Petersburg. See Central State Archive of Documentary Films, Photographs and Sound Recordings of St. Petersburg (TsGAKFFD spb), D-9806 and D-9809. See Goury/Jones 1836–1845, vol. 2, plate 38, Actual state of the colours. Jones’s many plates in hues of red, blue and gold, especially in the second volume on the Alhambra (see Goury/Jones 1836–1845, vol. 2) unfolded a strong influence on the polychromy of neo- Moorish interiors throughout Europe. It was probably at the end of the 20th or the beginning of the 21st century, when the former living room of Nikolaevskii Palace received its current coloring, which was obviously inspired by Jones’s color concept.
498 Kaufmann times before. Alterations in materiality, however, were not limited to ceilings or vaultings. Instead of using proper tiles, tile-imitating patterns could be painted onto the lower wall zones.37 There are many possible reasons for this material change: First, the tiles of the Alhambra were not only appreciated for their decorative values but also served practical purposes. They for instance cooled rooms, a functionality much needed for the hot climate of al-Andalus but less so in St. Petersburg. In addition, cultural traditions guided what materials seemed suitable for what environments; in Russia, tiles were not commonly associated with the furnishings of living rooms.38 But even more crucial was that ceramic tiles were expensive and the technique of faience mosaics not yet known.39 How the refinement of Nasrid woodcarvings was to be achieved was a skill likewise unknown to Russian architects, but this lack of technical knowledge was probably not the main reason for using plaster. Its frequent application in so many neo-Moorish and other historicist interiors is probably best explained by economic reasons: plaster was cheap and easy to use. It moreover corresponded to the spirit of the time according to which the use of authentic materials and techniques was not considered essential for achieving convincing results; due to its flexibility, plaster hence seemed sufficient for the purpose.40 Accordingly, the Alhambresque ceiling and the uppermost frieze of the so-called Moorish Living Room (mavritanskaia gostinaia) at Iusupov Palace consisted of panels of carton pierre, a mixture of chalk and clay.41 The Paris- based company Cruchet, famous for being able to mass-produce decorations 37 38 39
40
41
One of the few examples of tiles used in a neo-Moorish interior is Nikolai Spiridonov’s Villa at 58 Furshtatskaia ulitsa, St. Petersburg (arch. Vasilii Svin’in (1865–1939), 1895–97). An exception are the unique 18th-century living rooms and bedrooms clad in Dutch and Russian tiles at Menshikov Palace in St. Petersburg. The masters of the ceramic workshop Gel’dvein and Vaulin near Gatchina would appropriate this technique not before the mosque of St. Petersburg was being built at the beginning of the 20th century, whose dome and portals were covered in neo-Timurid ceramic mosaics. See Zodchii, 14, 1914, 163–164. During the middle of the 19th century, art critics such as John Ruskin (1819–1900) had assessed the results of similar imitations as inferior, and classified them as frauds, surrogates or substitutes. Ruskin condemned the imitation of one material by another as this would cause a loss of quality and human knowledge. See for example the excerpt of Ruskin’s The Stones of Venice (three vols., 1851–1853) in Rübel/Wagner/Wolff 2005, 145– 148. It was not before the end of the century that this opinion would find broader support, especially in relation to the intensive debate on materiality within the arts and crafts movement. The palace is located at 94 Naberezhnaia Reki Moiki, St. Petersburg. The mentioned carton pierre elements were installed ca. 1860 and retained when the room was redesigned in the early 1890s.
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in various styles, had manufactured all architectural elements as finished parts that allowed for the easy assembly on site.42 Using simple materials was not in any way regarded as undermining the value of the interior. Even some of the late-1830s interior decorations of the Winter Palace, the residence of the tsars in St. Petersburg, had been made from papier mâché.43 Also Vladi mir Palace, famous for its striking façade and richly embellished interiors, had been erected rather quickly and cost-efficiently only a few years later.44 Concessions to the building’s materiality certainly accounted for this: The Oak Hall, for example, only imitates wood and actually consists of the same trompe l’oeil stucco paintwork as discussed in other examples. In a country so rich of forests, a lack of wood certainly was not the reason for this material transfer. Of all his colleagues, Karl Rakhau created some of the most striking neo- Moorish ceilings in St. Petersburg. One of his last projects was the modification of entrepreneur Il’ia Gromov’s (1819/21–1882) villa, where he installed two neo- Moorish interiors around the year 1877.45 For their ceilings, he chose the same motifs as in Villa San-Galli, with one of them repeating the wall decoration of the Hall of the Two Sisters in different colors (brown, green, red, gold). The second ceiling, in turn, includes the motif of the aforementioned armadura apeinazado, yet executed in a more refined way than the original and with a different color scheme, to the effect that it bears less resemblance with its Alhambra prototypes (fig. 22.10a). An unsigned drawing at the library of the St. Petersburg Union of Architects (Sankt-Peterburgskii Soiuz Arkhitektorov) depicts this ceiling of Il’ia Gromov’s villa (fig. 22.10b). Whenever low-cost materials were used, this did in no way repudiate the great care with which the interiors would be arranged, and indeed, Karl Rakhau would put a lot of effort into details. Accordingly, the journal Zodchii (The Architect) reported that for Villa San-Galli the architect would plan even the smallest details.46 The rugs and pillows of the neo-Moorish Cabinet, for example, were based on Rakhau’s drawings and then manufactured by members of the San-Galli family.47 However, due to the loss of these textiles and other parts of the furnishing, the room, although mostly preserved in its original
42 43 44 45
See Zaitseva 2009. The palace was quickly rebuilt after a fire in 1837, see Bashutskii 1839, 110. See Khmel’nitskaia 2007, 40. Il’ia Gromov’s former Villa is located at 8 Dvortsovaia naberezhnaia /1 Mramornyi pereulok /7 Millionnaia ulitsa in St. Petersburg. 46 See Zodchii, 7, 1877, 66. 47 See Zodchii, 11–12, 1877, 114.
500 Kaufmann condition, can no longer be experienced as the Gesamtkunstwerk it had once been intended. 5
Transmateriality –an Essential Quality of Neo-Moorish Style
Based on the ceilings discussed in this chapter, a few general observations can be made that are valid for most neo-Moorish ceilings in St. Petersburg. Except for Iusupov Palace, all ceilings discussed are made of plaster, but whenever their decorations imitate lazo patterns, they bear a great resemblance with the wooden armaduras of the Alhambra, an analogy that was sometimes reinforced by using brown paint. In most cases, however, the architects did not aspire to meticulously reproduce historic armaduras at all. Instead, they would focus on stucco wall panels of the Alhambra and transfer them to the ceilings. The reason seems to be that at the time, far more information on the Alhambra’s stucco wall decorations than on its wooden ceilings was circulating in St. Petersburg. Pavel Notbek’s plaster models and casts at the Imperial Academy of Arts belong to this category, and so do the depictions of stucco decorations of 19th-century publications on the Alhambra. Many Russian architects would turn to these publications and other visual materials as templates for their neo-Moorish designs, and some would additionally consider books on other regions of Islamic art. While the architects of other European countries would already experiment with various materials and explore their suitability for neo-Moorish styles, including very recent inventions, such as cast iron,48 architects in St. Petersburg would almost entirely base their designs on stucco. 48
See Giese/Heller 2017; Pflugradt-Abdel Aziz 2017a.
Neo-Moorish Ceilings501
Illu\strations
figure 22.1 St. Petersburg, Villa San-Galli, Cabinet, muqarnas vault of the oriel, detail, Karl Rakhau, ca. 1870 source: © katrin kaufmann
502 Kaufmann
figure 22.2 St. Petersburg, Villa San-Galli, Cabinet, ceiling (detail), Karl Rakhau, ca. 1870 source: © katrin kaufmann
figure 22.3 Granada, Generalife, armadura apeinazado in the Patio de la Acequia, Pabellón N (detail), last quarter of the 13th century source: © katrin kaufmann
503
Neo-Moorish Ceilings
Sino Almendrilla Zafate harpado
Alfardón
Primer cruce Segundo cruce figure 22.4 Granada, Alhambra, Hall of the Two Sisters, stucco wall panel, last third of the 14th century source: © katrin kaufmann
504 Kaufmann
figure 22.5 Pavel Notbek, Model of the Hall of the Two Sisters (detail), 1850s, plaster, mastic, varnish, oil paints, wood, 260 х 202 х 202 cm. Scientific-Research Museum of the Russian Academy of Arts, am-501 source: © nimrakh / University of Zurich
Neo-Moorish Ceilings
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figure 22.6 St. Petersburg, Muruzi House, staircase, ceiling, Aleksei Serebriakov, 1874–1877 source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / katrin kaufmann, nikita andreev
figure 22.7a St. Petersburg, Villa of Sergei von Derviz, neo-Moorish living room, ceiling (detail), Piotr Shreiber, 1885 source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / katrin kaufmann
506 Kaufmann
figure 22.7b Panelling in windows, Hall of the Ambassadors. Goury/Jones 1836–1845, vol. 2, pl. vi.10 source: © eth library zurich
figure 22.8a St. Petersburg, Vladimir Palace, Boudoir, dome, Aleksandr Rezanov and Ieronim Kitner, ca. 1870 source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / katrin kaufmann
Neo-Moorish Ceilings507
figure 22.8b Granada, Alhambra, Court of the Lions, pavilion, dome, ca. 1380 source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / thomas scheidt
figure 22.8c Détails de la mosquée Teyloun (Partie du grand panneau de la Chaire). Coste 1837 source: © new york public library
508 Kaufmann
figure 22.9 St. Petersburg, Nikolaevskii Palace, former living room of Piotr Nikolaevich, wall and dome (detail), attributed to Nikolai Basin, ca. 1884 source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / katrin kaufmann
Neo-Moorish Ceilings
figure 22.10a St. Petersburg, Villa of Il’ia Gromov, interior in neo-Moorish style, ceiling (detail), Karl Rakhau, ca. 1877 source: © roman vezenin
509
510 Kaufmann
figure 22.10b Design for a ceiling in neo-Moorish style, presumably by Karl Rakhau, 1870s. Drawing source: library of the st. petersburg union of architects. © katrin kaufmann
c hapter 23
Illuminating Transennae – A Technical Reinterpretation Sarah Keller Transennae, that is, window grilles made from stucco, stone or wood, are typical elements of Ibero-Islamic architecture that were, for instance, used for decorating the window openings of the Great Mosque of Córdoba and the Alhambra. However, they were integrated into neo-Moorish architecture only rarely, which instead had a predilection for stained glass windows.1 This is not to say that transennae were entirely ignored; in fact, many authors and architects of the 19th century paid a lot of attention to this form of window locks. The following examples of neo-Moorish windows will outline some stages of the transcultural adaption of this architectonical element during the 19th century and discuss the transmaterial character of this historic development. Linking contemporary fashion to local traditions, this transfer process resulted in the replacement of the original materials of transennae in favour of new aesthetic and atmospheric qualities of windows that emerged as part of this process. 1
The Appreciation of Transennae during the 19th Century
“[…] [T]he twilight, shimmering through the windows of the dome, completes the magic charm of the whole.”2 This is how in his Poesie und Kunst der Araber in Spanien und Sicilien (1865) the German art historian and poet Adolf Friedrich von Schack (1815–1894) described the effect the transennae of the Alhambra’s Sala de las Dos Hermanas (1362–1391) had on the entering light. Von Schack was not the only contemporary who appreciated Ibero-Islamic transennae. When in 1891 Maximilian von Scherer (1848–1901), who commissioned the installment of the Moorish Hall at Castell Castle in Tägerwilen, Switzerland, and 1 See chapter 15. 2 “[…] das Dämmerlicht, das durch die Kuppelfenster hereinzittert, vollendet den zauberischen Reiz des Ganzen,” English translation by Nathalie Herrmann. Schack 1865, 160; Baumgartner 1981, 220, note 50.
© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2021 | DOI:10.1163/9789004448582_025
512 Keller Emil Otto Tafel (1838–1914), its architect,3 visited the Alhambra, Tafel found words similar as von Schack’s: “Magically the light passes through the eight dome windows [of the Sala de las dos Hermanas].”4 The first half of the 19th century saw some of the first European scholars writing about transennae. In their publications, Alexandre de Laborde (1806– 1820) and James Cavanah Murphy (1815) depicted general views with Nasrid transennae from the Alhambra.5 Jules Goury and Owen Jones’s very influential Plans, Elevations, Sections and Details of the Alhambra (1836–1845) then included several general views with window grilles as well.6 Jones analyzes the materiality of transennae in his comments on plate iv: The windows, over the entrance doorway [to the court of the Fish- pond, today the Court of the Myrtles], are formed of ribs of plaster, and were probably filled with stained glass: no traces of this can now be discovered, but we are led to this conjecture, from the opposite wall next the Hall of the Ambassadors, having blank windows of a similar kind in which the interstices are painted of various colours. Windows of this class also occur in the court of the Fish-pond and the Court of the Mosque.7 Three other colored plates furthermore depict blank windows of the Sala de la Barca with designs identical to some of the transennae of the entrance doorway (fig. 23.7).8 In Joseph-Philibert Girault de Prangey’s publications, on the other hand, there are not any depictions of transennae, but he deals in detail with “openwork windows” in the textual parts of his Essai sur l’Architecture des Arabes et des Mores en Espagne, en Sicile, et en Barbarie (1841): While pierced by numerous openwork windows cut into stucco embroidery to moderate the light’s brilliance, the domes of the halls are covered in the most vibrant colors. The disposition of the high windows, beneficial for the air ventilation, also allows for enjoying more fully the
3 The mentioned hall is studied in more detail in c hapter 4. 4 “Das Licht fällt zauberisch durch die acht Fenster der Kuppel [der Sala de las Dos Hermanas],” English translation by Nathalie Herrmann. Meyer 1903, 177, after notes by Emil Otto Tafel. 5 Laborde 1806–1820, pl. 10 (Mosque of Córdoba); Murphy 1815, pl. xxv (Alhambra). 6 Goury/Jones 1836–1845, v. 1, pl. iv, xv, xviii, xxvl, li. 7 Goury Jones 1836–1845, v. 1, pl. iv. 8 Goury/Jones 1836–1845, v. 2, pl. xliii, xliv, xlv.
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decoration of the halls. The direct brightness would have made the rich adornment of the walls glare.9 Since the mid-19th century, casts and models of the Nasrid Palaces furthermore depicted the window openings with openwork transennae.10 Not only did several scholars of the 19th century understand that Islamic windows had been latticed by transennae; they also commented on and explained the traditional technique of stained glass windows –the qamarīyāt –in its common form as found in Egyptian architecture. An early example is Edward William Lane’s 1836 description of some stained glass windows in Cairo that were “composed of small pieces of glass, of various colours, set in rims of fine plaster, and enclosed in a frame of wood,”11 thereby outlining one of the main differences between qamarīyāt and western European stained glass windows, for which cut glass pieces were assembled in lead cames (fig. 23.1). Etienne Thevenot’s Essai historique sur le vitrail (1837) gives a more detailed characterization of the manufacture of Cairene stucco windows: In Cairo [the painter M. Marilhat] saw how mosaic panels of colored glass were executed in a manner fully new to a European. After having, for example, cut the glass for a rose window the worker then joins the different pieces with a plaster that is almost liquid and kept in a kind of sabot with a small hole through which it can run out. The sabot is moved rapidly over the interstices between the glass pieces, and by often repeating this procedure, they are firmly fixed in the openings of the rose window. After sculpturing the reliefs of the ribs with plaster, it [the window] is assembled into one single piece. The plaster more or less serves as lead and the traceries of the rose windows that frame stained glass in the Occident.12 9
10 11 12
“Les coupoles des salles, percées de nombreuses fenêtres à clairesvoies découpées en broderies de stuc qui tempèrent l’éclat de la lumière, sont émaillées des plus éclatantes couleurs: cette disposition de fenêtres élevées, favorable au renouvellement continuel de l’air, permet aussi de jouir plus complètemente de la décoration des salles: une clarté directe eût rendu éblouissante la riche parure de leurs parois,” English translation by Anne- Catherine Im Hof. Girault de Prangey 1841, 190. González Pérez 2017, vol. 2, nos. 1–12, 16, 17, 24–30, 57–65, 69–71, 79–81, 108–113, 123–125, 134–140, 149–151. See also c hapter 12. Lane 1836, 19. In 1852 Manners and Customs of the Modern Egyptians was translated into German. “[Le peintre M. Marilhat] a vu exécuter, au Caire, des panneaux de mosaïque en verres colorés d’une manière fort neuve pour un Européen. L’ouvrier après avoir découpé les verres d’une rosace, par exemple, lie les différents morceaux entr’eux par du plâtre presque liquide, et contenu dans une espèce de sabot, d’où il découle par une petite
514 Keller What can be concluded from these various testimonies is that it was already common knowledge of that time that in Islamic architecture stained glass windows were usually made from stucco.13 Some neo-Islamic style rooms included both imitations and original architectonical elements, sometimes even authentic qamarīyāt. Imported originals and copies of stucco-glass windows were for instance integrated into Leighton House in London (1877–1879),14 the ‘Mosque’ of Pierre Loti’s House in Rochefort (1895–1897),15 and Edmond de Rothschild’s Fumoir in Paris (1888–1890).16 Among buildings inspired by Ibero-Islamic architecture, however, adaptations of the original materiality of qamarīyāt is only found at Villa di Sammezzano near Florence: in the Sala del Nada Semper there are stucco transennae (without glass) alongside stucco wall panels with colored glass pieces in several other rooms. Likewise, the stained glass dome of the Sala dei Gigli is made of stucco, with some of its stained glass windows set in wooden frames, thus showing a greater similarity to traditional Arabic techniques than lead glass windows. However, in correspondence with older European traditions, for most neo- Moorish buildings stained glass windows were manufactured using lead. For this purpose, colored glass pieces were cut and assembled with lead cames. Whereas stained glass windows had no equivalent in Ibero-Islamic architecture, their design vocabulary was nonetheless based on its ornaments, with a few among them directly inspired by transennae. 2
Reference to Transennae in Stained Glass: The Windows by Carl von Diebitsch and Georg von Dollmann
Many of Carl von Diebitsch’s stained glass windows have not stood the test of time. The only ones preserved in their original state in situ are found in the
13 14 15 16
ouverture. On promène rapidement ce sabot sur les interstices des verres, et par ce moyen souvent répété, on les enchâsse dans les ouvertures de la rose; on la met ensuite en place d’une seule pièce, après avoir sculpté les reliefs des nervures en plâtre. Le plâtre fait ici à peu près l’office des plombs et des meneaux sans nombre des rosaces qui encadrent les vitraux en Occident,” English translation by Anne-Catherine Im Hof, Thevenot 1837, 462, note 6. Later descriptions are to be found in Viollet-le-Duc 1854–1868, v. 9(1868), 374; Bourgoin 1873, 4, pl. 92; Prisse d’Avennes 1869–1877, vol. 1, 154, 278, pl. cxli, cxliv, cxlv. Cf. Keller 2019a. Cf. Bloom et al. 2009, v. 1, 209–210. Keller 2019a; Sweetman 1988, 190–193; Robbins 2011, 50. Liot 1999, 59–66. Volait 2009, 99–104.
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palace complex of al-Jazīra in Cairo (1863–1869), today the Cairo Marriott Hotel), most likely manufactured by a Berlin-based company named Heckert.17 These specimens demonstrate that transennae not only served as templates for von Diebitsch window designs,18 but also as models for the technique he applied for creating the special window type for al-Jazīra with similarities to Islamic window grilles. These round windows are located above glass doors and consist of large white, red and blue glass pieces assembled in lead cames, which can be gathered by analyzing their backsides. On the sides facing the interior, cast iron grilles with more elaborated patterns cover the window fronts (fig. 23.2). In comparison with the lead nets of traditional windows, these grilles are much more accentuated, and therefore more resemble transennae. In 1876 the King of Bavaria, Ludwig ii (r. 1864–1886), bought Carl von Diebitsch’s Moorish Kiosk (1867) and had it reassembled in the park of Linderhof Palace, yet with some considerable changes:19 Ludwig ii’s court architect Georg von Dollmann (1830–1895) replaced all stained glass windows, installed three large windows with round arches to adorn a newly created niche, and added another three windows of the same kind to the side walls, as well as four smaller windows, a lunette window and door wings to the porch. In addition, he integrated another 24 windows into the tambour (fig. 23.3).20 Dollmann based the decorative patterns of all these windows on a star ornament typical of Ibero-Islamic architecture, where it covers stucco panels, transennae, woodwork and alicatados (tilework). The architect possessed templates of the Alhambra he could use for his designs, some of which even came directly from Granada. For instance, the 1878 cash account book of the royal cabinet registers the payment for 140 photographs of the Nasrid palaces.21 Dollmann’s report on the 1878 World’s Fair in Paris furthermore proves that he had studied other architectural 17 18 19 20
21
Pflugradt Abdel-Aziz 2003, 10f., 38; Keller 2017, 188. A design for a Kiosk in the palace complex of al-Jazīra in Cairo (1864) bears the inscription: “Fritz Heckert geschliffenes Glas” (amtub, inv. no. 41626). This point is treated in detail in c hapter 15. See also Keller 2017, 188. For the modification of the Kiosk see Fehle 1987, 25, 165–167; Keller 2017, 184–186. See also chapter 15. There are designs by Dollmann for the narrow openings of the porch, for the lunette with door wing and for the windows of the side façades (Herrenchiemsee, Ludwig ii.-Museum, inv. nos. 2165a, j, q, r, t). Another sheet is not a design but probably a draft for the pattern of the niche windows. Those are futhermore depicted in a watercolor by Dollmann from 1877 (Ludwig ii.-Museum, inv. no. 2752a). Six additional window designs by Dollmann exist, but neither correspond to the windows of the Moorish Kiosk nor the ones of the Moroccan House (Ludwig ii.-Museum, inv. nos. 2165k, l, o, s, u, v). The shapes of the windows and a note on no. 2165v both suggest that they are preliminary studies for the windows of the Kiosk. Ranke 1977, 62.
516 Keller publications: it includes two sheets with illustrations of transennae which are copies of plates from Emile Prisse d’Avennes’s L’art arabe d’après les monuments du Kaire (1869–1877).22 This threepartite publication attracted a lot of attention at the World’s Fair.23 The transennae belong to the mausoleum of Ḥasan Ṣadaqah (AH 715–721 / AD 1315–1321) and the mosque of al-Amīr Qawṣūn (ah 730 / ad 1329–1330), with the latter being mostly destroyed today. Ludwig ii had sent the architect to the World’s Fair to inform him about the different orientalizing exhibition pavilions there. This led to the decision to buy the Moroccan pavilion or Moroccan House, which, just as the Moorish Kiosk, would then be reassembled near Linderhof Palace (fig. 23.4).24 The 19 newly manufactured windows for the Moroccan House were exact copies of these transennae illustrations (fig. 23.5), and its large skylight was based on the same patterns. Dollmann’s windows for the Moorish Kiosk, however, rested on variations of the aforementioned star ornament and did not attempt to reproduce exact copies. Jules Goury and Owen Jones’s publication Plans, Elevations, Sections, and Details of the Alhambra (1836–1845) played a decisive role for their creation. A comparison between a design by Dollmann and a plate from Goury and Jones’s book shows that even though he copied the exact shape of a blank window of the Alhambra, he did so without using the coloring proposed by Goury and Jones (figs. 23.6–23.7).25 The outlines of the windows for the Moorish Kiosk’s niche broadly correspond to the lithograph, which strengthens the assumption that it served as a template.26 The court glass painter Franz Jäger (1842-after 1895) was commissioned to manufacture these glazings in Munich in 1877.27 Jäger had inherited Heinrich 22 23 24 25 26
27
Report Georg von Dollmann, 12 October 1878 (Bayerisches Hauptstaatsarchiv, Geheimes Hausarchiv, Nachlass Ludwig ii, inv. no. 330). Illustrations in Marczoch 1989, figs. 565, 566. Prisse d’Avennes 1869–1877, v. 1, pl. 45 (bottom right), 46 (top left). Prisse d’Avennes 1896, 53. It had been presented before at the 1873 World Fair in Vienna. In 1878, it was placed on the forestland Stockalpe near Linderhof Palace. Since 1990, its location has been the park of Linderhof Palace. Weyer 1998, 8. Goury/Jones 1836–1845, v. 2, pl. xlv. The large relief panels next to the niche show a flower ornament which is also found in Goury and Jones’s publication. Goury/Jones 1836–1845, vol. 2, pl. xi, xxxiii; Fehle 1987, 25–26. Another design by Dollmann (inv. no. 2165u) shows an interlacing pattern similar to plates of the same book. Goury/Jones 1845, vol. 1, pl. xli, v. 2, pl. xlvi. See the main account book of the Royal Cabinet Treasury, Petzet 1968, 222. Petzet/ Neumeister 1980 and, subsequently, Fehle 1987 and Pohle/Thom 2015 attributed the stained glass windows to the Hof-Glasanstalt Franz x. Zettler in Munich without giving any further justification. However, this workshop was responsible for the windows of the chapel at Linderhof but not for the ones of the Kiosk.
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Burmester’s (1825–1893 or 1901) stained glass studio, including pending commissions for works at royal buildings,28 which is why Jäger was also responsible for creating the windows for the Moroccan House.29 The technique he used for glazing both the Moorish Kiosk and the Moroccan House was unusal for its time and could be reconstructed during the restauration of the windows in 2011–2015. Instead of setting the glass pieces into slim lead cames, Jäger used a ‘sandwich technique,’ whereby the colored glass pieces were clamped between two gilded sheets already cut into the desired patterns, and then fixed with small screws.30 In contrast to the lead technique, the resulting window grilles were wider and their outlines even more pronounced due to the gilding. Their overall appearance therefore more resembled that of traditional transennae (fig. 23.8). Although the stained glass windows of the Moorish Kiosk and the Moroccan House were not made using the traditional stucco technique, transennae of Islamic architecture still served as templates. In a similar way, other neo-Moorish interiors adopted transennae without filling them with any glass. Accordingly, gilded window grilles adorn the Moorish Room at Iusupov Palace (1858– 1860/1890s) and the cupola room at Nikolaevskii Palace (1883–1884), both in Saint Petersburg. Moreover, in the same city, a wooden lattice covers a window opening in the Moorish Boudoir at Vladimir Palace (ca. 1870).31 Likewise, the Moorish Hall at Hotel Halm in Konstanz (1887/1888) by aforementioned Emil Otto Tafel also employs grilles of gilded sheets that resemble transennae.32 Even though all these examples concern attempts to imitate Islamic window grilles, they only do so formally, without employing stone or stucco as the traditional materials. Among neo-Moorish windows, they count as exceptions, as most of them did not adopt the visual language of transennae at all, although they do copy Ibero-Islamic ornamentations. 3
Lead Glass Windows with Ibero-Islamic Patterns
The chambre mauresque at the Château Monte-Cristo in Port-Marly near Paris is known to be one of the oldest neo-Moorish interiors and, as such, already 28 29 30 31 32
Vaassen 1997, 250. Burmester had already delivered five “painted windows” for the so- called Second Wintergartenkiosk. Furthermore, he had worked as a glazier for the Königshaus am Schachen. Schmid 1986, 72, 432, note 21. Staschull 1998, 55. Pohle/Thom 2015, 7. See also Gustav van Treeck 2011. On this buildings see chapter 17. See chapter 4. Apart from the stained glass windows, there also are gilded grilles in the Moroccan House.
518 Keller included glass windows with Ibero-Islamic ornaments. After having traveled to Spain, Morocco, Tunisia and Algeria, in 1847 Alexandre Dumas (père, 1802– 1870) built a neo-Moorish room for his new residence.33 Its three two-winged doors are each embellished with identical glazing that copies the patterns of stucco panels at the Alhambra as depicted on Goury/Jones’s plates (fig. 23.9).34 Whereas the stucco panels of the Moorish Room at Château Monte-Cristo were also inspired by the Alhambra but left white, the stained glass windows do conform to the colors as shown by Goury/Jones: Blue, red and gold (brownish in the Château) dominate, supplemented with hues of yellow, turqoise and pink. In an article from 1847, journalist Pierre-Michel-François Chevalier alias Pitre-Chevalier (1812–1863) describes how Dumas brought two stucco artisans from Tunis to his residence in order to decorate the chambre mauresque: “After having arrived in Monte-Christo, they took their pipe and tool out of their pockets, instaled themselves in Mr. Dumas’s room, covered it with a thick layer of plaster and began to make small holes […]. [And] already the most admirable arabesques, born out of simple chains of lozenges, wind around the ceiling and walls …”35 The stucco panels are indeed signed by one Hadji Younis and his son Mohammed, which matches the account. Real ‘Moorish’ artisans thus covered the walls, ceiling and windows with Islamic ornaments to create the illusion of authenticity. Yet for the windows, neither the ‘authentic’ transennae of the Alhambra nor the North African stucco glass-windows were adopted. Instead, cut glass pieces were assembled with lead cames, thereby following a common European technique. The aforementioned Moorish Hall of Castell Castle in Tägerwilen (1891) copies the Sala de las Dos Hermanas of the Alhambra but combines it with the 33 34
35
Marczoch 1989, 180–182; Sánchez García 2017, 40–41. Goury/Jones 1836–1845, v. 2, pl. xix, xxxiii und xxxiv. In a very similar way was transferred the motif of a stucco ornament on stained glass in the Edificio Alhambra in Barcelona. The stained glass ornament is identical to plate xi of Goury/Jones 1836–1845 that depicts a stucco panel of the arches in the Nasrid Sala de la Barca. The Edificio Alhambra at Calle Berlinés 5 was built by Domenèc Balet i Nadal in 1875. No research has been dedicated to this building so far. Cf. Rodríguez Domingo 1996, 351. “Arrivés à Monte-Christo, ils tirèrent de leur poche leur pipe et leur outil, s’installèrent dans la chambre de M. Dumas, la revêtirent d’une épaisse couche de plâtre et commencèrent à y faire leurs petits trous […]. Déjà les plus admirables arabesques, nées d’un simple enchaînement de losanges, s’enroulent au plafond et sur la muraille …,” Pitre- Chevalier 1847, 335–336, English translation by Anne-Catherine Im Hof. Jules Claude Ziegler, whose work was much appreciated by Ferdinando Panciatichi, also describes the existence of the two Tunisians and their work at the Château. Ziegler 1850, 152 (also see chapter 15).
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central dome of the maqsura at the Great Mosque of Córdoba.36 Pairs of windows lighten the room from three sides of the hall, thus imitating the transennae openings in the tambour of the dome of the Sala de las Dos Hermanas. The windows of the eastern and western alcoves contain colored glass. In addition, eight horseshoe arches underneath the cupola are covered with wooden lattices, which in Córdoba were executed as transennae of marble and limestone.37 The motifs created by the three stained glass window pairs at Tägerwilen are exact copies of the motifs found on the floral scroll mosaique above the mihrab at Córdoba’s Mosque-Cathedral.38 The interlace ornaments of the glazing in the alcoves can be compared to its marble transennae, especially those belonging to the part of the prayer hall extended under al-Ḥakam ii (r. ah 350–366 / ad 961–976).39 From 1892 to 1896, the Moorish Room at Grove House in London was installed, with two walls of the domed space including several lead windows (fig. 23.10).40 Once more, the glazing of four slim horseshoe arch windows displays a star pattern based on Ibero-Islamic architecture. Repeated in countless variations at the Alhambra, this motif, however, is there usually twelve-or sixteen-pointed, whereas the star at Grove House shows ten points. The applied colors –red, blue, and yellow –correspond to Owen Jones’s reconstruction of the polychromy of the Alhambra.41 For none of these three buildings –neither the chambre mauresque at the Château Monte-Cristo, nor the Moorish Hall of Castell Castle, nor the Moorish Room at Grove House –, the name of the responsible glass workshops is known. What can be assumed is that they were local workshops and responsible for the glazings in diverse styles for many other historicist churches and privat houses in the region. There are two contemporary Swiss workshops that created stained glass windows in neo-Gothic, neo-Renaissance, neo-Baroque, and also a few orientalizing styles. The studio of Karl Andreas Wehrli (1843– 1902) in Zurich, on the one hand, created most of the orientalizing designs for the windows of synagogues in Switzerland.42 The studio of the brothers
36 37 38 39 40 41 42
Meyer 1903, 177; Abegg/Erni/Raimann 2014, 351f., fig. 428. See chapter 19. Marfil Ruiz 2004, 95. I owe this observation to Francine Giese. Cf. Ewert et al. 1997, 130. Cf. Giese 2016a, 139, fig. 35b. Grove House 2010. Jones 1854, 44; Raquejo 1989, 162; Varela Braga 2017b, 76. This is attested for the Synagogues of Basilea (1868), Zurich Löwenstrasse (1884), La Chaux-de-Fonds (1896) and Berne (1906), as well as for the Jewish funeral hall of the cemetery Unterer Friesenberg in Zurich (1891). Epstein-Mil 2008, 28.
520 Keller Röttinger from the same city, on the other hand, made at least seven orientalizing window designs, dated from the years 1881, 1891 and 1892.43 Lead glass windows were also installed in buildings whose style was not inclined towards Ibero-Islamic but Ottoman architecture. In contrast to Ibero- Islamic architecture, Ottoman mosques and representative buildings are characterized by the widespread use of stained glass. Therefore, the architects of neo-Ottoman buildings could have copied such windows, most of which were originally made from stucco. Notwithstanding, the windows at Ludwig ii’s Königshaus am Schachen (1869–1872), a splendid example of a neo-Ottoman hall, were made with lead cames, and the Ottoman window in Henri Moser’s neo-Islamic smoking room at Charlottenfels Castle near Schaffhausen was manufactured the same way. Although its architect, Henri Saladin (1851–1923), was aware of the Islamic tradition of executing windows in stucco, he commissioned the Parisian glass artist Auguste Bruin ([1872]-[1908]) to apply lead glass technique instead.44 4
Receptive and Creative Freedom –Transmaterial Adaptations of Architectonical Glass
The intention of the three concluding examples is to demonstrate the artistic licence architects had as to the original materiality of architectural elements. The first example is the domed patio of the Moorish Villa at the Wilhelma in Bad Cannstatt near Stuttgart (1842–1846). The oblong room has a tambour with window openings that support a folded glass dome. As for the function of this room, Karl Ludwig von Zanth, the aforementioned architect of the Wilhelma, wrote, “Following the model of the courtyards of Moorish houses, this courtyard also offers access to the other rooms, and receives its light through an aperture in the center of the ceiling, which the Orientals, for providing shade, cover with lavish cloths. Here, however, they are replaced with patterned glass panes that resemble fabrics.”45
43 44 45
Zentralbibliothek Zurich, legacy Röttinger, Roe 2.4.6. sheet 2, 3, 7, 8, 9, 10, 15. Cf. Keller 2019b. On the Königshaus am Schachen, see Hojer et al. 1993. On the windows in Henri Moser’s fumoir see Saladin 1907, 169; Keller 2019a. “Nach dem Vorbilde der Höfe in den maurischen Häusern bietet auch dieser Hof den Zutritt zu den übrigen Gemächern und empfängt sein Licht von der Mitte der Decke durch eine Oeffnung welche bei den Orientalen, des Schattens wegen, mit reichen Tüchern überspannt wird; diese sind hier durch stoffartig gemusterte Glasscheiben
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In lieu of the shade-providing cloths common in southern countries, Zanth used glass, even though there is no proof of its existence in reference buildings of Islamic architecture. Zanth had studied the new architecture of greenhouses that had just emerged in France, England and the Netherlands, and related technological issues for the first time in 1838.46 For the domed patio, he therefore applied a very modern and innovative architectonical structure with origins in northern Europe, even though he claimed Islamic architecture to be his sole source of inspiration. Quite similarly, Ferdinando Panciatichi di Ximenes d’Aragona (1813–1897), the creator of the decorations at his Villa di Sammezzano (1853–1889), was responsible for the adaptation of an Islamic window in the Sala dei Gigli. In this hall, the lower registers of the walls are covered with a painted floral panel, repeated over and over (fig. 23.11); the pattern is an exact copy of the qamarīya at a mosque in Cairo depicted in Emile Prisse d’Avennes’s L’Art arabe d’après les monuments du Caire (1869–1877).47 Although Prisse d’Avennes declared the illustration to be a stained glass window (“chemsah ou vitrail”),48 Panciatichi had it transfered onto the walls for a mural painting, thereby alienating it from its original purpose. Through this process, the white dashes, that in Prisse d’Avennes’s illustration represent the small round punctures typical for the plasterwork of Ottoman windows, were turned into convex beads, probably due to a lack of comprehension. The third example for transmaterial transfers is the Moorish Room at Grove House (1892–1896). Besides the aforementioned stained glass windows with Ibero-Islamic star ornaments, on one side of the Moorish Room there are large colorless glazed windows with fanlights, together with a two-winged door (fig. 23.10). Gilded frames structure the windows into polylobed arches, with their cames forming a grid resembling wooden lattices (mashrabīyāt), which are commonly used in Islamic architecture as visual barriers or as grilles for doors and windows. This was also true for the Alhambra, the model for
46 47
48
ersetzt,” English translation by Nathalie Herrmann. Von Zanth 1855–1856, commentary on pl. iv. Herzog 1990, 151–152. Prisse d’Avennes 1869–1877, vol. 1, pl. cxlv. The depicted window had been reconstructed from fragments. Prisse d’Avennes explains that he had been able to buy in Paris three boxes with fragments of six qamarīyāt from a mosque in Egypt. In 1867, these qamarīyāt had been sent from Egypt to the World’s Fair in Paris but had not survived the transport and therefore arrived there in pieces. Prisse d’Avennes succeeded in reconstructing two windows. Prisse d’Avennes 1869–1877, vol. 1, 154, 278, pl. cxli, cxliv, cxlv. With this French transliteration of Arabic, the author actually refers to shamsīya, that is, qamarīya.
522 Keller the Moorish Room at Grove House, wherein mashrabīyāt served as window grilles.49 The Grove House also employs wooden mashrabīyāt as barriers, which suggests that the reason for this re-interpretation of the grilles was not a lack of understanding, but the result of creative freedom. The patterns of mashrabīyāt were transferred onto glazing, a process that transformed them into decorative ornaments with roots in Islamic traditions but which still were original. 5
Illuminating Transennae
Even though the architects and builders of the 19th century knew transennae, they reproduced them only occasionally, because they preferred stained glass for window apertures, and, as a result, created windows that shone and glowed in the brightest colors, thereby illuminating the transennae in a fully new way. This artistic decision was motivated by the desire to create colorful light effects, which intensified in the course of a general renaissance of stained glass that emerged in Europe during the second half of the 19th century, resulting in an overlap of neo-Gothic and Moorish Revival.50 The discussed examples show how crucial the aesthetics of Ibero-Islamic ornamentation, and occasionally even transennae, were for the design of neo-Moorish windows, and how they were adapted in glass. This means that neither the materiality nor the technical aspects of Islamic reference buildings mattered much: more important were visual appearance and impact. 49 50
Museo de la Alhambra, inv. nos. 00025; 6003841. Such grilles are depicted in situ at the Sala de las Dos Hermanas in Goury/Jones 1836–1845, v. 1, pl. xx. On Grove House, see Raquejo 1989, 162. See chapter 15.
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Illustrations
figure 23.1 Cairo, Stucco window (qamarīya), front and back, 17th-18th century. Museum of Islamic Art, Cairo, inv. no. 387/1 source: © katrin kaufmann
524 Keller
figure 23.2 Cairo, al-Jazīra Palace/Cairo Marriott Hotel, Grosses Entrée/Salon Royal, Carl von Diebitsch, 1863/64 source: © katrin kaufmann
figure 23.3 Ettal, Linderhof Park, Moorish Kiosk, Carl von Diebitsch/Georg von Dollmann, 1867/1876 source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / rose hajdu
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figure 23.4 Ettal, Linderhof Park, Moroccan House, 1878 source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / rose hajdu
526 Keller
figure 23.5 Transennae of the mosque of Sultan Ḥasan in Cairo. Prisse d’Avennes 1869–1877, vol. 1, pl. 45
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figure 23.6 Georg von Dollmann, Window Design for the Moorish Kiosk, 1876, watercolored pen and ink drawing, 55 x 34 cm (window: 25 x 15.7 cm) source: © könig ludwig ii.-m useum, inv no. 2165p, bayerische schlösserverwaltung
528 Keller
figure 23.7 Blank window of the Sala de la Barca. Goury/Jones 1836–1845, vol. 2, pl. xlv
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figure 23.8 Ettal, Linderhof Park, Moorish Kiosk, Side Window, Georg von Dollmann, 1876 source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / rose hajdu
530 Keller
figure 23.9 Port-Marly, Château Monte-Christo, chambre mauresque, 1847 source: © sarah keller
figure 23.10 Hampton, Grove House, Moorish Room, 1892–1896 source: © victoria and albert museum, london
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figure 23.11 Regello, Villa di Sammezzano, Sala dei Gigli, 1862 source: © bildarchiv foto marburg / rabatti & domingie photography
pa rt 6 Epilogue
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c hapter 24
An Endangered Heritage
Mudéjar and Neo-Moorish Architecture in 20th-century Europe Francine Giese and Laura Álvarez Acosta This last chapter is intended to add a critical perspective and therefore not intended as any in-depth study of conservation theories or restoration practices prevalent in 20th-century Spain or elsewhere.1 Instead, it is this chapter’s objective to draw more attention to the vulnerability of the cultural heritage studied in this volume and stress the importance of preserving it for present and future generations as a testimony of cultural negotiations and artistic translations. The history of Spain’s exploration of its Mudéjar and neo-Moorish architecture is marked by periods of rapprochement and rejection, as many of the contributions of this volume demonstrate. This was not any different during the 20th century when issues concerning the conservation and protection of its transcultural heritage arouse. The research of recent years has shown that the restorations of outstanding examples such as the Mosque-Cathedral of Córdoba or the Synagogue Santa María la Blanca in Toledo had been largely guided by misperceptions of the buildings’ histories, their artistic languages or cultural meanings. The different cultural layers resulting from the re-use of these buildings as churches were either suppressed or valorized, depending on the prevailing understanding. As a result, in the history of its restorations, the Mosque-Cathedral of Córdoba experienced periods of reinforced Christianization, followed by periods of architectural re-Islamization.2 According to Bárbara Palomares Sánchez, since the mid-19th century, Santa María la Blanca had a similar fate, being transformed into what she calls a ‘catholic Mosque’, una “mezquita católica.”3
1 The Spanish case has been intensively studied in past years, see for instance Capitel 1992 [1988]; Ordieres Díez 1995; Esteban Chaparía/Palaia Pérez 1997; Esteban Chaparía 2007a; Esteban Chaparía 2007b; Esteban Chaparía/Palaia Pérez 2007; Casar Pinazo/Esteban Chaparía 2008; Esteban Chaparía 2008. 2 Giese 2016a, esp. 3–12, 188–199. 3 Palomares Sánchez 2009, 182.
© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2021 | DOI:10.1163/9789004448582_026
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This tendency to create mono-cultural visions of historic monuments is also apparent in Mudéjar and neo-Moorish architecture, where different cultural layers were not accumulated in subsequent order nor over time, but merged at once to form the characteristic features of hybridity as discussed in this volume. The following two case studies of the early-12th-century Mudéjar church of San Tirso in Sahagún, Spain, and the late-19th-century neo-Moorish bathing and laundering facilities in Winterthur, Switzerland, are thus intended to offer a critical review of how preconceived notions of the past can guide but also impede the protection and preservation of Mudéjar and neo-Moorish heritage. 1
The Mudéjar Imaginary: Simplifying Concepts and Misguided Restorations
Even though the Spanish government declared a considerable amount of Mudéjar buildings as Heritage of Cultural Interest (Bien de Interés Cultural, bic) in the 1980s,4 the monuments on its list had in fact already been partially destroyed during the 19th and 20th centuries due to common misinterpretations of material and formal characteristics of Mudéjar architecture. In his 1987 PhD thesis Architecture de brique et architecture Mudéjar, Philippe Araguas argued that the most outstanding feature of Mudéjar architecture was the frequent use of brick.5 There have indeed been numerous attempts to equate Mudéjar architecture with brick architecture. However, the eagerness to reduce this multi-faceted artistic manifestation to a single attribute creates blurred and oversimplified stereotypes that, in the long run, devaluated the historic significance of the monuments. As Gonzalo M. Borrás Gualis pointed out, reducing any art-historical interpretation on solely one criterion will necessarily impair any earnest attempt to study the buildings comprehensively, since the full scope of the architectural construction will be obstructed by narrowly focusing on one single detail, and be it even as dominant as the use of bricks.6
4 Bien de Interés Cultural (bic) is a category of the Spanish heritage protection system that ensures the highest degree of protection and is currently regulated by Law 16/1985 of 25 June 1985, see boe 1985. 5 “Le trait le plus singulier de l’architecture mudéjare est l´usage de la brique […],” Araguas 1987, 174, English translation by Nathalie Herrmann and Olivia Sacher. It should be added here that Gonzalo M. Borrás Gualis qualifies Araguas’s argumentation as ‘a simplification that verges on foolishness’, Borrás Gualis 1987, 34. 6 Borrás Gualis 1987, 34.
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As pointed out in previous chapters, the term ‘Mudéjar’ had originally been introduced to Spanish art historiography by José Amador de los Ríos (1816– 1878) in 1859, on the occasion of his inaugural lecture El estilo mudéjar en arquitectura at the Royal Academy of Fine Arts of San Fernando.7 Ever since, Mudéjar had become a repository for a wide range of artistic productions considered difficult to classify. In practice, this meant that as long as art or architecture showed a minimum of Islamic features, they would in many cases be subsumed under that label without any second thoughts.8 Additionally, there is the already-mentioned issue of associating Mudéjar with brick architecture, which begs differentiation, since although it is undeniably true that bricks were commonly used in the majority of Mudéjar buildings, it cannot be said that this material was an exclusive feature reserved for this style alone. That is why Juan Carlos Ruiz Souza repeatedly insists that buildings have been and still are too often classified as Mudéjar simply because they mostly consist of brick constructions or include an occasional Islamic decorative element.9 Building on this misconception, there is a second, more general but nonetheless similarly problematic, tendency of identifying architecture as either Christian, Islamic or Mudéjar in line with the used materials, with the result of establishing a geographical divide within the architectural landscape of the Iberian Peninsula. According to this perspective, Christian architecture was to be mostly found in the North, where stone is the main building material, be it either in terms of larger (sillares) or smaller ashlars (sillarejos), while Islamic and Mudéjar architecture was mostly limited to the South, where constructions made of bricks, adobe and rammed clay (tapial) are dominant.10 Yet also regarding the material side of Mudéjar architecture, this reduced view does not do it justice, as it usually combines both materials in various degrees, which is especially apparent in the so-called fábrica toledana, a masonry technique commonly used in the former Visigoth capital, where a series of Mudéjar buildings stand out precisely for their masonry of sections of unworked stone framed by thin bands of bricks. The architecture of Córdoba is another example for the wrong attribution of brick-use to Islamic and Mudéjar, as the application of stone blocks had in fact been a dominant trait in the city since the Roman era.11 Previous debates on the distinctive features of Mudéjar architecture did not only lead to an impaired perception of the Mudéjar phenomenon and its 7 8 9 10 11
This point is discussed extensively in chapter 1 in this volume. Álvaro Zamora 2005, 39. Ruiz Souza 2016a, 202. Perla de las Parras 2014, 343. León Muñoz 2006; Perla de las Parras 2014, 343.
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artistic production as a whole, but also affected the misguided way in which restorations were carried out in the 20th century, causing severe material and artistic damage. In the past, the brick surfaces of Mudéjar buildings were covered in painted plaster, with the intention to improve the aesthetic appearance and to protect the underlying material from decay due to atmospheric influences.12 However, later architects removed these protective coatings, which led to a new visual aesthetic of the monuments that the general public nonetheless approved because it suited its taste. The practice of removing protective plaster layers thus became a widespread phenomenon, with spectators getting so accustomed to the view of uncoated brick constructions so that they erroneously mistook them for being authentic. Yet it was not until the 19th century that the building materials were assigned to new functions in a rather arbitrary fashion that subverted the original ones,13 meaning that brick became a much more dominant element than it used to because of its more frequent display. Consequently, both public and experts became oblivious to the fact that the walls of most medieval Mudéjar buildings had actually been covered in plaster or stucco.14 Material and technical aspects of neo-Mudéjar style introduced in Spain during the last third of the 19th century had further influenced the emergence and prominence of brick aesthetics.15 Neither in Mudéjar nor neo- Mudéjar had bricks ever been reduced to a merely constructive part but always also appreciated for their ornamental qualities. Rather than being a secondary feature, Borrás Gualis even considered the ornamental aspect to belong to the essential core of Mudéjar architecture so that over the years brick would be indeed regarded as one of its cornerstones.16 Apart from approaches that focus on building materials and especially the use of brick as a main protagonist of Mudéjar art historiography, there also are some that aspire to provide a more comprehensive picture. Already at the iii International Symposium of Mudejarismo held in Teruel (Spain) in 1984, Borrás Gualis had insisted that bricks should rather be interpreted within a much more inclusive framework than in terms of an isolated and decontextualized element,17 since even though the 12 13
14 15 16 17
Almagro Gorbea 2000, 66. According to Josep María Adell, this has been a result of the theories by Eugène Viollet-le- Duc (1814–1879) and John Ruskin (1819–1900), who opted for the use of modest building materials, such as brick stones. Before, bricks would have usually been hidden behind plaster or other materials. As a result, uncoated brick walls became an accepted feature of Western architecture, see Adell Argilés 1987, 12. Mogollón 2013, 531. Adell Argilés 1987, 9. Borrás Gualis 2005, 24; Borrás Gualis 2010, 255. Borrás Gualis 1984.
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materials of Mudéjar constructions, such as plaster, wood, stone or ceramic, may visually interact with brick, they do so in varying proportions. It therefore seems crucial to regard materials and techniques as parts of a common whole, since only as a collective they are able to constitute the manobra, a term that, according to Borrás Gualis, refers to the Mudéjar working system, “el sistema de trabajo mudéjar.”18 With the addition of Isidoro Gonzalo Bango Torviso’s critical assessment of brick architecture in Castile and León, published in 1993,19 a general concern emerged that also led to one of the main objectives of this essay: to revise several of the concepts concerning brick that due to their oversimplification obstruct a more comprehensive view of Mudéjar architecture, a point to be further explored by means of the example of the church of San Tirso in Sahagún (Tierra de Campos), a town located in today’s Province of León. Dated to the early 12th century,20 Vicente Lampérez y Romea has characterized San Tirso as ‘an undeciphered architectural puzzle,’21 rooted in its complicated building history.22 Originally planned as a Romanesque stone building, the church was eventually completed with brick,23 introducing Mudéjar features. This resulted in a floor plan that follows the outline of Romanesque basilicas with three parallel naves ending in semicircular apses and a reduced transept, with the central apse being initially built in natural stone to a height of 3 meters but completed in brick.24 On the exterior, its walls are adorned with a sequence of blind arches that show references to the Mudéjar architecture of Toledo, a feature already noted by José María Quadrado in 1855.25 A rectangular brick tower with three superimposed window rows, was erected above the central apse (fig. 24.1).26 18 19 20 21 22 23
24 25 26
Borrás Gualis 1984, 318. On this point, see also Borrás Gualis 1987, 33 and López Guzmán 2016, 87–126, with further references. Bango Torviso 1993. Gómez Moreno 1979 [1925–1926], vol. i, 350. “un logogrifo arquitectónico, no descifrado,” Lampérez y Romea 1930 [1908–1909], vol. ii, 392. Gómez Moreno 1979 [1925–1926], vol. i, 350. This change was the result of external circumstances that led to a reorientation of construction practices in León. A geological study undertaken in the Cea and Carrión River basins proved the shortage of stones suitable for construction works, which were abundant in areas near Boñar, Las Bodas and Valdesogo. The quarries of these areas could, however, not provide any steady supply for workshops in Sahagún due to their long distance from the region of Tierra de Campos. Instead, clay would be extracted from the banks of the Cea and Carrión rivers, an indispensable raw material for brick production, see Minesterio de Agricultura 1973; Valdés Fernández 1984, 51. García Nistal 2003, 71. See Perla de las Perras 2014, 345. García Nistal et. al 2003, 71.
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Throughout its history, San Tirso experienced several collapses and various alterations that further complicate its reading.27 Thus, after having studied the churches of Sahagún and Olmedo in 1903, Vicente Lampérez y Romea argued that buildings begun in stone and finished in brick should not be discussed under the label of románico de ladrillo (‘Brick Romanesque’),28 a term he had introduced in 1908–1909 for describing the first manifestations of Mudéjar architecture in Castile and León but that has been contested in the meantime. Nevertheless, the idea of identifying the buildings of Sahagún as Mudéjar heritage due to their brick construction prevailed throughout most of the 20th century, as exemplified by the reconstruction of San Tirso after the collapse of its tower in 1948. The restoration works were directed by the Spanish philologist and historian Ramón Menéndez Pidal (1869–1968) and gradually altered the church’s appearance: Among other interventions into the ceilings and foundations, the most drastic ones included the removal of plaster coverings of the interior walls, the façades and the arcades of the courtyard, which led to the exposure of the underlying brick work (fig. 24.2).29 Yet, in line with what has been said before, this is especially lamentable because the original plaster surfaces had served technical and aesthetic functions of the utmost importance. According to María Isabel Álvaro Zamora, they had been applied to intensify some of the Islamic features, and the smooth and bleached surfaces had been intended to create starker contrasts between the moving lights and shadows produced by the sun.30 It therefore seems that, when removing the plaster coatings, Menéndez Pidal had been unaware of the cultural and artistic impediments this would cause. One could even argue that alterations such as these are responsible for the distorted way in which contemporary society perceives Mudéjar heritage. The historically deficient means of restoration created a misleading consensus that uncoated brick constructions are essential characteristics of Mudéjar and were therefore applied to a majority of 19th- and 20th-century neo-Mudéjar architecture. This in turn shaped notions of the past, so that future generations would keep misidentifying Mudéjar heritage as uncoated brick architecture because of their familiarity with neo-Mudéjar style. However, the latter has only little in common with medieval Mudéjar buildings, as Josep María Adell Argilés points out. Moreover, Adell Argilés describes neo-Mudéjar as an artificially created style based on a formal repertory that originated from the constructive and ornamental interpretation of brick 27 28 29 30
Rivera Blanco et. al 2011, 37. Lampérez y Romea 1930 [1908–1909], vol. iii, 491. Rivera Blanco et. al 2011, 38. Mogollón 2013, 535.
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constructions.31 Conforming with Mogollón Cano-Cortés’s assertion,32 it is instead important to turn to scientific documentation for guidance on how restorations of Mudéjar cultural heritage should be executed properly, including the elaboration of clear restoration strategies for conserving plasterworks and painted surfaces.33 2
The Devalorization of Neo-Moorish Architecture in the 20th Century
During the 20th century, neo-Moorish heritage faced even greater destruction that this time would not only modify the visual appearance of buildings but in some cases even make them disappear from the architectural landscape of entire cities. In Germany, for instance, a first wave of destruction occurred during World War ii, with significant losses including Carl von Diebitsch’s Moorish House at Hafenplatz 4 in Berlin (ca. 1856/1857)34 and some outstanding examples in Stuttgart, among them important parts of Ludwig Wilhelm von Zanth’s Wilhelma (1842–1865), the emblematic bath at Büchsenstrasse 57 (1889) or the spectacular Arab Rooms of Karl von Urach’s Palace (1893–1925). As regrettable as it is, this destruction was at least accidental and random, as it mainly was the result of the area bombing by the allied forces. However, this wave would soon be followed by a general devaluation of historicist architecture during the post-war era. According to Jean-Daniel Gross, this attitude was particularly strong in Germany and the German-speaking parts of Switzerland, where historicism was associated with an ‘amalgam of negative connotations’ that made both, art historians and the general public alike, disregard 19th-and early-20th-century revival architecture.35 However, the most noticeable losses of neo-Moorish architecture would not occur until the 1960s and 1970s as a result of land speculations during the economic boom, which is why destructions in this period would spread all over Europe, including outstanding buildings such as the Xifré (1862–1865) and Anglada Palaces (Alhambresque patio from 1878) in Madrid,36 along with important examples in the Swiss towns of Zurich, Geneva and in the canton of Ticino,37 to mention just a few examples. 31 Adell Argilés 1987, 14. 32 Mogollón 2013, 531. 33 Mogollón 2013, 531. 34 Kaufmann 2017. 35 Gross 2008, 234. 36 See chapters 4, 8, 11 and 18 in this volume. 37 Abegg 2019; Ripoll 2019; D’Alessandro 2019.
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Others are facing an uncertain future, among them two buildings discussed in more detail in contributions of this volume: the spectacular Villa Sammezzano in Reggello (1843–1887) and the Arab Hall of the Museo de Artillería at Palacio del Buen Retiro in Madrid (inaugurated in 1903).38 The destruction of neo-Moorish buildings aside, tendencies to purify or fragment preserved buildings and interiors has become widespread since the end of World War ii. One such case are the neo-Moorish bathing and laundering facilities (Bad- und Waschanstalt) of the Swiss town of Winterthur, built between 1863 and 1864 by architect Wilhelm Friedrich Carl Bareiss (1819–1885) from Stuttgart (fig. 24.3). Colloquially referred to by locals as the ‘Bathtub Mosque’ (Badewannenmoschee), the Winterthur building ranks among the most representative examples of the Moorish Revival in Switzerland, with its architecture reflecting international trends of Stuttgart and Berlin, two cultural centers of 19th-century Germany. This is no coincidence: Bareiss, who was Winterthur’s municipal architect between 1860 and 1871 had been trained there, first at the Gewerbeschule in Stuttgart, for which documents confirm his presence for the years 1833 to 1837, thereafter in Munich (1841–1842) and finally Berlin (1842–1843).39 In the Prussian capital, the Stuttgart architect did not only attend courses at the Bauakademie but also entered the city’s architects association (Architektenverein), renowned for its illustrious members, among them Wilhelm Stier (1799–1856), Carl von Diebitsch (1819–1869) and the Prussian royal architect Ludwig Persius (1803–1845).40 During Bareiss’s stay, Persius completed his famous Dampfmaschienhaus in Potsdam, commissioned by Friedrich Wilhelm iv (r. 1840–1861).41 According to Matthias Staschull, the Prussian king had originally expressed the wish to have a pump station in Park Sanssouci built ‘[…] in the fashion of Turkish mosques with a minaret as chimney’.42 Yet eventually, the exterior of the Dampfmaschinenhaus would replicate Mamlūk mosques, whose style had become known in the West through Pascal-Xavier Coste’s 1839 Architecture arabe ou monuments du Kaire. With its 38 39 40 41 42
See chapters 9, 16, 20 and 21 in this volume. On Bareiss’s education and architectural training, see Giese 2018a, with further references. The role of Berlin’s Architektenverein for the dissemination of new architectural trends has been emphasized by various authors, see esp. Börsch-Supan 1977, 810–821; Staschull 1999; Decléty 2009; Pflugradt-Abdel Aziz 2009. On Persius’s architectural oeuvre and his Dampfmaschinenhaus in particular, see Bohle- Heintzenberg/Hamm 1993; Staschull 1999; Persius 2003, as well as chapter 4 in this volume. “[…] nach Art der türkischen Moscheen mit einem Minarett als Schornstein,” Ludwig Persius, journal entry from 8 January 1841, quoted after Staschull 1999, 152, English translation by Christian M. Schweizer.
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neo-Islamic design, Persius’s re-creation ranks among the main examples of Orientalist architecture in Germany and would later find an echo in Bareiss’s Bad- und Waschanstalt by including a chimney-minaret resembling the one in Potsdam. Like its famous Prussian prototype, the Swiss bath also incorporated state-of-the-art technology, in this case: heating and laundry systems, which the architect concealed behind a historicist exterior. The neo-Moorish brick façade, on the other hand, might have been inspired by the famous Wilhelma palace complex located in the architect’s hometown of Stuttgart, with the brick architecture of Schinkel’s Bauakademie certainly having had some impact as well. According to Stefan Koppelkamm, orientalizing bath architecture became fashionable as from the middle of the 19th century.43 However, for the Swiss architectural landscape of that period, the building type of indoor pools was still a novelty, as was neo-Moorish style. This might be a reason why a draft that Bareiss presented in 1862 would find implementation in a reduced version only. In the original draft, the façade of the main entrance area should have included brick panels with sebka ornamentation (fig. 24.4), but would later turn out in a downsized variation that, in its simplification, clearly differed from the opulence of Carl von Diebitsch’s bath cabinets in Dresden and Schwerin from the 1850s or the eye-catching exterior of the above-mentioned neo-Moorish bath at Büchsenstrasse 57 in Stuttgart by Wittmann & Stahl.44 And still, the authorities in Winterthur found Bareiss’s bathing and laundering facilities too eccentric and exotic even for early-20th-century standards. In 1911, the public open-air bath ‘Geiselweid’ in Winterthur was inaugurated, outshining Bareiss’s indoor pool to an extent that it would be finally shut down. While the laundries remained in operation until 1922 and the cabin baths until 1977, plans to replace the neo-Moorish edifice by a new office building existed since 1973, at a time when public awareness for the cultural significance of historicist architecture in Switzerland had begun to grow. This new interest in the hitherto largely neglected heritage had mainly been sparked by the Inventar der neueren Schweizer Architektur (insa), a project launched the very same year and concerned with inventorying ‘newer’ Swiss architecture, i.e., from between the years 1850 and 1920. Funded by the Swiss National Science Foundation, the project was a reaction to the demolition and mutilation of historicist architecture that had been happening all over Switzerland.45 Judging from the documentation of these years at Winterthur’s municipal archive, 43 44 45
Koppelkamm 1987, 124–137. See chapter 4 in this volume. Germann 2005, 8–10.
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local authorities did not hold historicist architecture in particularly high esteem, and its neo-Moorish version even less so. Accordingly, the city’s building committee rejected the recommendations brought forth by the cantonal monument preservation committee in a decree signed on February 13, 1976 by the executive directors of the public buildings department of the Canton of Zurich. Instead, the municipal committee opted for the demolition of the bath –a decision it justified as follows: In its assessment from February 13, 1975, the cantonal monument preservation committee has elaborately pointed out the building’s worthiness of protection. Despite this assessment and the expert statement of the municipal commission, the building committee of the city of Winterthur, in its minutes from October 19, 1975 (as approved by the city council on October 15, 1975), requests the building department to approve the [building’s] demolition. Primarily, the building committee justifies its request by referring to the unconventional and strange style of the bathhouse as well as the Cantonal Bank (Kantonalbank) which has been also built by Bareiss, and whose demolition has already been scheduled and cannot be prevented anymore.46 Yet thanks to public protests, the total demolition of the neo-Moorish bathing and laundering facilities indeed could be prevented, which underscores how much, in the public eye, the building had been regarded a local landmark, despite or maybe even because of its “unconventional and strange style.” However, the protests could not stop the demolition of the minaret-like chimney (fig. 24.5), along with purification measures related to its interior in 1979–1980 that left a lasting mark on the identity of the building and the affectionate relationship the public maintained with it, as expressed through its aforementioned nickname of ‘Bathtub Mosque’. Similar to the neo-Moorish Malaga Winery of Lenzburg, of whose main building at least fragments of the façade could be 46
“Die kantonale Denkmalpflegekommission hat in ihrem Gutachten vom 13. Februar 1975 ausführlich auf die Schutzwürdigkeit des Gebäudes hingewiesen. Trotz diesem Gutachten und der Stellungnahme der städtischen Fachkommission, beantragt der Bauausschuss der Stadt Winterthur mit Protokoll vom 19. Oktober 1975 (durch Stadtrat genehmigt 15. Okt. 1975) der Baudirektion, dem Abbruch zuzustimmen. Er begründet im wesentlichen seinen Antrag mit dem Hinweis auf den eigenwilligen und fremdartigen Baustil des Badhauses sowie mit dem geplanten und nicht mehr zu verhindernden Abbruch der ebenfalls von Bareiss erbauten Kantonalbank.” staw, Baupolizei-Akten Nr. 706/1, English translation by the author.
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rescued after public protests,47 the historic context, the artistic references and the architect’s intentions of Winterthur’s bathing and laundering facilities had been irretrievably lost along with its minaret-like chimney. As an outstanding example of 19th-century Swiss architecture, it needs to be preserved as part of the broader context of historicism and valorized for its historic significance as a testimony of the ongoing dialog between cultures.
Acknowledgments
Laura Álvarez Acosta’s passages on the perception and restoration of Mudéjar architecture in 19th-and 20th-century Spain have been translated by Nathalie Herrmann and Olivia Sacher. 47
Buser 2019, with further references.
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Illustrations
figure 24.1 Sahagún, San Tirso, exterior view before the collapse of the tower. Gómez Moreno 1925–1926, fig. 539
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figure 24.2 Sahagún, San Tirso, current state of central apse and tower source: © laura álvarez acosta
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figure 24.3 Winterthur, Badgasse 6, neo-Moorish bathing and laundering facilities (Bade- und Waschanstalt), Wilhelm Friedrich Carl Bareiss, 1863–1864, watercolor by Jakob Ziegler-Sulzberger, 1868 source: © winterthurer bibliotheken, sammlung winterthur, 023419_o
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figure 24.4 Winterthur, Badgasse 6, neo-Moorish bathing and laundering facilities (Bade- und Waschanstalt), Wilhelm Friedrich Carl Bareiss, 1863–1864, main façade, draft, 1862 source: © staw, dep v8-d ep v9
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figure 24.5 Winterthur, Badgasse 6, neo-Moorish bathing and laundering facilities (Bade- und Waschanstalt), Wilhelm Friedrich Carl Bareiss, 1863–1864, demolition of chimney in 1979–1980 source: © staw, dep v8-d ep v9
Appendix
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Catalogue of 19th-century Alhambra Casts and Models at the Scientific-Research Museum of the Russian Academy of Arts in St. Petersburg Ekaterina Savinova The Museum of the Scientific-Research Museum of the Russian Academy of Arts in St. Petersburg holds one of the most important collections of Alhambra casts and models.1 In the following, the hand-written catalogue by Pavel Notbek is made accessible to the scientific community by offering an English translation of the original document.2 The catalogue provides information about the extent of the collection and the origin of five Nasrid marble capitals, which are likewise part of it. The numbering on the plaster casts has been changed in the meantime, which is why most of the collection’s objects can no longer be identified on the basis of the catalogue. The five large-scale models of single halls, façades and courtyards of the Alhambra which Notbek had produced in Granada are listed under numbers 1–5 /57–61, while the marble capitals can be found under numbers 10, 12–15 /66, 68–71. The historic catalogue by Pavel Notbek is followed by a selection of items from the current cast and model collection of St Petersburg’s Museum of the Scientific-Research Museum of the Russian Academy of Arts. Their numbering does not correspond to Notbek’s catalogue. The respective bibliography and archival references are listed at the end of the chapter.
1 On the origins and history of the mentioned collection, see chapter 12 in this volume. 2 Russian transcription by Ekaterina Savinova, English translation by Thomas Campbell. Additions in pencil on the original document are marked in italics.
© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2021 | DOI:10.1163/9789004448582_027
554 Savinova
Catalogue of Models and Plaster Casts of the Moorish Palace Alhambra in Spain
Made by Academician P. Notbek on the Spot and Delivered to the Academy in 1863
SOURCE: © NIMRAKH / UNIVERSITY OF ZURICH
SOURCE: © NIMRAKH / UNIVERSITY OF ZURICH
57.
58. 59.
1. Quarter scale model of hall known as “two sisters” (sala de los dos hermanas), plaster on pedestal trimmed with wood painted white. 5 ½ arshins high, 3 arshins wide, 3 arshins 9 ½ vershoks long (sans pedestal). 2. One-twelfth scale model of hall known as (sala de los Abencerrajes), plaster on pedestal trimmed with mahogany. 2 arshins 1 vershok high, 1 arshin wide, 1 arshin long (sans pedestal). 3. One-eighth scale model of interior wall in hall known as “Ambassadors” (Sala de los embajadores) or (Torre de Comares). Plaster on pedestal trimmed with wood painted white. 2 arshins 9 vershoks high, 2 arshins 5 vershoks wide (sans pedestal).
Catalogue of 19th-century CASTS and Models555
60.
61.
62. 63. 64. 65. 66. 67. 68. 69. 70. 71. 72. 73. 74. 75. 76. 77. 78. 79. 80.
4. One-twelfth scale model of half of court known as “Lions” (patio de los leones). Colonnade and two towers [sic] on pedestal sans Lions Fountain. Plaster trimmed with wood painted white. 1 arshin 8 ½ vershoks high (including towers), 2 arshins 10 ½ vershoks wide, 2 arshins 8 vershoks long (sans pedestal). 5. Quarter scale model of façade in court known as the “Mosque” (patio de la mezquita). Plaster trimmed with white on oak platform with stairs. 4 arshins 14 vershoks high, 5 arshins 4 vershoks wide (sans stairs). 6. Full scale model of capital in hall (de los abencerrajes). Wood on wooden pedestal. 1 arshin 1 ½ vershoks high, [?]12 ½ vershoks wide. 7. Full scale model of capital under arch at entrance to “Lions Court”. Plaster on wooden pedestal. 11 ½ vershoks high, 9 ½ vershoks [?]. 8. One-third scale model of capital in gallery of tower “comares”. [?] 9. Cast from cabinet [sic] of hall “de las dos hermanas”. Plaster, 8 ½ vershoks high, 7 ½ vershoks square, on wooden pedestal -1 10. Marble capital from “casa del chapiz”. 7 vershoks high, 7 vershoks square, on wooden pedestal –1 11. Cast of capital from Lions Court. Plaster, 6 ½ vershoks high, 4 ½ vershoks wide, in wooden frame –1 12. Marble capital, found near Alhambra. 7 vershoks high, 7 vershoks square, on wooden pedestal –2 13. As above. 14. Marble capital, found in garden of Mosque. 7 vershoks high, 7 vershoks square on wooden pedestal –1 15. Marble capital, found in Monastery of Sn. Francisco. 7 vershoks high, 7 vershoks square, on wooden pedestal –1 16. Ornamentation on arch in tower (Torre de la Cautiva) in wooden frame. 17. Ornamentation on wall in dressing room in Baths. 18. Ornamentation between windows on middle balcony [sic] in hall “de los embajadores”. 19. Capital of pilaster in cabinet [sic] of hall “de las dos hermanas”. 20. Ornamentation on arch in “Torre de la cautiva”. 21. Ornamentation in corners of hall “de los embajadores”. 22. Ornamentation on wall in hall “de los abencerrajes”. 23. Ornamentation on windows in cabinet [sic] of hall “de las dos hermanas”. 24. Ornamentation on outer arch in hall “de las dos hermanas”.
556 Savinova 81. 82. 83. 84. 85. 86. 87. 88. 89. 90. 91. 92. 93. 94. 95. 96. 97. 98. 99. 100. 101. 102. 103. 104. 105. 106. 107. 108. 109. 110. 111. 112. 113. 114. 115. 116. 117.
25. Ornamentation on balcony [sic] in hall “de los embajadores”. 26. Ornamentation under vault in gallery of Lions Court. 27. Ornamentation between windows in hall “de las dos hermanas”. 28. Capital from court “de los arrayanes”. 29. Plaster cast of wooden ornament in Mosque. 30. Ornamentation above arch in hall “de las dos hermanas”. 31. Inscription and ornamentation in hall “mirador de linda-raja” [sic]. 32. As above. 33. Ornamentation on pilaster in dressing room of Baths. 34. Ornamentation in court “de los arrayanes”. 35. Ornamentation in hall “de los embajadores”. 36. Ornamentation on inner arch in Lions Court. 37. Molding under cornice in small chamber of tower “de las infantas”. 38. Ledge of arch on balcony [sic] in hall “de los embajadores”. 39. Ornamentation in tower “de las damas”. 40. Ornamentation between windows. 41. Ornamentation on pier in “mirador de linda-raja” [sic]. 42. Molding in dressing room of Baths. 43. Cornice in tower “de la Cautiva”. 44. Ornamentation above plinth on balconies [sic] in hall “ de los embajadores”. 45. Ornamentation above arches in cabinet [sic] of hall “de las dos hermanas”. 46. Ornamentation in side rooms in court “de los arrayanes”. 47. Inscription above capital in Lions Court. 48. Cornice in tower “de las infantas”. 49. Ornamentation in “mirador de las damas”. 50. Ornamentation on walls of Lions Court. 51. Molding in hall “del Generalife”. 52. Ornamentation on walls of gallery in Lions Court. 53. Ornamentation under windows of balconies [sic] in hall “de los embajadores”. 54. Ledge of arch in hall “de los embajadores”. 55. Cornice. 56. Molding under cornice in court “de los leones”. 57. Ornamentation in upper gallery of court “de los arrayanes”. 58. Molding in main room of tower “de las damas”. 59. Window with ornamentation in tower “de las damas”. 60. Molding in gallery of court “de los arrayanes”. 61. Three Kufic inscriptions from Lions Court.
Catalogue of 19th-century CASTS and Models557
118. 119. 120. 121. 122. 123. 124. 125. 126. 127. 128. 129. 130. 131. 132. 133. 134. 135. 136. 137. 138. 139. 140. 141. 142. 143. 144. 145. 146. 147. 148. 149.
62. Kufic inscription with ornamentation above small windows in “mirador de linda-raja” [sic]. 63. Ornamentation on wall in hall “de los abencerrajes”. 64. Ledge of arch in dressing room of Baths. 65. Ledge of arch in “Mirador de linda-raja” [sic]. 66. Ornamentation on arch in tower “de las infantas”. 67. Molding in tower “ de la cautiva”. 68. Ornamentation on arch in tower “ de la cautiva”. 69. Capital in Lions Court. 70. Ornament from hall “de las dos hermanas”. 71. Windows in changing room in Baths. 72. Ornamentation on exterior arch of entrance to hall “de las dos hermanas”. 73. Ornamentation on pilaster in changing room of Baths. 74. Ornamentation between windows. 75. Ornamentation on wall “Torre de la cautiva”. 76. Ornamentation on pilaster in hall “de las dos hermanas”. 77. Cast of a window. 78. Kufic inscription in court “de los arrayanes”. 79. Ornamentation on wall in balconies [sic] in hall “de los embajadores”. 80. Window in tower “de las damas”. 81. Ledge of arch in tower “de las infantas”. 82. Ornamentation with inscription on walls of hall “de los embajadores”. 83. Ornamentation on arch in cabinet [sic] of hall “de las dos hermanas”. 84. Inscription and ornamentation in gallery of Lions Court. 85. Ornamentation on walls of balcony [sic] in hall “de los embajadores”. 86. Inscription and ornamentation under vault in tower “de las infantas”. 87. Ornamentation with inscription on balconies [sic] of hall “de los embajadores”. 88. Cornice in niches in hall “de los embajadores”. 89. Ornamentation with inscription in gallery of Lions Court. 90. Ornamentation from wall in Monastery “S. Francisco”. 91. Ledge of arch in hall “de la barca”. 92. Ledge of arch. 93. Cornice in hall “de las dos hermanas”.
558 Savinova 150. 151. 152. 153. 154. 155. 156. 157. 158. 159. 160. 161. 162. 163. 164. 165. 166. 167. 168. 169. 170. 171. 172. 173. 174. 175. 176. 177. 178. 179. 180. 181. 182. 183. 184. 185. 185.
94. Cornice in niches of tower “de la cautiva”. 95. Ornamentation on arch in niches in court “de los arrayanes”. 96. Four ornaments above arches in Lions Court. 97. Ornamentation in changing room of Baths. 98. Ornamentation on arch in court “de los arrayanes”. 99. Molding in gallery “de los comares”. 100. Ornamentation on upper arches in tower “de las infantas”. 101. Ornamentation between windows in tower “de la cautiva”. 102. Inscription and ornamentation in tower “de las infantas”. 103. Four ornaments above arches in Lions Court. 104. Molding in tower “de la cautiva”. 105. Ornamentation on pier of arch at entrance to court “de los arrayanes”. 106. Ornamentation on arch in court “de los arrayanes”. 107. Inscribed cornice in tower “mirador de linda-raja” [sic]. 108. Ornamentation with inscription on pier in “mirador de linda-raja”. 109. Ornamentation on arch in court “de los arrayanes”. 110. Ornamentation in hall “de las dos hermanas”. 111. Ornamentation in niche in hall “de la barca”. 112. Ornamentation in arches of Lions Court. 113. Rafter on cornice in Lions Court. 114. Ornamentation on walls of niche in “Torre de Comares”. 115. Inscribed corbel on balconies [sic] in hall “de los embajadores”. 116. Ornamentation on arch of upper gallery of “torre de las infantas”. 117. Circular inscription in niche in tower “de las infantas”. 118. Molding in “mirador de linda-raja” [sic]. 119. Ornamentation from Mosque. 120. Cast of wooden ornament in Mosque. 121. Ornamentation with inscription on balconies [sic] in hall “de los embajadores”. 122. Molding in dressing room of Baths. 123. Inscription above capitals in Lions Court. 124. Inscription in hall “mirador de linda-raja” [sic]. 125. Ornamentation in hall “mirador de linda-raja” [sic]. 126. Inscription in tower “de las infantas”. 127. Ornamentation with inscription in dressing room of Baths. 128. Bracket in dressing room of Baths. 129. Five ornaments in court “de los arrayanes”. 130. Corbel in tower “de comares”.
Catalogue of 19th-century CASTS and Models
187. 188. 189. 190. 191. 192. 193. 194. 195. 196. 197. 198. 199. 200. 201. 202. 203. 204. 205. 206. 207. 208. 209. 210. 211. 212. 213. 214. 215. 216. 217. 218. 219. 220. 221. 222. 223.
559
131. Ornamentation between windows in hall “antechamber de linda- raja” [sic]. 132. Ornamentation in Lions Court. 133. Ornamentation on arch in tower “de los infantas” [sic]. 134. Ornamentation on keystones of lintel in doorway of tower “Tocador de la reina”. 135. Ornamentation with inscription under spandrels of vault “Torre de las infantas”. 136. Ornamentation on arch in hall “Mirador de linda-raja” [sic]. 137. Inscription and ornamentation in “torre de las damas”. 138. Decorated pilasters in baths “de la cautiva”. 139. Ornamentation on arch in tower “de la cautiva”. 140. Ornamentation on arch “torre de las damas”. 141. Inscription on pier of arch “torre de la cautiva”. 142. Inscribed molding in dressing room. 143. Ornamentation on arch in gallery of Lions Court. 144. Inscription in Lions Court. 145. Ornamentation on arch in tower “de las infantas”. 146. Ornamentation on arch in hall “mirador de linda raja” [sic]. 147. Ornamentation in dressing room of Baths. 148. Inscription in court “de los arrayanes”. 149. Ornamentation on arch in dressing room of Baths. 150. Six ornaments in hall “de las dos hermanas”. 151. Rafter on cornice in Lions Court. 152. Molding in tower “torre de las infantas”. 153. Capital on balconies [sic] in “torre de comares”. 154. Ornamentation with inscription in tower “de la cautiva”. 155. Two ornaments with inscriptions in hall de la barca. 156. Four ornaments. 157. Inscription in tower “de las damas”. 158. Inscription above arch in hall “mirador de linda-raja” [sic]. 159. Cornice in hall “mirador de linda raja” [sic]. 160. Ornamentation on arch in court “de los arrayanes”. 161. Ornamentation on arch in hall “de las dos hermanas”. 162. Cornice in niches of gallery in court “de los arrayanes”. 163. Cast of wooden molding in tower “de las damas”. 164. Ornamentation with inscription in tower “de las damas”. 165. Inscription in court “de los arrayanes”. 166. Ornamentation on arch in Lions Court. 167. Ornamentation in court “de los arrayanes”.
560 Savinova 224. 225. 226. 227. 228. 229. 230. 231. 232. 233. 234. 235. 236. 237.
168. Bracket in hall “de los baños”. 169. Upper part of bracket in tower “de las Infantas”. 170. Bracket of arch in court “de los arrayanes”. 171. Ornamentation on bracket in tower “de las infantas”. 172. Inscription on bracket in tower “de las infantas”. 173. Ornamentation on arch in Lions Court. 174. Rosette. 175. Ornamentation on window arches in hall “de las dos hermanas”. 176. Ornamentation on arch in court “de los leones”. 177. Ornamentation on arch in Lions Court. 178. Two wall ornaments. 179. Bracket in hall “de los baños”. 180. Capital in cabinet [sic] of hall “de las dos hermanas”. 181. Ornamentation on arch in cabinet [sic] of hall “de las dos hermanas”. 238. 182. Lower part of capital in tower “de las infantas”. 239. 183. Capital in hall “de los abencerrajes”. 240. 184. Ornamentation in court “de los arrayanes”. 241. 185. Ornamentation on arch in tower “de las damas”. 242. 186. Ornamentation on arch in Lions Court. 243. 187. Ornamentation on arch in hall “mirador de linda-raja” [sic]. 244. 188. Ornamentation on arch in tower “de las infantas”. 245. 189. As above. 246. 190. Ornamentation on windows in cabinet [sic] of hall “de las dos hermanas”. 247. 191. Ornamentation on arch in court “de los arrayanes”. 248. 192. Ornamentation on small arch in court “de los arrayanes”. 249. 193. Ornamentation between windows in hall “de la barca”. 250. 194. Ornamentation below vault in tower “de las infantas”. 251. 195. Rosette in tower “de las infantas”. 252. 196. Ornamentation under arches in hall “de las dos hermanas”. 253– 197–204. Marble fragments of ornaments on arch “de los siete suelos”. 260. 261. 205. Ornamentation on arch in court “de los arrayanes”. 262. 206. Ornamentation on walls of balconies [sic] in hall “de los embajadores”. 263. 207. Upper part of column in window in hall “de las dos hermanas”. 264. 208. Ornamentation on arch. 265. 209. Tiled mosaic. 266. 210. Ornamentation with inscription in tower “de las infantas”. 267. 211. Cast of wooden ornament.
Catalogue of 19th-century CASTS and Models
268. 269. 270. 271. 272. 273. 274. 275. 276. 277. 278. 279. 280. 281. 282. 283. 284. 285. 286. 287. 288. 289. 290. 291. 292. 293. 294. 295. 296. 297. 298. 299. 300. 301. 302. 303. 304. 305.
561
212. Ornamentation on arch in court “de los arrayanes”. 213. Inscription and ornamentation in court “de los arrayanes”. 214. Ornamentation on window arch. 215. Cast of wooden frieze. 216. Corbel in tower “de las infantas”. 217. Ornamentation with inscription in hall “de los abencerrayes” [sic]. 218. Cast of wooden molding. 219. As above. 220. Bracket in hall “de los baños”. 221. Ornamentation on arch in court “de los arrayanes”. 222. Ornamentation in cabinet [sic] of hall “de las dos hermanas”. 223. Ornamentation in hall “de las dos hermanas”. 224. As above. 225. Cast of wooden molding. 226. As above. 227. Ornamentation on keystones of lintel on doorway in tower “mirador de la reina”. 228. Ornamentation on arch in tower “de las infantas”. 229. Ornamentation on arch in niches in court “de los arrayanes”. 230. Ornamentation in hall “de los abencerrajes”. 231. Ledge of arch. 232. Ornamentation above plinth. 233. Kufic inscription in hall “de los embajadores”. 234. Ornamentation with inscription in hall “de los baños”. 235. Circular inscription in niche in hall “de la barca”. 236. Inscribed rosette in tower “de las damas”. 237. Two ornaments in arches in Lions Court. 238. Window in court “de los arrayanes”. 239. Ornamentation on arch in tower “de la cautiva”. 240. Ornamentation with inscription between windows. 241. Inscription in court “de los arrayanes”. 242. Ornamentation on arch of balcony [sic] of hall “de los embajadores”. 243. Ornamentation with inscription in hall “de los baños”. 244. Ornamentation in tower “de las infantas”. 245. Ornamentation with inscription in tower “de las infantas”. 246. Ornamentation in hall “de los baños”. 247. Kufic inscription in court “de los arrayanes”. 248. Kufic inscription above bracket in tower “de los infantas” [sic]. 249. Ornamentation with inscription in hall “mirador de linda raja” [sic].
562 Savinova 306. 307. 308. 309. 310. 311. 312. 313. 314. 315. 316. 317. 318. 319. 320. 321. 322. 323. 324. 325. 326. 327. 328. 329. 330. 331. 332. 333. 334. 335. 336. 337. 338. 339. 340.
250. Cast of wooden cornice in tower “de las damas”. 251. Ornamentation on arch in hall “mirador de linda raja” [sic]. 252. Ornamentation in tower de las Infantas. 253. Ornamentation on window arch in hall “antesala de linda-raja” [sic]. 254. Kufic inscription in tower “torre de las infantas”. 255. Ornamentation in tower “de la cautiva”. 256. Ornamentation on arch in cabinet [sic] of hall “de las dos hermanas”. 257. Ornamentation with inscription in hall “de los baños”. 258. Inscription in tower “de los infantas” [sic]. 259. Ornamentation above windows in hall “mirador de linda raja” [sic]. 260. Ornamentation on window in hall “mirador de linda-raja” [sic]. 261. Ornamentation on arch in Lions Court. 262. Ornamentation on arch in cabinet [sic] of hall “de las dos hermanas”. 263. Ornamentation on arch in hall “mirador de linda-raja” [sic]. 264. Ornamentation on arch in tower “de la cautiva”. 265. Ornamentation on window in tower “de las damas”. 266. Ornamentation with inscription in hall “de los abencerrajes”. 267. Ornamentation on arch in tower “de la cautiva”. 268. Ornamentation in tower “de la cautiva”. 269. Three wall ornaments. 270. Ornamentation on arch in hall “de las dos hermanas”. 271. Rosette in tower “de la cautiva”. 272. Ornamentation in niche. 273. Inscribed corbel. 274. Kufic inscription in tower “de la cautiva”. 275. Bracket in Lions Court. 276. Ornamentation on window in hall “mirador de linda raja” [sic]. 277. Bracket in hall “de los baños”. 278. Ornamentation on arch in Lions Court. 279. As above. 280. Bracket in tower “de las infantas”. 281. Ornamentation on arch in Lions Court. 282. Ornamentation on arch of “mirador de linda raja” [sic]. 283. Ornamentation on arch in gallery “de la justicia”. 284. Inscription over gates in house “de la moneta” [sic]. Academician P. Notbek [signature]
Catalogue of 19th-century CASTS and Models
563
Catalogue No. 1
SOURCE: © NIMRAKH / UNIVERSITY OF ZURICH
Inv. No. Title Artist Date Measurements Media
am-498 Door in the palaces of the Alhambra, possibly entrance to Cuarto Dorado Rafael Contreras Mid-nineteenth century 42.9 х 24.8 х 2.5 (height, length, width, in centimeters) Plaster, wax (?), paper, wood
Labels and Inscriptions
Printed label on verso (in Spanish): “Puerta en los alcazares de la Alhambra. Copiada geometricamente a un dozavo del original. En sus inscripciones se lee: ‘Solo dios es vencedor,’ ‘Bendition,’ ‘Prosperidad perpetua.’ Forma parte de la coleccion de modelos de D. Rafael Contreras, unico autor y propriefario. (Se prohibe la reproduccion)” (“Entrance to the palaces of the Alhambra. Copied geometrically to a twelfth of the original. The inscriptions read: ‘Only God is victor,’ ‘Benediction,’ ‘Perpetual prosperity.’ It is part of the collection of models of Don Rafael Contreras, sole author and proprietor. (Reproduction is prohibited).”
564 Savinova Provenance
20.3.1881: Donated to Museum of Academy of Arts by relatives of Karl Rachau in keeping with his will 25.11.1931: Transferred to State Hermitage Museum 20.12.1953: Transferred to Museum of Academy of Arts from State Hermitage Museum (Transfer Deed No. 769)
Description
Section of a wall, containing an arched niche and two windows decorated with openwork lattices, in wooden frame. The arch features an undulant archivolt. The entire wall is covered with geometrical and vegetative carvings, and Kufic inscriptions. The top of the wall features molding in the shape of a colonnade with mocárabe pattern.
Similar Items(s) in Other Collections
Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, Inv. No. 85.13.1
Links
https://metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/443165?searchField=All&sortBy=relevance&who=Contreras%2c+Rafael%24Rafael+Contre ras&ft=*&offset=0&rpp=20&pos=3
Catalogue of 19th-century CASTS and Models
565
Catalogue No. 2
SOURCE: © NIMRAKH / UNIVERSITY OF ZURICH
Inv. No. Title Artist Date Measurements Media
am-500 Comares façade Pavel Notbek (1824–1877) 1852–1862 270 х 245 х 70 (height, length, width, in centimeters) Plaster, wax (?), wood
Provenance
22.12.1862: Acquired for Museum of Academy of Arts from Pavel Notbek 25.11.1931: Transferred to State Hermitage Museum 20.12.1953: Transferred to Museum of Academy of Arts from State Hermitage Museum (Transfer Deed No. 769)
Description
Ornamented wall featuring two door and five window openings, honeycomb molding, and bracket-mounted cornice. The side windows are paired and divided by a column; their upper halves are arched. The wall is covered with engraved vegetative and geometric patterns. The portals and lower part of the wall feature a colored geometric pattern.
566 Savinova Catalogue No. 3
SOURCE: © NIMRAKH / UNIVERSITY OF ZURICH
Inv. No. Title Artist Date Measurements Media
SOURCE: © NIMRAKH / UNIVERSITY OF ZURICH
am-501 Model of the Sala de los Dos Hermanas Pavel Notbek (1824–1877) 1852–1862 260 х 202 х 202 (height, length, width, in centimeters) Plaster, wax (?), varnish, oil paints, wood
Provenance
22.12.1862: Acquired for Museum of Academy of Arts from Pavel Notbek 25.11.1931: Transferred to State Hermitage Museum 20.12.1953: Transferred to Museum of Academy of Arts from State Hermitage Museum (Transfer Deed No. 769)
Description
A square room featuring four arched apertures and arched windows located above them. The upper part of the room is octagonal due to the honeycombed spandrels in the corners. The room culminates in four window openings and part of a honeycombed vault, along with a dome consisting of two parts. The walls are adorned with engraved vegetative and geometric patterns, and Kufic inscriptions. The lower section of the walls features yellow, green, blue and black geometric patterns. The main part of the model consists of eight parts, assembled on a wooden framework.
Catalogue of 19th-century CASTS and Models
Catalogue No. 4
567
SOURCE: © NIMRAKH / UNIVERSITY OF ZURICH
Inv. No. Title Artist Date Measurements Media
am-503 Model of interior façade from Salón de los Embajadores in the Torre de Comares Pavel Notbek (1824–1877) 1852–1862 170 х 160 х 40 (height, length, width, in centimeters) Plaster, wax (?), varnish, oil paints, wood
Provenance
22.12.1862: Acquired for Museum of Academy of Arts from Pavel Notbek 25.11.1931: Transferred to State Hermitage Museum 20.12.1953: Transferred to Museum of Academy of Arts from State Hermitage Museum (Transfer Deed No. 769)
Description
A wall with three arched in niches in the lower tier and five arched windows in the upper tier, covered with latticework (missing). The top of the wall segues into a honeycomb cornice. The lower part of the wall is a smooth ornamented panel, painted blue, black, green, and yellow, on a white background. The wall is covered with carved ornaments in the shape of corbels and parts of other geometric shapes.
568 Savinova Catalogue No. 5
SOURCE: © NIMRAKH / UNIVERSITY OF ZURICH
Inv. No. Title Artist Date Measurements Media
am-505 Model of wall décor in unidentified room in Alhambra Unknown Mid-nineteenth century 30 х 47 х 3; case, 44 х 60.5 х 7 (height, length, width, in centimeters) Red-, blue-, and gold-tinted plaster, wooden frame, glass
Provenance
20.3.1881: Donated to Museum of Academy of Arts by relatives of Karl Rachau in keeping with his will 25.11.1931: Transferred to State Hermitage Museum 20.12.1953: Transferred to Museum of Academy of Arts from State Hermitage Museum (Transfer Deed No. 769)
Description
A fragment of a repetitive bas-relief ornament based on geometric and vegetative patterns, including Kufic inscriptions. The sunken background is painted red and blue, and has been partly gilded, as is the ornament, which has been placed in a wooden case with glass frame.
Exhibitions
Po stranam Evropy 2000 Nemtsy i Akademiia khudozhestv 2003
Catalogue of 19th-century CASTS and Models
569
Catalogue No. 6
SOURCE: © NIMRAKH / UNIVERSITY OF ZURICH
Inv. No. Title Artist Date Measurements Media
am-507 Façade of eastern pavilion in the Patio de los Leones Rafael Contreras? Mid-nineteenth century 63.5 х 46 х 5.5; case, 101 х 72 х 17.5 (height, length, width, in centimeters) Plaster, wax (?), varnish, oil paint, carved oak
Provenance
22.12.1862: Acquired for Museum of Academy of Arts from Pavel Notbek 25.11.1931: Transferred to State Hermitage Museum 20.12.1953: Transferred to Museum of Academy of Arts from State Hermitage Museum (Transfer Deed No. 215)
Description
A model of the central façade of the pavilion in the Patio de los Leones. It consists of a columned arcade with twinned columns on the sides. The archivolts are ogival and adorned with honeycombs. The wall’s surface is covered with geometrical and vegetative bas-relief ornamentation and Kufi inscriptions. The bracketed cornice displays a considerable overhang. The roof is tiled, culminating in a serrated finial. In a glass-covered wooden case.
570 Savinova
Inv. No. Title
am-508 Cross-sectional model of the Sala de los Abencerrajes in the Palacio de los Leones Artist Rafael Contreras? Date Mid-nineteenth century Measurements 135.3 x 68 х 33.5 (height, length, width, in centimeters) Media Plaster, wax (?), varnish, oil paint, wood SOURCE: © NIMRAKH / UNIVERSITY OF ZURICH
Catalogue No. 7 Provenance
22.12.1862: Acquired for Museum of Academy of Arts from Pavel Notbek 25.11.1931: Transferred to State Hermitage Museum 04.09.1935: Transferred to Museum of Academy of Arts from State Hermitage Museum (Transfer Deed No. 215)
Description
Cross-sectional model of quadrangular hall, featuring a double-arched opening in the central wall (the supporting column is absent). The hall’s upper reaches attain a star- like shape, and each point of the star culminates in a honeycomb vault. The upper tier consists of eight windows, covered with openwork lattice and columns added to the side of each window. Half of the dome is covered with honeycombs. The lower part of the wall features panels decorated with a colored geometric pattern on a white background. The outer part of the cast has been encased in wood.
Catalogue of 19th-century CASTS and Models
571
Similar Items(s) in Other Collections
Musées royaux d’Art et d’Histoire, Brussels, Inv. No. 1552
SOURCE: © NIMRAKH / UNIVERSITY OF ZURICH
Catalogue No. 8 Inv. No. Title Artist Date Measurements Media
am-510 Ornamental panel featuring Nasrid coat of arms Unknown Mid-nineteenth century 29 х 42.5 х 3 (height, length, width, in centimeters) Plaster, painted with polychrome and gold paint
Provenance
20.3.1881: Donated to Museum of Academy of Arts by relatives of Karl Rachau in keeping with his will 25.11.1931: Transferred to State Hermitage Museum 04.09.1935: Transferred to Museum of Academy of Arts from State Hermitage Museum (Transfer Deed No. 215)
Description
The intertwining geometric pattern generates stars and squares. The coats of arms of the Nasrid dynasty are depicted on round bases in the middle. Eight-pointed stars emerge from the looped design on the panel’s sides.
572 Savinova
Similar Items(s) in Other Collections
Private collection, London
SOURCE: © NIMRAKH / UNIVERSITY OF ZURICH
Catalogue No. 9 Inv. No. Title Artist Date Measurements Media
am-511 Model of section of wall in the Mirador de Lindaraja Rafael Contreras Mid-nineteenth century 42.9 х 24.8 х 2.5 (height, length, width, in centimeters) Plaster, wax (?), wood
Labels and Inscriptions
Printed label on verso (in Spanish): “Testero del Cabinete de Lindaraxa de la Alhambra. Reduccion hecha á un dozavo del original. Sus inscripciones son; ‘Gloria al conquistador de las ciudades y al mas noble de todos los siglos nuestro senor Abu-Abdillah, splendor de la estirpe de los Ausares,’ ‘Yo soy en ese jardin un ojo lleno de jubilo, y la pupila es en verdadad nuestro senor,’ ‘Solo dios es vencedor.’ Coleccion de modelos copias de la Alhambra, originales de D. Rafael Contreras, restaurador de la misma. Se prohibe la reproduccion.” (“Testero [wall facing a main entrance] in the Mirador de Lindaraja at the Alhambra. Reduced to a twelfth of the original. The inscriptions are: ‘Glory to the conqueror of the cities and the most noble [man] of all the centuries, our lord Abu-Abdillah, splendor of the line of the Ausars,’ ‘Only God is victor,’ ‘I am in that garden an eye full of jubilation, and the pupil is truly my lord.’ Collection
Catalogue of 19th-century CASTS and Models
573
of models, copies of the Alhambra, originals by Don Rafael Contreras, restorer of the same. Reproduction is prohibited.”)
Provenance
20.3.1881: Donated to Museum of Academy of Arts by relatives of Karl Rachau in keeping with his will 25.11.1931: Transferred to State Hermitage Museum 04.09.1935: Transferred to Museum of Academy of Arts from State Hermitage Museum (Transfer Deed No. 215)
Description
Part of a wall, featuring an arched window, in a honeycomb niche. Carved patterns cover the wall’s surface, which has been divided into belt course. The horseshoe-shaped arch rests on a three-quarters side column with no base. The lower part of the wall (above the arch’s impost blocks) has been covered with a yellow, black and blue geometrical pattern on a white background. Set in a wooden frame.
Similar Items(s) in Other Collections
Horniman Museum, London, Inv. No. 4434b Private collection, London Links https://www.horniman.ac.uk/object/4434b https://metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/443165?searchField=All&sortBy=relevance&who=Contreras%2c+Rafael%24Rafael+Contre ras&ft=*&offset=0&rpp=20&pos=3
574 Savinova Catalogue No. 10
SOURCE: © NIMRAKH / UNIVERSITY OF ZURICH
Inv. No. Title Artist Date Measurements Media
am-514 Model of section of wall in unidentified room in the Alhambra Unknown Mid-nineteenth century 42.9 х 24.8 х 2.5 (height, length, width, in centimeters) Plaster, wax (?), wood
Provenance
20.3.1881: Donated to Museum of Academy of Arts by relatives of Karl Rachau in keeping with his will 25.11.1931: Transferred to State Hermitage Museum 04.09.1935: Transferred to Museum of Academy of Arts from State Hermitage Museum (Transfer Deed No. 215)
Description
Section of a wall featuring three windows, surrounded by openwork lattice. The entire wall and the pilasters between the windows have been covered with a carved ornament featuring vegetative and geometrical shapes. There is a belt course on the top of wall covered with Kufic inscriptions. Set in a wooden frame.
Similar Items(s) in Other Collections
Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, Inv. No. 86.15.1
Links
https://metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/443169
Catalogue of 19th-century CASTS and Models
575
Catalogue No. 11
SOURCE: © NIMRAKH / UNIVERSITY OF ZURICH
Inv. No. Title Artist Date Measurements Media
S-1628 – Pavel Notbek (1824–1877) 1852–1862 54 х 23 х 15 (height, length, width, in centimeters) Plaster
Provenance
22.12.1862: Acquired for Museum of Academy of Arts from Pavel Notbek 25.11.1931: Transferred to State Hermitage Museum 04.09.1935: Transferred to Museum of Academy of Arts from State Hermitage Museum (Transfer Deed No. 215)
Description
Shaft, covered with numerous fusaroles, topped with a capital featuring honeycombs and a small, braided stylized vegetative pattern. “505” has been incised on the cast.
576 Savinova Catalogue No. 12
SOURCE: © NIMRAKH / UNIVERSITY OF ZURICH
Inv. No. Title Artist Date Measurements Media
S-1629 – Pavel Notbek (1824–1877) 1852–1862 50 х 43.5 х 7.5 (height, length, width, in centimeters) Tinted plaster
Provenance
22.12.1862: Acquired for Museum of Academy of Arts from Pavel Notbek 25.11.1931: Transferred to State Hermitage Museum; 04.09.1935: Transferred to Museum of Academy of Arts from State Hermitage Museum (Transfer Deed No. 215)
Description
Three pillars framed by cell-and shell-patterned arches. The background is filled with intertwining stems, leaves, and inscriptions. “173” inscribed in oil paint.
Catalogue of 19th-century CASTS and Models
577
Catalogue No. 13
SOURCE: © NIMRAKH / UNIVERSITY OF ZURICH
Inv. No. Title Artist Date Measurements Media
S-1630 – Pavel Notbek (1824–1877) 1852–1862 61 х 59 х 7 (height, length, width, in centimeters) Plaster
Provenance
22.12.1862: Acquired for Museum of Academy of Arts from Pavel Notbek 25.11.1931: Transferred to State Hermitage Museum 04.09.1935: Transferred to Museum of Academy of Arts from State Hermitage Museum (Transfer Deed No. 215)
Description
An undulating arch on two columns. The arch contains an inscription and a complex vegetative pattern. The background is filled with intertwining tendrils and leaves. Metal tag “No. 22” attached to cast.
578 Savinova Catalogue No. 14
SOURCE: © NIMRAKH / UNIVERSITY OF ZURICH
Inv. No. Title Artist Date Measurements Media
S-1631 – Pavel Notbek (1824–1877) 1852–1862 90 х 74 х 7 (height, length, width, in centimeters) Tinted plaster
Provenance
22.12.1862: Acquired for Museum of Academy of Arts from Pavel Notbek 25.11.1931: Transferred to State Hermitage Museum 04.09.1935: Transferred to Museum of Academy of Arts from State Hermitage Museum (Transfer Deed No. 215)
Description
Vegetative ornament, featuring leaves and stems below, and a rosette above them. The ornament is topped with vegetative tendrils, leaves, and blossoms, with a palmette in the middle. Metal tag “286” attached to cast, inscription “300” painted on it oil paint.
Catalogue of 19th-century CASTS and Models
579
Catalogue No. 15
SOURCE: © NIMRAKH / UNIVERSITY OF ZURICH
Inv. No. Title Artist Date Measurements Media
S-1632 – Pavel Notbek (1824–1877) 1852–1862 92 х 48 х 10 (height, length, width, in centimeters) Tinted plaster
Provenance
22.12.1862: Acquired for Museum of Academy of Arts from Pavel Notbek 25.11.1931: Transferred to State Hermitage Museum 04.09.1935: Transferred to Museum of Academy of Arts from State Hermitage Museum (Transfer Deed No. 215)
Description
The inner edge contains plaiting and embossed, multi-lobe strips. The arch is filled with stems, subtly riven leaves, and large tendrils. Metal tag “259” attached to cast. “273” and “1632” inscribed in oil paint.
580 Savinova Catalogue No. 16
SOURCE: © NIMRAKH / UNIVERSITY OF ZURICH
Inv. No. Title Artist Date Measurements Media
S-1633 – Pavel Notbek (1824–1877) 1852–1862 46 х 26.5 х 7 (height, length, width, in centimeters) Tinted plaster
Provenance
22.12.1862: Acquired for Museum of Academy of Arts from Pavel Notbek 25.11.1931: Transferred to State Hermitage Museum 04.09.1935: Transferred to Museum of Academy of Arts from State Hermitage Museum (Transfer Deed No. 215)
Description
Vegetative ornament consisting of intertwining tendrils, with a shell at the bottom. Metal tag “261” attached to cast.
Catalogue of 19th-century CASTS and Models
581
Catalogue No. 17
SOURCE: © NIMRAKH / UNIVERSITY OF ZURICH
Inv. No. Title Artist Date Measurements Media
S-1634 – Pavel Notbek (1824–1877) 1852–1862 58 х 58 х 65 (height, length, width, in centimeters) Tinted plaster
Provenance
22.12.1862: Acquired for Museum of Academy of Arts from Pavel Notbek 25.11.1931: Transferred to State Hermitage Museum 04.09.1935: Transferred to Museum of Academy of Arts from State Hermitage Museum (Transfer Deed No. 215)
Description
Paired spindles, breaking and intertwining, forming separate panels filled with vegetative motifs. Together they form a star-like figure centered by a rosette. Metal tag “236” attached to cast. “240” inscribed in oil paint.
582 Savinova Catalogue No. 18
SOURCE: © NIMRAKH / UNIVERSITY OF ZURICH
Inv. No. Title Artist Date Measurements Media
S-1635 – Pavel Notbek (1824–1877) 1852–1862 49 х 28 х 8.5 (height, length, width, in centimeters) Plaster
Provenance
22.12.1862: Acquired for Museum of Academy of Arts from Pavel Notbek 25.11.1931: Transferred to State Hermitage Museum 04.09.1935: Transferred to Museum of Academy of Arts from State Hermitage Museum (Transfer Deed No. 215)
Description
The inner edge contains an embossed, multi-lobe strip. The right edge features raised strips. The corner is filled with a pattern of subtly intertwined stems and intricately dissected leaves and tendrils. Metal tag “5” attached to cast.
Catalogue of 19th-century CASTS and Models
583
Catalogue No. 19
SOURCE: © NIMRAKH / UNIVERSITY OF ZURICH
Inv. No. Title Artist Date Measurements Media
S-1636 – Pavel Notbek (1824–1877) 1852–1862 59 х 29.5 х 6.5 (height, length, width, in centimeters) Plaster
Provenance
22.12.1862: Acquired for Museum of Academy of Arts from Pavel Notbek 25.11.1931: Transferred to State Hermitage Museum 04.09.1935: Transferred to Museum of Academy of Arts from State Hermitage Museum (Transfer Deed No. 215)
Description
A horizontal band, consisting of two strips. The narrower strip contains plaiting, while the wider strip features an inscription and intertwined, intricately dissected leaves.
584 Savinova Catalogue No. 20
SOURCE: © NIMRAKH / UNIVERSITY OF ZURICH
Inv. No. Title Artist Date Measurements Media
S-1637 – Pavel Notbek (1824–1877) 1852–1862 59 х 29.5 х 6.5 (height, length, width, in centimeters) Plaster
Provenance
22.12.1862: Acquired for Museum of Academy of Arts from Pavel Notbek 25.11.1931: Transferred to State Hermitage Museum 04.09.1935: Transferred to Museum of Academy of Arts from State Hermitage Museum (Transfer Deed No. 215)
Description
The main segment contains an inscription, intertwined with floral tendrils. There is a large rosette on the left. Metal tag “268” attached to cast. “282” inscribed in oil paint.
Catalogue of 19th-century CASTS and Models
585
Catalogue No. 21
SOURCE: © NIMRAKH / UNIVERSITY OF ZURICH
Inv. No. Title Artist Date Measurements Media
S-1638 – Pavel Notbek (1824–1877) 1852–1862 49 х 49 х 6.5 (height, length, width, in centimeters) Plaster
Provenance
22.12.1862: Acquired for Museum of Academy of Arts from Pavel Notbek 25.11.1931: Transferred to State Hermitage Museum 04.09.1935: Transferred to Museum of Academy of Arts from State Hermitage Museum (Transfer Deed No. 215)
Description
The lower section contains four flat columns topped with capitals, a fine floral ornament between them. The upper section features honeycombs containing a floral pattern. “99” inscribed in oil paint.
586 Savinova Catalogue No. 22
SOURCE: © NIMRAKH / UNIVERSITY OF ZURICH
Inv. No. Title Artist Date Measurements Media
S-1640 – Pavel Notbek (1824–1877) 1852–1862 63 х 42 х 8.5 (height, length, width, in centimeters) Tinted plaster
Provenance
22.12.1862: Acquired for Museum of Academy of Arts from Pavel Notbek 25.11.1931: Transferred to State Hermitage Museum 04.09.1935: Transferred to Museum of Academy of Arts from State Hermitage Museum (Transfer Deed No. 215)
Description
A geometrical floral pattern consisting of stems, a shamrock above them, in a complicated frame. There are fragments of the same pattern on the frame’s sides. Metal tag “41” attached to the cast. “58” inscribed in oil paint.
Catalogue of 19th-century CASTS and Models
Catalogue No. 23
587
SOURCE: © NIMRAKH / UNIVERSITY OF ZURICH
Inv. No. Title Artist Date Measurements Media
S-1641 – Pavel Notbek (1824–1877) 1852–1862 56 х 32 х 6 (height, length, width, in centimeters) Plaster
Provenance
22.12.1862: Acquired for Museum of Academy of Arts from Pavel Notbek 25.11.1931: Transferred to State Hermitage Museum 04.09.1935: Transferred to Museum of Academy of Arts from State Hermitage Museum (Transfer Deed No. 215)
Description
Three arches standing on columns against a complex pattern of intertwining stems, leaves, and tendrils. The middle arch contains three lobes, featuring a rosette and a multi-lobed arch. The peripheral arches contain palmettes and a pattern of leaves and tiny flowers.
588 Savinova Catalogue No. 24
SOURCE: © NIMRAKH / UNIVERSITY OF ZURICH
Inv. No. Title Artist Date Measurements Media
S-1642 – Pavel Notbek (1824–1877) 1852–1862 50 х 27.5 х 5.5 (height, length, width, in centimeters) Tinted plaster
Provenance
22.12.1862: Acquired for Museum of Academy of Arts from Pavel Notbek 25.11.1931: Transferred to State Hermitage Museum 04.09.1935: Transferred to Museum of Academy of Arts from State Hermitage Museum (Transfer Deed No. 215)
Description
A tiny niche that culminates in honeycombs. It has a pattern of thick stems, intertwining flax, and intricately dissected leaves. There is an inscription in the center. Below it we see a multi-lobe arch containing a palmette framed by tendrils.
Catalogue of 19th-century CASTS and Models
Catalogue No. 25
589
SOURCE: © NIMRAKH / UNIVERSITY OF ZURICH
Inv. No. Title Artist Date Measurements Media
S-1643 – Pavel Notbek (1824–1877) 1852–1862 53 х 34 х 6 (height, length, width, in centimeters) Tinted plaster
Provenance
22.12.1862: Acquired for Museum of Academy of Arts from Pavel Notbek 25.11.1931: Transferred to State Hermitage Museum 04.09.1935: Transferred to Museum of Academy of Arts from State Hermitage Museum (Transfer Deed No. 215)
Description
The rectangular frame consists of a plaited pattern. The main section features a pattern consisting of intertwined ribbons, a floral design, and dissected leaves. “242” inscribed in oil paint.
590 Savinova Catalogue No. 26
SOURCE: © NIMRAKH / UNIVERSITY OF ZURICH
Inv. No. Title Artist Date Measurements Media
S-1644 – Pavel Notbek (1824–1877) 1852–1862 53 х 34 х 6 (height, length, width, in centimeters) Tinted plaster
Provenance
22.12.1862: Acquired for Museum of Academy of Arts from Pavel Notbek 25.11.1931: Transferred to State Hermitage Museum 04.09.1935: Transferred to Museum of Academy of Arts from State Hermitage Museum (Transfer Deed No. 215)
Description
The upper section contains honeycombs. Below them is a dense plaited pattern of bent stems and plant tendrils. Metal tag “241” is attached to the cast. “252” is inscribed in oil paint.
Catalogue of 19th-century CASTS and Models
591
Catalogue No. 27
SOURCE: © NIMRAKH / UNIVERSITY OF ZURICH
Inv. No. Title Artist Date Measurements Media
S-1645 – Pavel Notbek (1824–1877) 1852–1862 100 х 50 х 8 (height, length, width, in centimeters) Tinted plaster
Provenance
22.12.1862: Acquired for Museum of Academy of Arts from Pavel Notbek 25.11.1931: Transferred to State Hermitage Museum 04.09.1935: Transferred to Museum of Academy of Arts from State Hermitage Museum (Transfer Deed No. 215)
Description
The lower third features a multi-lobe rosette in a rectangular frame, a convex circle in the middle. All the sections are filled with fine floral pattern. The main upper section contains horizontal and oblique segments, running parallel to each other in twos and threes, and ornamented with a fine pattern. The broad bands between them contain larger patterns. Approaching each other and touching, the bands forms six-pointed stars at equal intervals, with six-petalled rosettes inset in them. The metal tag “244” is attached to the cast.
592 Savinova Catalogue No. 28
SOURCE: © NIMRAKH / UNIVERSITY OF ZURICH
Inv. No. Title Artist Date Measurements Media
S-1646 – Pavel Notbek (1824–1877) 1852–1862 100 х 50 х 8 (height, length, width, in centimeters) Tinted plaster
Provenance
22.12.1862: Acquired for Museum of Academy of Arts from Pavel Notbek 25.11.1931: Transferred to State Hermitage Museum 04.09.1935: Transferred to Museum of Academy of Arts from State Hermitage Museum (Transfer Deed No. 215)
Description
The broad central section contains a fine pattern: wavy stripes divide the entire section into staggered squares, each of them featuring a multi-lobe, inscribed rosette at its center. The narrower sections on the side contain a larger ornament: intricately dissected leaves and tendrils with inscriptions. “37” inscribed in oil paints.
Catalogue of 19th-century CASTS and Models
593
Catalogue No. 29
SOURCE: © NIMRAKH / UNIVERSITY OF ZURICH
Inv. No. Title Artist Date Measurements Media
S-1647 – Pavel Notbek (1824–1877) 1852–1862 66.5 х 48.5 х 6.5 (height, length, width, in centimeters) Tinted plaster
Provenance
22.12.1862: Acquired for Museum of Academy of Arts from Pavel Notbek 25.11.1931: Transferred to State Hermitage Museum 04.09.1935: Transferred to Museum of Academy of Arts from State Hermitage Museum (Transfer Deed No. 215)
Description
Horizontal and vertical rows of pear-shaped figure arranged in staggered fashion, each of the figures formed by two pairs of dolphins. There is a solid stylized floral pattern inside the figures. The metal tag “53” is attached to the cast. “68” is inscribed in oil paint.
594 Savinova Catalogue No. 30
SOURCE: © NIMRAKH / UNIVERSITY OF ZURICH
Inv. No. Title Artist Date Measurements Media
S-1648 – Pavel Notbek (1824–1877) 1852–1862 43 х 52 х 7 (height, length, width, in centimeters) Tinted plaster
Provenance
22.12.1862: Acquired for Museum of Academy of Arts from Pavel Notbek 25.11.1931: Transferred to State Hermitage Museum 04.09.1935: Transferred to Museum of Academy of Arts from State Hermitage Museum (Transfer Deed No. 215)
Description
The middle section contains an eight-rayed star, filled with a floral pattern. On either side there is a pattern of tendrils in irregular frames. Metal tag “287” attached to the cast. “301” inscribed in oil paint.
Catalogue of 19th-century CASTS and Models
595
Exhibitions
Nemtsy i Akademiia khudozhestv, Nauchno-issledovatel’skii muzei Rossiiskoi Akademii khudozhestv, 2003 [Germans and the Academy of Arts, Research Museum of the Russian Academy of Arts, 2003] Po stranam Evropy. Vypuskniki Imperatorskoi Akademii khudozhestv vtoroi poloviny xviii—x ix veka za granitsej, Nauchno-issledovatel’skii muzei Rossiiskoi Akademii khudozhestv, 2000 [Through the countries of Europe: graduates of the Imperial Academy of Arts abroad in the late eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, Research Museum of the Russian Academy of Arts, 2000]
Bibliography
Alekseeva et al. 2003; Alekseeva et al. 2007; Arutiunian 2012; Bogdan & Shuiskii 2000; González Pérez 2017; Kondakov 1914; Kondratenko & Savinova 2018.
Archives Russian State Historical Archive (rgia) rgia, f. 789, op. 14, d. 33-N, 1852–1862
Личное дело Павла Карловича Нотбека [Pavel Karlovich Notbek’s personal dossier] rgia, f. 515, op. 3, d. 345, 1854 О художнике Нотбеке [Regarding the artist Notbek] rgia, f. 515, op. 3, d. 420, 1856 Об отсрочке пребывания Нотбека за границей [Regarding an extension of Notbek’s sojourn abroad] rgia, f. 472, op. 19, d. 54, 1862 О пожаловании академику Нотбеку П.К. пенсии и ордена за снятие на месте в Гренаде моделей зал мавританского дворца Альгамбра [Regarding awarding the academician P.K. Notbek a pension and decorations for making models of the Moorish palace Alhambra on site in Grenada]
596 Savinova rgia, f. 480, op. 1, d. 287, 1864 Дополнительная смета на устройство зал с коридором для хранения модели Альгамбры и входных комнат [Addition estimates for constructing a room and hallway for storing the model of the Alhambra and antechambers] rgia, f. 789, op. 5, d. 182, 1865 По отношению архитектора В.И. Собольщикова о переносе модели Альгамбры в зал, предназначенный для хранения оной 1865–1866 [Regarding the architect v.i. Sobol’shchikov on moving the model of the Alhambra into the room for its storage, 1865–1866] rgia, f. 480, op. 1, d. 314, 1865 Заменительная смета и расценка на устройство мозаичных полов в залах помещения модели Альгамбры [Substitute budget estimate for constructing mosaic floors in the Alhambra model rooms] rgia, f. 789, op. 36, d. 54, l.1–29, 1871 Опись моделей и слепков, находящихся в “Альгамбре” Академии [Inventory of the models and plaster casts located in the academy’s Alhambra] rgia, f. 789, op. 7, d. 57, 1871 О присоединении Альгамбры к архитектурным классам, чтобы таковые находились под надзором заведующего [On incorporating Alhambra into the architecture classrooms, so they would be under supervision of the chair]
Central State Historical Archive of Saint Petersburg (TsGIA)
TsGIA, f. 8, op. 3, d. 225, 1868
Личное дело Нотбека Павла Карловича [Pavel Karlovich Notbek’s personal dossier]
Archive of the State Hermitage Museum (gė)
gė, f.1, op. 5, d. 1193, l. 48, 49, 51, 1931
Переписка с учреждениями по поводу передачи экспонатов [Correspondence with institutions regarding the transfer of exhibits]
Catalogue of 19th-century CASTS and Models
597
gė, f.1, op. 5, d. 1287, 1931 Переписка с учреждениями по поводу передачи экспонатов [Correspondence with institutions regarding the transfer of exhibits] gė, f.1, op. 5, d. 1892, 1931 Переписка с учреждениями по поводу передачи экспонатов [Correspondence with institutions regarding the transfer of exhibits] gė, f.1, op. 5, d. 1378, l. 6, 7, 1932 Переписка с учреждениями по поводу передачи экспонатов [Correspondence with institutions regarding the transfer of exhibits]
Bibliographic Department of the Research Archives of the Russian Academy of Arts (nba RAKh)
nba RAKh, f. 7, op. 1, d. 997, 1930
Акты и переписка о передаче в Государственный Эрмитаж экспонатов из музея Академии художеств [Deeds and correspondence on the transfer of exhibits from the Academy of Arts to the State Hermitage] nba RAKh, f. 7. op. 1, d. 1123, 1931–1932 Акты передачи экспонатов музея в Государственный Эрмитаж, в другие учреждения и музеи [Deeds of transfer of museum exhibits to the State Hermitage and other institutions and museums]
Research Museum of the Russian Academy of Arts (NIMRAKh)
NIMRAKh, no inventory number available
Каталог моделей и слепков мавританского дворца Алгамбры в Испании. Ис полненные Академиком П. Нотбеком на месте и доставленные в Академию в 1863 году [Catalogue of Models and Plaster Casts of the Moorish Palace Alhambra in Spain. Made by Academician P. Notbek on the Spot and Delivered to the Academy in 1863]
598 Savinova NIMRAKh v. Kh. U., no inventory number available НИМРАХ В.Х.У. (Высшее Художественное училище) Описная книга моделям и слепкам архитектурного класса , 1902 г. [NIMRAKh v. Kh. U, Inventory of models and casts of the architecture program, 1902]
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Index of Persons ʿAbd al-Malik ibn Marwān, Umayyad Caliph 12 ʿAbd ar-Raḥmān iii, Umayyad Caliph 271 Abrahim, Master 203 Abū Ǧaʿfar Aḥmad i al-Muqtadir, taifa ruler of Zaragoza 271, 411 Abū Isḥāq al-Iṣṭaḫrī 84 Abū Isḥāq ii, Hafsid Sultan 93 Abū l-Ḥasan ʿAlī, Marinid Sultan 86 Abū Saʿīd ʿUṯmān ii, Marinid Sultan 89 Abū Yaḥyā Abū Bakr, first Marinid Sultan 83, 88 Abū Yaʿqūb Yūsūf, Marinid Sultan 88 Abū Yūsūf Yaʿqūb, Marinid Sultan 88 Abū Zakariyyāʾ Yaḥyā, Hafsid Sultan 89 Abū ʿInān Fāris, Marinid Sultan 90–91, 100 Affry, Adèle d’ (Marcello) 180 Aguilera y Gamboa, Enrique de 328 al-Ḥakam ii, Umayyad Caliph 222, 271, 287, 410, 431, 519 al-Maqqarī, Abū l-ʿAbbās Aḥmad 305 al-Mutawakkil, Abbasid Caliph 12–13 Alba, Duchess of 217 Alexander ii, Emperor of Russia 244 Alfonso iii, King of Portugal 25 Alfonso vi, King of León, Galicia and Castile 108–109, 284 Alfonso viii, King of Castile 82, 115, 273, 412 Alfonso x, King of Castile and León 18, 21–22, 25, 28–29, 36, 48, 81, 99, 116, 280, 284, 413–414 Alfonso xi, King of Castile and León 36–39, 51, 86, 95, 111, 199, 281–283, 286, 288– 289, 293–294, 413–414 Alfonso xiii, King of Spain 219–221 Aligheri, Dante 178 Álvarez Bouquel, Aníbal 138 Amador de los Ríos y Villalta, Rodrigo 391 Amador de los Ríos, José 7–8, 13, 15, 22, 69–71, 121, 134, 136–137, 139–141, 144, 148–149, 291, 391–392, 537 Amador, Salvador 214, 381 Amari, Michele 175 Anglada y Ruíz, Juan de 71, 217, 387–388 Antoine d’Orléans, Duke of Montpensier 72
Aranda y Delgado, Francisco 216 Assas y Erreño, Manuel de 136–138 Audalla, son of Maestre Juçaf 203 Avrial y Flores, José María 50 Banks Skinner, Arthur 334 Bardini, Stefano 175 Bareiss, Wilhelm Friedrich Carl 542–544 Bariatinskii, Vladimir 356–357 Basile, Ernesto 182, 385 Basin, Nikolai 496 Baudry, Ambroise 327–328, 336 Beltrí, Víctor 389–390 Bisjueces, Alí de 200, 203 Blanc, Charles 437 Blouet, Guillaume Abel 135 Boabdil (see also Muḥammad xii) 198, 337 Boeswillwald, Emile 72, 153–154, 156–160, 164, 387 Boisserée, Sulpice 306, 312–313, 315 Boix, Ignacio 137 Bonaparte, Napoleon 175 Bosse, Harald 356–357 Bosshard, Julius 161 Botkin, Vasilii 354 Brahen, Master 202, 207 Bravo, Antonio 216 Braymi 202–203, 207 Briullov, Aleksandr 351, 357 Briullov, Nikolai 358 Bruin, Auguste 520 Brunetto Latini 20 Brusnitsyny brothers 247, 359 Buenaño, Farax 203 Bulwer, Henry 142 Burmester, Heinrich 516–517 Buschental, José 216 Caballero, Juan Manuel 381 Calderón, José Manuel 216 Cantagalli, Ulisse 179, 331, 473–474 Carlos iii, King of Navarra 8 Caro, Alí 205–206 Carrand, Jean-Baptiste 176 Carrand, Louis-Hilaire 176
686 Casa Rus 218 Castaños, Manuel 221, 223–224, 337, 385, 421–422, 441–442 Castellani, Alessandro 183–184, 238 Castellanos de Losada, Basilio 142 Castro y Serrano, José 68, 242 Castro, Américo 22 Catherine (Catalina) of Lancaster, spouse to Enrique iii and regent of Castile 41 Catholic Kings (Los Reyes Católicos, see also Catholic Monarchs) 82, 200, 203–204, 383, 414 Catholic Monarchs (Los Reyes Católicos, see also Catholic Kings) 43 Caveda y Nava, José 70 Cendoya Busquets, Modesto 218–219 Cernesson, Camille 437 Chacón, Gonzalo 205 Chateaubriand, François-René de 139 Clairin, George 180 Clerget, Charles-Ernest 435, 465, 470 Cole, Henry 146, 235 Colonia, Simón de 203, 205 Colonna, Marcantonio (Prince) 184 Constanza of Castile 41 Contreras Granja, Mariano 218, 335, 392 Contreras Muñoz, Rafael 68, 147, 155, 157, 162, 177, 181, 184, 214–219, 243, 248, 328, 330, 338, 381, 386–388, 391–392, 416, 473, 563, 569, 570, 572–573 Contreras Osorio, José 213–214, 216 Corderier & Lemire (manufacture) 439 Coste, Pascal-Xavier 63, 465, 496, 542 Cousin, Victor 138 Cundall, Joseph 435, 465 Cunliffe-Owen, Francis 146 Dante Alighieri 20 Davillier, Jean-Charles 15, 179–180, 183 Derviz, Sergei von 248, 359, 495 Desfossé et Karth (manufacture) 439 Diebitsch, Carl von 66–67, 72, 220, 313–315, 318, 328, 339, 415, 439, 440–442, 464, 514–515, 541–543 Diego de Esquivel 48 Dionisio i, King of Portugal 120 Dolgorukov, Dmitrii 350 Dollmann, Georg von 514–516
Index of Persons Dolmetsch, Heinrich 436 Domènech i Montaner, Lluís 69 Doña María, Queen of Aragón 40, 45 Du Sommerard, Alexandre 327, 329 Duban, Jean-Félix 134 Dumas, Alexandre 215 Dumas, Alexandre père 518 Durand, Alphonse 156 Elis, Carl 308 Enrique de Lorena (de Borgoña), 1st Count of Portugal 48 Enrique i, King of Castile and Toledo 116 Enrique ii (Trastámara), King of Castile and León 37, 41, 45, 50–51, 108, 116, 196, 281–283, 285, 288–292, 294, 414, 434 Enrique iii, King of Castile and León 41, 42, 45, 123–125 Enrique iv, King of Castile and León 45–46, 48, 51–52, 197, 199 Enríquez y Ferrer, Francisco 10, 70 Enríquez, Alfonso, Admiral of Castile 201 Escoriaza y Fabro, Nicolás de 219 Espalter, Joaquín 216 Esteban Illán 114–116 Estébanez Calderón, Serafín 142 Eugénie, Empress of France (see also María Eugenia de Guzmán, Countess of Teba) 156–158, 217 Facundo Riaño, Juan 134, 144–145, 149, 334–335 Falcini, Mariano 472 Farax, Master 205–206 Faustner, Leonhard 311 Felipe el Hermoso, Archduke of Austria 197, 206 Felipe ii (Habsburg), King of Spain, Portugal, Naples and Sicily 48 Felipe iii (Habsburg), King of Spain, Portugal, Naples, Sicily and Sardinia 43 Fernán González, 1st autonomous Count of Castile 48 Fernández de Velasco, Pedro 200 Fernando i, King of Aragon 42 Fernando ii (the Catholic), King of Aragón and King of Castile (as Fernando v) 82, 122, 414
687
Index of Persons Fernando iii, King of Castile and León 19, 23, 25, 81, 84, 98, 275, 284, 286, 292, 414, 432 Fernando iv, King of Castile and León 38, 286, 414 Fernando v, King of Castile and Aragon 200 Ferrer, Vincente 44 Finlayson, James 239–240 Fiodorovna, Aleksandra, Empress of Russia 352 Flachat, Christophe-Eugène 152 Florestine Duchess of Urach, Countess of Wurttemberg 333 Fol, Walther 180 Fonseca, Alonso de, Lord of Coca and Alaejos 205–206 Ford, Richard 15, 142 Fortini, Cesare 331 Fortuny y Marsal, Mariano 174, 176, 179– 184, 327 Foucques, Pierre Amédée, Baron de Vagnonville 473 Franchetti, Giulio 176 Francia, Alí/Juan de 204, 207 Francisco de Ávila 49 Frasquero, Luis 216 Frederick ii of Hohenstaufen, Holy Roman Emperor and King of Sicily 18 Friedrich Wilhelm iv, King of Prussia 63, 542 Gail, Wilhelm 415 Gallo, Giuseppe 419–420 Gándara, Jerónimo de la 69, 136 García Luna, Tomás 138–139 Gayangos y Arce, Pascual de 134, 141–146, 149, 305 Gayangos, Emilia 146 Gérome, Jean-Louis 180 Gilbert, Emile Jacques 135 Gillman, Henry 334 Giménez Serrano, José 139 Girault de Prangey, Joseph-Philibert 61, 63, 139, 241, 381, 415, 437, 465, 467–468, 494, 512 Glinka, Mikhail 354 Gogol, Nikolai 351 Gómez de la Fuente, Domingo 216
Gómez Moreno, Manuel 11, 147, 304 Gómez-Moreno Martínez, Manuel 147 Gornostaev, Ivan 358 Goupil, Adolphe 180 Goury, Jules 61, 63, 143, 236, 241, 305, 330–331, 336, 352, 357, 382, 465, 467–468, 470–472, 512, 516, 518 Grigorovich, Konstantin 240 Gromov, Il’ia 499 Guarini, Guarino 418–419 Guas, Juan 205 Gubernatis, Angelo de 175, 178 Guzmán, María Eugenia de, Countess of Teba 156 Gwinner, Arthur von 328 Hackländer, Friedrich Wilhelm 154–155 Hallam, Henry 142 Heckert, Fritz 515 Heigelin, Karl Marcell 66, 151, 152, 154 Herz, Max 336 Hirt, Aloys Ludwig 60 Hittorff, Jakob Ignaz 63, 135, 152, 154, 156, 157, 306–308, 312–313, 419 Holland, Henry Richard Vassall-Fox, 3rd Lord 142 Honegger-Näf, Heinrich 161 Horschelt, Theodor 154 Hübner, Emil 137 Hübsch, Heinrich 60, 62–65, 69, 72 Hülegü (Hulagu) Khan 82 Huysmans, Karl-Joris 309 Ibn ‘Aṣim 304 Ibn al-Ḫatīb, Abū ʿAbdallāh Lisān al-Dīn 85, 87, 91, 93–97, 100–101 Ibn Baṭṭūta 85, 90, 95 Ibn Ḫaldūn 85, 89–91, 93–95, 97–99, 101–102 Ibn Hūd, taifa ruler of Murcia 83, 98 Ibn Rušd (Averroes) 91 Ibn Tūmart 86 Idrīs i al-Maʾmūn, Almohad Caliph 81 Idris ii, Almohad Caliph 83 Illán Pérez of San Román 115 Irving, Washington 160, 241, 350, 353 Isabel i (the Catholic), Queen of Castile and Queen Consort of Aragón 46, 414 Isabel ii, Queen of Spain 215, 416
688 Isabel Téllez de Meneses 120 Ismāʾīl Pasha, Khedive of Egypt 67 Iusupov, Prince Nikolai (the Younger) 348 Jäger, Franz 516–517 Jaime (James) i, King of Aragón 26 Jareño Alarcón, Federico 135, 136 Jaroslav Lev of Rožmitál 46 Jaume (Jaime) Serra 39 Jiménez de Rada, Rodrigo, Archbishop of Toledo 275 Jiménez Hernández, Alejandro 221 Jiménez Hernández, Samuel 221, 224 Jiménez Polo, Ervigio 221 Johannsen, Julius Ernst Kristian 359 John of Gaunt, 1st Duke of Lancaster 41 Jones, Owen 61, 63, 143, 147, 176, 236–237, 241, 305, 313, 317, 328, 329, 330, 334, 336, 338–339, 352, 357, 381–386, 388, 416, 435–439, 464–472, 495, 496, 512, 516, 518–519 Juan Alfonso de Alburquerque 40, 120 Juan Estébanez 115–116 Juan Gas 44 Juan i (Trastámara), King of Castile and León 41 Juan ii, King of Castile and León 42, 43, 45, 199 Juana i (Trastámara), Queen of Castile and Aragón 37 Juvarra, Filippo 419 Kavos, Al’bert 352 Kepler, Johannes 18 Kircher, Athanasius 176 Kitner, Ieronim 359 Kol’man, Karl 247, 355–356, 493 Kovsharov, Anatolii 247, 359 Krakau, Aleksandr 354–355 L’vov, Aleksei 352–353 Laborde, Alexandre de 139, 241, 415, 464, 512 Labrouste, Henri 69, 135, 152–153, 160–161 Lampérez y Romea, Vicente 15, 70, 196, 539–540 Lane, Edward William 513 Lassus, Jean-Baptiste-Antoine 153 Laurent, Jean 146
Index of Persons Layard, Henry Austen 146, 178 Leighton, Frederick 328, 514 Leins, Christian Friedrich von 152–156, 159, 161, 163–164, 415 Leo iv, Pope 176 Leonor de Gúzman, Alfonso xi’s mistress 39, 281 Leonor Fernández de Ayala 117 Leonor of England 412 Leopold ii, Grand-Duke of Tuscany 175 Leroy, Isodore 439 Levi, Giorgio Enrico 473 Lewis, John Frederick 241, 464 Lope González Palomeque (de Toledo), Señor of Villaverde 119–120 Lope, Master 204 López Vázquez, Ramón 214 Loti, Pierre 514 Louis Philippe i, King of France 213 Lowet 218 Lübke, Wilhelm 65–66, 309 Lucas de Iranzo, Miguel, Constable of Castile 197 Ludwig i, King of Bavaria 65, 69 Ludwig ii, King of Bavaria 313, 515–516, 520 Luis Gómez, José 221 Madrazo y Agudo, José de 137 Madrazo y Garreta, Ricardo de 181 Madrazo y Kuntz, Federico de 137 Madrazo y Kuntz, Pedro de 13, 70 Maimonides (Moses ben Maimon) 91 Mâle, Emile 310 Manjón y Mergelina, Regla, Countess of Lebrija 328, 338 Manrique, Gómez 202 Manrique, María 202 Manrique, Pedro, Count of Paredes 202–203 Manrique, Rodrigo 203 María Cristina de Borbón, Queen of Spain 213 María de Padilla 28, 117 María de Portugal, Princess of Portugal and Queen of Castile 40 María Manuela Enriqueta Kirkpatrick de Grevignée, Countess of Montijo 156–158, 217, 386
689
Index of Persons María Salvadores 115–116 Marina Fernández de Córdoba 122 Mark, William 142 Master Xadel, the Mayor 49 Mathevon et Bouvard (manufacture) 439 Mattei, Cesare 466–467, 469 Mayer, Karl 333 Mayor Téllez 116, 119–120 Melbourne, William Lamb, 2nd Viscount 142 Mélida y Alinari, José 146 Mencía de Meneses 116–117 Mendel, G.-.J. 436 Mendoza, Juana de 201 Menéndez Pidal, Ramón 21–22, 540 Mérimée, Prosper 72, 153–159, 164 Micheli, Vincente 472 Miguez Borrego, Teresa 388 Millet, Eugène Louis 153 Monighetti, Ippolito 358 Monlau, Pedro Felipe 146 Montferrand, Auguste de 349 Monti, Raffaele 383 Morris, William 437 Moser Charlottenfels, Henri 162, 333, 520 Muça 202 Muḥammad al-Idrīsī 91 Muḥammad al-Riqūtī 19 Muḥammad an-Nāṣir, Almohad Caliph 83 Muḥammad i, Nasrid Emir 23, 26, 83–84 Muḥammad ibn Ǧuzayy 90 Muḥammad ii, Nasrid Emir 432, 492 Muḥammad iii, Nasrid Emir 212 Muḥammad v, Nasrid Emir 37, 92, 94, 97–98, 100, 108, 281, 304, 379, 410, 432, 434, 491–492 Muḥammad xii, Nasrid Emir (see also Boabdil) 337 Murphy, James Cavanah 63, 139, 241, 307, 331, 352, 435, 438, 464–465, 469, 512 Muruzi, Aleksandr 495 Napoleon iii, Emperor of France 217 Nikolaevich, Piotr, Grand Duke of Russia 496–497 Niẓām al-Mulk 89 Notbek, Carl 239 Notbek, Charlotte 239
Notbek, Pavel 236, 239–240, 244–248, 250, 355–356, 491, 494, 500, 553, 565–567, 570, 575–594 Odescalchi, Baldassare (Prince) 183 Ortiz de Villajos, Agustín 69 Palacios, Mahoma de 200, 204 Palencia, Alonso de 199 Palgrave, Francis 142 Panciatichi Ximenes d’Aragona, Ferdinando 174–179, 184, 315–318, 385, 417, 420, 466–469, 521 Panti, Giovanni 472 Parejo y Darrac, Juan 213 Pascual y Colomer, Narciso 216 Patón, Omar 206 Pedro i, King of Castile and León 7, 28, 36, 38, 41, 48, 50–51, 94, 97–100, 108, 111–112, 117, 119–124, 281–289, 291, 292, 294, 379, 386, 389, 414, 431, 434 Pedro López de Ayala 117, 121–122, 124 Pelayo (Pelagius), Visigoth monarch 48 Pérez de Barradas y Bernuy, María del Carmen (Marquesa de Viana) 337 Pero de Muncharas 49 Persius, Ludwig 63, 542–543 Pétiet, Jules Alexandre 152 Pidal, Pedro José 147 Pierre-Michel-François Chevalier, Pierre-Michel-François alias Pitre-Chevalier 518 Piovano, Michel 331–332, 338 Prescott, William H. 139, 142–143 Prince of Urach, Count Karl of Wurttemberg 163, 329, 332–333, 335–336, 440, 541 Prisse d’Avennes, Emile 469, 516, 521 Prutkov, Koz’ma 356 Pugnaire, Juan 214 Quarini, Mario Ludovico 419 Quesada-Cañaveral y Piédrola, Julio (see also Duke of San Pedro de Galatino) 218–219 Racinet, Albert-Charles Auguste 436, 466 Rada, Juan de Dios de la 146
690 Raimundo de Borgoña, Count of Galicia 48 Rakhau, Karl 247, 355–356, 359, 492–495, 499 Rau, Eugen 163, 335 Regnault, Henri 180 Ressman, Costantino 176 Revell, Frances 142 Revell, John 142 Rezanov, Aleksandr 359, 496 Riaño y Gayangos, Juan “Juanito“ 146 Riaño y Montero, Juan Facundo 134, 144–146, 149, 334–335 Riegl, Alois 437 Roberts, David 241, 464 Robinson, John Charles 146, 178 Rodríguez Ayuso, Emilio 71 Rodríguez Bautista, Carmen 220 Romero, Baltasar 214 Roquer Mari, Joan 388 Rosales, Eduardo 180–181 Rosellini, Ippolito 175 Rosenthal, Carl Albert 64–65 Rosmithal, Baron of 197 Rothschild, Edmond de 333, 514 Röttinger, Jakob Georg and Heinrich 519–520 Rudzhia, Egor 245 Russell, John, 1st Earl Russell 142 Ruy (Rodrigo) Díaz de Vivar (“el Cid”) 48 Saavedra, Eduardo 145, 147 Sacy, Silvestre de 141 Saladin, Henri 308, 520 Salvi, Stefano 468 Samoilova, Iuliia 352 Samuel ben Meir Ha-Levi Abulafia 37, 112– 114, 117, 121, 124, 434 San-Galli, Franz 492 San Pedro de Galatino, Duke of (see also Quesada-Cañaveral y Piédrola, Julio) 218–219 Sánchez-Albornoz, Claudio 22 Sancho iv, king of Castile and León 27, 116, 288, 414 Santisteban González, Ángel 218 Santisteban Martín, Antonio 218, 220 Santisteban, Antonio 218–220 Schack, Adolf Friedrich von 511–512
Index of Persons Scherer, Adrian August Gonzalvo Maximilian (Max) von 161–162, 334, 511 Schmidt & Söhne 162–163, 335 Schneider, Heinrich 348 Schneider, Wilhelm 348 Segovia, Abdurramén de 203 Semper, Gottfried 133, 135 Serebriakov, Aleksei 359, 495 Sesto, Dukes of 217–218 Séverin Taylor, Isidore Justin (Baron Taylor) 213 Shreiber, Piotr 248, 359, 495 Simone, Rosario de 182 Simonet, Francisco Javier 14 Simonetti, Attilio 181–182 Smith, Henry Alonzo 147, 236 Sorokin, Evgraf 240 Spence, William Blundell 178 Spitz, Ignatii 245 Stendhal (Marie-Henri Beyle) 156 Stibbert, Frederick 174–179, 184, 329–332, 440, 473–474 Stieglitz, Alexander von 355–356 Stier, Wilhelm 63, 313, 542 Streitberger, Otto 389 Stuart’s Garder, Isabella 183 Stüler, August 69 Suer Téllez de Meneses y de Mayor Téllez 116 Svin’in, Vasilii 359 Swinburne, Henry 61 Tafel, Emil Otto 160–163, 335, 421, 512, 517 Ṭāriq ibn Ziyād 84 Tel García de Meneses 120 Temple, Grenville 236 Tendilla, Count of 196 Teresa de Ayala (i) 122, 124 Teresa de Ayala (ii) 121 Teresa Martínez de Meneses 120 Tessin the Younger, Nicodemus 418 Thevenot, Etienne 307, 308 Thibaud, Emile 308 Ticknor, George 142 Torres Balbás, Leopoldo 304, 338, 413 Tournemine, René-Joseph de 306 Treves, Marco 472
691
Index of Persons Trilles y Badenes, José 147 Twiss, Richard 61 Urquhart, David 307–308 Ussi, Stefano 178 Van de Weyer, Sylvain 142 Varon, Aureliano 69 Vega y March, Manuel 388 Velázquez Bosco, Ricardo 391 Vertuni, Achille 181, 183 Villegas Cordero, José 182, 385 Viollet-le-Duc, Eugène Emmanuel 133, 15, 154, 236, 308–309 Vittone, Bernardo 418–419 Wehrli, Karl Andreas 519 Weinbrenner, Friedrich 60 Wilhelm i, King of Wurttemberg 63, 152, 163, 311 Wilhelm iv, King of Wurttemberg 63, 542 Witt & Ott 162
Wittmann & Stahl 65, 543 Wornum, Ralph Nicholas 436 Wren, Christopher 306 Wyatt, Matthew Digby 382 Xifré Downing, José 158, 387 Yaḥyā I al-Maʾmūn, taifa ruler of Toledo 411 Yaḥyā ii al-Qādir biʾllāh, taifa ruler of Toledo 11 Younis, Hadji 518 Younis, Mohammed 518 Yūsuf i, Nasrid Emir 95 Zabaleta, Antonio de 134–138, 141, 144, 149 Zagoskin, Mikhail 353 Zanth, Karl Ludwig Wilhelm von 63, 152–154, 161, 163, 306, 308, 310–313, 315, 333, 419, 467, 520–521, 541 Zapata Hernández, Miguel 389–390 Zeerleder, Theodor 153 Ziegler, Jules Claude 309, 315
Index of Places Agra, Taj Mahal 331 Aguilar de Campos, Church of San Andrés 201, 207 Al-Andalus 3, 10, 29, 60–62, 70, 81–87, 89, 91, 93, 95, 96, 98, 100–101, 110, 133, 155, 159, 182, 195, 199, 222, 236, 239, 247, 251, 270, 272, 275, 281, 283, 285, 288, 292, 294, 303, 305, 307, 310, 313–314, 330, 339, 349, 351, 380, 386, 389, 392, 393, 411, 417–418, 422, 431, 432, 441, 497–498 Algeria 518 Anatolia 312 Aranjuez, Royal Palace, Arab Cabinet (gabinete árabe) 155, 162, 216–217, 416 Archena, Balneario, Alhambresque staircase 420–423, 441 Astudillo 37, 203, 207, 283 Ávila, Monastery of Santo Tomás 208 Baena 136, 392 Balangero, Parrochiale di San Giacomo 419 Barcelona Calle Berlinés 5, Edificio Alhambra 389 Tibidabo Mountain, Villa Hispanoárabe 388 Beas, Castle 203 Beauvais, Cathedral 271 Berlin Bauakademie 63, 66, 313, 542–543 Hafenplatz 4, Moorish House 314, 541 Rauchstraße 1, Gwinner residence 328 Biarritz Imperial Chapel 157–158 Imperial Villa (also Villa Eugénie) 156 Blois 141 Boston, Isabella Stewart Gardner’s Museum 183 Bourges 270 Brussels, World’s Fair 1910, Spanish Pavilion 219 Burgos Casa del Cordón 203–204, 207 Royal Monastery of Santa María la Real de las Huelgas, Ascension Chapel 412–413
Cairo al-Jazīra (Cairo Marriott Hotel) 314, 515 Hôtel Saint-Maurice 336 Mausoleum of Sulaimān Pasha al-Faransāwī 314 Mosque of al-Amīr Qawṣūn 516 Mosque of Ibn Tūlūn 496 Mausoleum of Ḥasan Ṣadaqah 516 Suez Canal 144, 178, 329 Villa Oppenheim 314 Calabazanos, Convent 202 Cambridge Fitzwilliam Museum 236 University of Cambridge 236 Cartagena, Casa Zapata 389–390 Casarrubios del Monte, Castle 205 Castiglione Tinella, Santuario della Madonna del Buon Consiglio, Cappella della Madonna 420 Catherinehof, Moorish Pavilion 349 Ciudad Rodrigo, Cathedral 274 Clermont-Ferrand 307 Coca, Castle 205–207 Cologne 240, 306 Constance, Hotel Halm 161, 517 Córdoba 69, 155, 202, 273, 286–287, 292–293, 414, 418, 419, 537 Colegio de la Asunción 136 Mosque-Cathedral 61, 140, 155, 222, 338, 418, 434, 519, 536 Capilla de Villaviciosa 410, 414–415, 432 Royal Chapel (Capilla Real) 44, 282, 287–219, 294, 434 Maqsura 271, 410, 415, 417–418, 421, 432, 519 Mihrab 271, 410, 519 Seminario Conciliar de San Pelagio 136 Corteranzo, San Luigi Gonzaga, chapel 419 Dresden Albrechtsberg Castle, bath cabinet 313, 440–441, 543 Egypt 83–85, 95, 144, 175, 178, 206, 304, 329, 333
Index of Places Emilia Romagna 464 England 36, 41, 349, 412, 521 Ettal Linderhof Palace Moorish Kiosk 67, 313–314, 318, 328, 339, 441, 464, 515–517 Moroccan House 516, 517 Évora 207 Fās al-Ǧādid (‘New Fez,’ also Madīnat al-Baiḍā) Dār al-Maḫzan 87 Fez madrasat al-ʿaṭṭārīn, Marinid mosque 89 madrasat aṣ-Ṣaffarīn, Marinid mosque 89 madrasat ʿAbū ʿInānīya, Marinid mosque 90 University of al-Qarawiyyin 91 Florence 20, 173–178, 184, 330–331, 337 Alinari Archives 474 Cascine Hippodrome 474 Egyptian Museum 175 Florence State Archives 467 Galleria degli Uffizzi 175 Great Synagogue 471 Liceo Artistico Statale di Porta Romana 238 Museo del Bargello 175 Palazzo Medici Riccardi 175 Palazzo Levi, Moorish Room 330, 473 Palazzo Oppenheim 330 Reale Accademia delle Arti del Disegno 472 Regio Istituto di Studi Superiori 175 Scuola professionale delle arti decorative industriali 238, 331 Villa Montughi or Villa Stibbert, Moorish Hall 177, 179, 329–332, 473–474 Foncastín 205 France 30, 37, 69, 113, 154, 243, 272, 274, 281, 306, 327, 439, 493, 521 Fresdelval, Monastery 202, 207 Frómista 202 Genoa (Republic) 173 Granada 23–24, 26–27, 37, 41, 43, 45, 48–49, 51, 66, 69, 82–84, 91–95, 98, 99, 101, 113, 143, 147–148, 157, 162, 177, 181, 184,
693 196–199, 201–203, 208, 218–219, 222, 237–239, 241–243, 246, 281–283, 291, 305, 310, 317, 328, 331, 335, 350, 354, 356, 358, 380, 383, 392–393, 432, 434, 440, 473, 491, 493–494, 497, 515, 553 Albaicín, Carmen de la Media Luna, Alhambresque patio 219 Alcaicería 214, 216 Alhambra 22–23, 37, 50, 61, 66–67, 90, 95, 97, 100, 108, 112, 116, 118–119, 139–140, 143, 148–149, 160, 176, 179, 181–184, 198, 207, 212–214, 220, 236, 241, 244, 247, 283, 288, 304–305, 307, 309–310, 313, 315–316, 328, 330, 337, 349, 350–355, 359–360, 379, 381, 383, 392, 416, 421, 432–433, 435–436, 438, 440–441, 465–474, 491–500, 511–512, 516, 518–519, 521 Comares Palace Comares Tower (Torre de Comares) 304, 554–555, 558, 559, 567 Comares bath (ḥammām) 328, 497 Sala de la Barca 512 Sala de las Camas 328 Sala del Mexuar 304 Salón de Comares (Sala de los Embajadores) 283, 554, 555, 556, 557, 558, 560, 561, 567 Estudio Contreras (see also workshop of Contreras family) 214–215 Monastery (ex-convento) of San Francisco 414 Museo de la Alhambra 304 Palace of the Lions Court of the Lions (Patio de los Leones) 155, 160, 198, 217, 219, 223, 316, 338, 379–393, 411, 431, 433, 442, 496, 555, 569 Court of the Myrtles (Patio de los Arrayanes) 512 Hall of Justice (Sala de los Reyes) 383 Hall of the Abencerrajes (Sala de los Abencerrajes) 317, 383, 416, 422, 471, 554, 555, 557, 560, 561, 562, 570 Hall of the Mocárabes 384 Hall of the Two Sisters (Sala de las Dos Hermanas) 162, 216, 241, 335, 357,
694 Granada (cont.) 416, 421, 493–495, 499, 511–512, 518, 519, 554–562, 566 Mirador de Lindaraja 304, 317 Partal Palace Torre de las Damas 328, 559 Tower of the Princesses (Torre de las Infantas) 247, 355, 493, 558, 559, 562 Capilla Real 213 Cuarto Real de Santo Domingo 432 Generalife 140, 354, 492, 556 Grand Hotel Alhambra Palace 218 Palacio de Alijares 304 School of Arts and Crafts (Escuela de Artes y Oficios Artísticos) 220 Workshop of Contreras family (see also Estudio Contreras) 392 Great Britain 145, 243, 338, 436–437 Geneva, École des arts Industriels 238 Hampton, Grove House 318, 519, 521–522 Iberian Peninsula 3, 7, 14, 25, 82, 84, 86, 92, 108, 144, 146, 177, 195, 197, 208, 222, 270–271, 276, 281, 303, 350, 389, 411–412, 417–418, 420, 422, 434, 466, 537 India 19, 306, 308, 316, 330–331, 353 Iraq 303 Italy 62, 66, 135, 145, 154, 161, 173–174, 176, 184, 236, 238, 385, 418–419, 466, 468, 474 Jaén 24, 84, 197 Karlsruhe, Villa Schönleber 161 L’Arboç (Tarragona), La Giralda 388 Láchar (Granada), Castle 219 Lenzburg, Malaga Winery 544 Balaguer (Lleida), Alcazaba 222 London Government Schools of Design 236–237, 436 Holland House 142 Kensington, Leighton House 514 Royal Asiatic Society 142–143 Royal Institute of British Architects 236 South Kensington Museum (see also Victoria and Albert
Index of Places Museum) 146–147, 149, 178, 235, 237, 334 Architectural or Cast Courts 147, 235, 382 Victoria and Albert Museum (see also South Kensington Museum) 146–147, 149, 178, 235, 237, 334 Madīnat az-Zahrāʾ Audience hall (Salón Rico) 271, 433 Madrid 42, 68, 71, 134–136, 138, 141–142, 145, 146, 158–160, 163–164, 177, 180, 215, 217, 237, 241, 327, 334, 386, 391–392 Alcázar 204 Anglada Palace, patio árabe 71, 217, 387, 388, 541 Arab hall and antechamber for José Buschental 216 Ateneo Madrileño 137 Calle Alcalá, Alhambresque cabinet for José Manuel Calderón 216 Calle Barquillo 4 145 Calle Cañizares 6, Alhambresque patio, 218 Cerralbo Palace, Arab Room 328 Colegio Imperial de San Isidro 137 Comisión Central de Monumentos 137 Comisiones Provinciales de Monumentos 147 Cuerpo Facultativo de Archiveros, Bibliotecarios y Anticuarios 133 Escuela de Arquitectura 135–137, 391 Escuela de Nobles Artes de la Academia de San Fernando 137–138 Escuela Superior de Diplomática 146 Escuela Superior de Pintura 145 Escuela Técnica Superior de Arquitectura 158 Exposición Nacional de Minería, Artes Metalúrgicas, Céramicas, Cristaleía y Aguas Minerales 1883, Pabellón Real 391 Fundacíon Don Juan de Valencia 181 Liria Palace, Arab cabinet (gabinete árabe) 217 Museo del Ejército (also Museo de Artillería) Sala árabe 337, 385 Salon del Reino 337
Index of Places Museo de Reproducciones Artísticas 147, 334 National Archaeological Museum (Museo Arqueólogico Nacional), Arab Hall/Patio (Salón/Patio árabe) 135, 137, 391–392, 294 Palacio del Buen Retiro (see Museo del Ejército) 337, 385 Palacio Viejo de Vista Alegre, bath 216 Paseo de Recoletos 20-22 135 Plaza de Angel, Montijo Palace, Alhambresque patio (La Serre) 157, 159, 217–218, 386–387 Prado Museum 180 Real Academia de Bellas Artes de San Fernando 7, 10, 50, 61, 67, 69, 133, 335, 464, 537 Real Academia de la Historia 134, 335 Senate 133 Sesto Palace 219 Universidad Central 137, 145 Xifré Palace 71–72, 158–160 Marrakesh, Kutubīya Mosque, Almohad minaret 274 Medina del Campo, Mota Castle 205–206 Monasterolo di Savigliano, parochial church Santissimi Apostoli Pietro e Paolo 419 Morocco 22, 86–87, 178, 181, 432, 518 Munich 153, 311, 516, 542 Murcia, Royal Casino, Patio árabe 422, 441 Netherlands 521 Neuhausen, Charlottenfels Castle, smoking room (fumoir arabe) 162, 333, 520 Olite (Navarra), Royal Palace 8 Palencia, Convent of Santa Clara 201 Palestine 303 Paris École des Beaux-Arts 152–153, 237 Edmond de Rothschild’s Fumoir arabe 333, 514 Hôtel de Cluny 327 Musée de Sculpture compare 235 Musée de Versailles 213
695 World’s Fair 1878, Spanish Pavillion 68–69, 150, 338 World’s Fair 1867, Moorish Kiosk (see also Ettal, Linderhof, Moorish Kiosk) 67–68, 313, 328, 339, 441, 464, 515 Pavlovsk, Grafskaia Slavianka 352 Persia 19, 316, 353 Pisa (Republic) 173 Pont-Le Voy 141 Pontevedra, Monastery Santa María de Armenteira 412 Port-Marly, Château Monte-Cristo 517–519 Potsdam, Dampfmaschinenhaus 63, 542 Pushkin (Tsarskoe selo) Catherine Palace, Turkish Kiosk 349 Rabat, Hassan mosque, minaret 432 Rascafría, Valley of Lozoya, Real Monasterio de Santa María de El Paular 44 Regello Villa di Sammezzano 176–178, 316–318, 385, 417–419, 422, 466–469, 472, 514, 521, 542 Galleria degli Stalatitti 316–317 Sala degli Amanti 468 Sala Bianca (also White Hall) 416–420, 468 Sala dei Gigli 316–317, 467, 514, 521 Sala degli Specchi 469 Sala del Nada Semper 514 Sala delle Stelle 468 Riola Rocchetta Mattei 466, 473 Camera Turca 470 Sala Rossa 471 Rochefort, Pierre Loti’s House 514 Rome 135, 173–174, 176, 179–180, 182–184, 238 Circolo Artistico Internazionale 182 Collegio Romano 176 Museo d’Arte Industriale 183–184 Pantheon 135 Temple of Concordia 135 Vatican Hill 176 Villa Martinori, studio of Mariano Fortuny y Marsal 181, 327 Villino Villegas 182, 385 Russia 240–243, 246–247, 251, 348–356, 360, 490–491, 497, 498
696 Sahagún, San Tirso 536, 539–540 Saint Petersburg 175, 243, 246, 248, 327, 348, 349–352, 355–360, 490–492, 495–496, 498–500 Bariatinskii Mansion 357 Imperial Academy of Arts 239–241, 244–249, 251, 348, 354, 356, 491, 493–494, 500 Iusupov Palace 498, 500, 517 Muruzi House 359, 492, 495 Nikolaevskii Palace 496, 517 Russian Museum 248 Scientific-Research Museum of the Russian Academy of Arts 238–239, 250, 354, 493, 553 Villa Brusnitsyny 247 Villa Derviz 359 Villa Koenig 359 Villa San-Galli 359, 492–495, 499 Villa Spiridonov 359 Villa van der Pals 359 Vladimir Palace 359, 496, 499, 517 Winter Palace 352–353, 357–358, 499 Salamanca, Catedral Vieja, Talavera chapel 412 Samarra, Great Mosque of al-Mutawakkil 13 San Lorenzo, El Escorial 69 Sanlúcar de Barrameda, Orleans-Borbón Palace 71–72 Santiago de Compostela, Cathedral 272 Schachen, Königshaus 520 Schwerin, Castle, bathroom 314, 543 Segovia Alcázar Real (Royal Palace) 45–50 Cathedral 207 San Millán 412 Vera Cruz 412 Seville 21, 26–28, 37, 42–43, 72, 81–84, 94, 98–99, 101, 114, 125–126, 155, 182, 241, 283, 287, 292–293, 350, 380, 392–393, 413–414, 422, 432, 434, 442 Alcázar (see also Reales Alcázares) 28, 37, 48, 50, 98, 108, 112, 119, 123, 237, 282–284, 286, 288, 291, 293–294, 379, 431–432, 434 Baños de María de Padilla 28 Gothic Palace (Palacio Gótico/Palacio de Caracol) 18, 28–29, 30
Index of Places Palace of Pedro i Ambassador Hall (Salón de Embajadores) 48, 98, 119, 123, 284, 380, 495 Court of the Dolls (Patio de las Muñecas) 379–381, 387–389, 393, 431, 422 Patio de la Casa de Contratación 432 Patio del Yeso 432 Almohad minaret (Giralda) 437, 442 Biblioteca Colombina 137 Casa de Pilatos 284, 380 Cathedral 286, 414 Gate of Macarena 81 Lebrija Palace 328 Torre de Oro 219 Sicily 63, 135, 306, 310, 313 Soria, San Miguel de Almazán 412 Spain 2, 8, 20, 22, 40, 44, 46, 61, 63, 66–72, 133–149, 154, 156–157, 159, 162, 176–177, 212, 214, 220, 222, 236, 240–241, 243– 244, 272, 274, 303, 306, 313, 328, 332, 335–339, 350, 353–354, 356, 359–360, 380, 386–388, 391–393, 441, 467, 493, 518, 535–536, 538 St. Germer-de-Fly, Gothic Chapel of Mary 153 Stuttgart 153, 155, 159, 161, 163–164, 327, 337, 541–543 Bath at Büchsenstrasse 57 65, 541, 543 Palais Taubenheim 333 Palais Urach, Arab Rooms (Arabische Räume) 163, 332–333, 336, 338 Stuttgart Bad-Cannstatt Wilhelma 63, 153, 155, 160, 306, 310, 312, 318, 333, 467, 541, 543 Moorish Villa (Maurisches Landhaus) 153, 161, 312, 520 Wilhelma-Theater 152 Switzerland 154, 162, 236, 335, 519, 541–543 Sydenham Crystal Palace 176, 235, 237, 330, 381–382, 384–385, 435, 466 Alhambra Court 176, 237, 317, 328–330, 334, 338–339, 381–385, 386, 388, 416, 435, 464, 466, 471 Syria 12, 303
697
Index of Places Tägerwilen, Castell Castle, Moorish Hall 161, 318, 335, 420–421, 512, 518–519 Tarragona, Cathedral 468 Toledo 7, 11–12, 15, 42, 44, 108–110, 112, 114–115, 120, 122–126, 135, 196, 241, 270, 273–276, 288, 292–293, 303, 305, 392, 412, 414, 419, 539 Alcázar, Army Museum, Hall of Origins (Sala Orígenes) 221–223 Casa de Mesa 114–116 Casa Güena 121–124, 125 Casas principales de San Román 114–116 Cathedral 116, 272, 274 Church of Santa Cruz, today El Cristo de la Luz (see also Mosque at Bāb al- Mardūm) 273, 412 Convento de Santa Fé, Capilla de Belén 411, 418 Friday Mosque 270 Mosque at Bāb al-Mardūm 273, 412 Palace in calle de la Sillería 124–125 San Antolín 274 San Eugenio 274 San Lorenzo (former mosque) 273 San Román 274 Santa María la Blanca (former synagogue) 42, 147, 275, 304, 536 Santiago del Arrabal 274 Synagogue El Tránsito 37, 112, 117, 434 Taller del Moro (Casa del Moro) 117–120
Tordesillas, Royal palace (today Royal Convent of Santa Clara) 37, 111, 113, 283, 413, 419, 434 Capilla Dorada 413, 418 Toro, Collegiate Church 274 Torralba 205 Tunis 83, 86, 89, 93, 98, 518 Tunisia 518 Turin, San Lorenzo 418–419 Turkey 316 Tuscany 177, 417, 464 Úbeda 203 Valinotto, Santa Maria della Visitazione 419 Valladolid 200–201, 203, 289 Venice (City) 173 Venice (Republic) 173 Villalón, Church San Miguel 201 Winterthur, neo-Moorish bathing and laundering facilities (Bad-und Waschanstalt) 536, 542–545 Yeste 203 Zaragoza 241, 392, 419 Aljafería 222, 271, 411, 418, 432 Zurich Eidgenössisches Polytechnikum 309 Hotel National 161