An Arc through Western Andalucia

An Arc through Western Andalucía

Piety and violence are never far apart in Spain. Of course, the relationship holds in many other places at many times. But Spain has its own special place, certainly given the many centuries of conflict that endure between Christian and Muslim kingdoms, and the fierceness of the Spanish Catholic response to the Reformation, let alone the treatment of subject Jews and Muslims, once the Reconquista had succeeded in 1492.

A journey into western Andalucía from east of Malaga took us, almost fortuitously, along roughly the final north western frontier  (Frontera) between Christian dominions and the Emirate of Granada. 

One of the lessons of the journey is that one must give up the notion of a “frontier” being fixed, moving suddenly and obviously through great feats of arms or diplomacy. The cities, towns and villages contested by Christians and Muslims did not stand or fall like dominoes. One place might be taken, but its a neighbour of a few kilometres remain in other hands for decades or even a century or two. Spanish sierras and valleys are formidable obstacles. In the arc we travelled, at one end was Jerez (conquered 1264); at the other Antequera (1410).

Our first stop was at a place that typifies the glacially and erratically moving frontier. Teba was and is a small village with a little castle set breathtakingly on a steepling crag, dominating a couple of valleys.

It was a key strategic objective for the Christians and the site of a battle in 1330 (note: falling halfway in distance and time between Jerez and Antequera). The battle was joined between King Alfonso’s forces and a Moorish army sent from Granada to relieve  the siege laid to the the castle by Alfonso. Alfonso won the battle and the besieged castle surrendered. However, victory came at the cost of the lives of several Scottish knights, who, it seems, were over-eager in their pursuit of the fleeing enemy, and were overwhelmed in a rearguard action. The Scots were a band led by the notorious (from Anglo-Scottish wars) William Douglas.  The reason why he found himself in Spain in this particular fight is somewhat bizarre. Douglas was the chief lieutenant of Robert the Bruce, and the latter’s dying wish was for his embalmed heart to be taken by Douglas on Crusade, preferably to the Holy Land; but a subsidiary Crusade would do. The Reconquista counted as such, so Douglas and his associates took the heart to Spain (whence it was retrieved from the battlefield and returned to Scotland).

Jerez and Antequera both have large forts/palaces dating from Muslim times. The one at Antequera is magnificently situated above the town and has well restored towers and walls (it fell to a siege).

However, the Jerez Alcazar has the more interesting buildings, including a mosque in (once rendered into a church but without the vandalism which took place at the great mosque at Cordoba)

and recently rediscovered baths (unused in Christian times, as bathing was not considered one of life’s priorities).

Both sites exhibit the typical palimpsest of Moorish infrastructure overlaid with Christian adaptations and additions.

On either side of Jerez’s Moorish fortress lie great monuments of Christianity (and monuments of wine – of which more later): the cathedral

and the more exquisite church of San Miguel.

Here begins (or recommences) my rant against counter Reformation church art in Spain.

Like Soviet Socialist realism, Catholic art in the 16^thand 17^thcenturies was directed at fixing the gaze of the laity on the “truths” which were deemed appropriate and necessary by the Church. In counter-Reformation art, this meant elaborate and realistic depictions of themes supporting the Church’s doctrines- against those of Luther and Calvin, with an especial emphasis on suffering. Some artists (El Greco, for example) could comply but also transcend; but others just produced the sentimental, grotesque, or both.

Two examples – the knife-crimed statue of Mary in the cathedral (pierced with Sorrow – piety and violence),

And the comic-grizzly depiction of souls in Purgatory in San Miguel, burning away without much obvious torment and being eventually handed out to heaven as if from a lengthy and tedious sauna.

Purgatory is a place where sinners not deserving of eternal damnation do time, undergoing punishments theologically unspecified but including, on good ecclesiastical authority, burning (as in the painting). The doctrine of Purgatory turned out to be a brilliant marketing coup for the Church. One of its self-proclaimed powers was that of remitting purgatorial time. Masses performed or prayers said for the account of the departed could shorten the ordeal. But the Church’s good offices were not to be gratuitous. Financial transactions, many for vast sums, were involved. Good works, say the endowment of a chapel, a monastery or a college, would be repaid with decades or even centuries of intercession on behalf of the donor. 

Therefore sinners who were wealthy were exceedingly generous to the church. Even among lesser folk, the Church operated what was in fact a win-win lottery – the faithful could buy Indulgences (time off Purgatory) at rates to suit every budget.

The sherry bodegas are the modern temples of worship in Jerez. Many acres of the centre are covered by their main buildings, of varying degrees of architectural merit. Typically, they offer touristic visits. We went on the tour of Gonzalez-Byass. The tour is processed through at a clip, ending with a tasting somewhat off-handedly administered. However there are interesting points on the way – the tradition of signed barrels (by visiting celebrities through the recent ages),

the miniature sherry sipping station for the bodega's mice.. But the tour is not whole-heartedly recommended- and don’t go on another bodega tour if you’ve already been on one!

The Fundador Bodega (Harveys) has a better offering – a large bar/restaurant on the premises where one can skip touring and just buy their sherry – good stuff apart from the monstrosity of Bristol Cream. 

A place without bodegas or grand Moorish traces is Arcos de la Frontera. In spite of its frontier designation, or perhaps because of, it was long in Christian hands(1280). Its old town is essentially a citadel on a precipitous site (like Ronda).

It has the characteristic, shared by a few ancient Spanish towns, that the narrow mediaeval streets are now modern traffic thoroughfares, so that weary travellers in their hired cars find themselves nudging (somewhat unbelievingly) through urban lanes which anywhere else would be pedestrian-only, flattening wing mirrors to squeeze between walls.

Arcos is pretty and spectacular. But in January it, like WC Fields’s Philadelphia, was closed-monument-wise.

I have mentioned Antequera’s military and contested past. There is also nearby a further past –dolmens from 5000 years ago. They were discovered in the early 20^thcentury and are in near perfect condition, exhibiting the sophisticated use of pillars and domes.

The alignment of the entrance of the main dolmen is towards the strange shape of the mountain known as the Pena de Inamorados  (Peak of the Lovers). Its profile is of a sleeping giant (perhaps he dragged the mighty stones to create the dolmens and is now resting).

It is also the place in legend (hence its name) where a young Christian man and his Moorish lover, fleeing from retribution against their forbidden relationship, cast themselves to death.

Piety and violence.

February 2019