enaissance; the main portions of the
exterior are what might be termed for want of a better word "Spanish
Renaissance--plateresco"; other details are Moorish, classical, late
florid Gothic, rococo, and so forth. As if to add to the incongruity of
the architectural hodge-podge, it is surrounded by shafts of old Roman
columns as well as Byzantine pillars from the original mosque, sunk deep
into the ground and connected with iron chains. The total impression to
any student of architecture is one of outraged law and order,
composition and unity. Recalling the carefully membered and distinctly
developed plan of the great Gothic churches of France, the expressive
exteriors of the huge Renaissance cathedrals of Italy, the satisfying
perspective of English monastic temples, one feels the hopelessness of
attempting a comparison between this huge, impressive undertaking and
any accepted standards or schools. It is something so entirely different
and apart, a mighty and unbridled effort which cannot be classified nor
grouped with other churches, nor studied by methods of earlier
architectural training. It is full of romance,--a building romantic as
the Cid, a child of architectural fervor or even architectural furor.
Centuries of Spanish history and religion and the various temperaments
of different and inspired races have created it and fostered its
growth. Like many of its sister churches, the artisans that labored on
it were gathered from different lands and their work stretches through
centuries of time and architectural thought. There is the sparkling,
oriental fancy of the Mudejar, the classic training of the Italian, the
brilliant color and technique of the Fleming and Dutchman, the skilled
and masterful chiseling of the German, and the restless pride and
domination of the Spaniard. You find it expressed in every way,--on
canvas, in wood and clay and stone, on plaster and in glass. It is a
museum of art from the fifteenth to the nineteenth centuries, with
portions still waiting for the work of the twentieth. The artists range
from Juan Sanches de Castro, "the morning star of Andalusia," in 1454,
to Francisco Goya, the last of the great Spanish painters.

It is colossal, incongruous, mysterious, and elusive. It breathes the
spirit of the middle ages with all their piety and loyalty to church and
crown, and their unparalleled ardor in building religious temples.
Gazing at it, you feel the same religious fervor that flung the a