and enriched.

The lighting is very unusual, and better than either Leon or Toledo.
Ninety-three windows are filled with the most glorious glass. There are
two clerestories to light the body of the church, one in the walls of
the second side aisle, admitting light above the roofs of the chapels,
the second in the nave. Added to this come the huge lights of the five
rose windows.

In Seville, as in Toledo and many of the other great Spanish cathedrals,
the general view of the interior is blocked, and the majestic
effectiveness of the columnar rows marred, by the placing of the great
choir in the centre of the edifice.

But the interior effect is nevertheless one of the most inspiring
produced by the imagination and hands of man. All truly majestic
conceptions are simple and, though we may at times wonder at the secret
of their power, we always find their enduring grandeur due to a hidden
simplicity. This is true of the Parthenon, of the Venus of Milo, and the
Sistine Madonna. Whoever enters the Cathedral of Seville is struck first
of all by its simplicity. The tremendous scale of the interior is
unperceived, owing to the just proportion between all the parts. There
is height as well as width, massiveness and strength, boldness and
light. None of the detail is petty or too elaborate, but simple and
effective, making a harmony in all its parts. Even the furniture carries
out the tremendous boldness and grandeur of the edifice. Bells, choir
books, candles, altar chests, are all on the same grandiose scale. It
has true majesty in its simplicity of direct, honest appeal, and a
proud unconsciousness, because it is free from the artificiality which
is invariably vulgar. The truly beautiful woman needs none of the
devices of art. The shafts and vaults and string courses in Seville's
Cathedral need little ornamentation to bring out their beauty; they are
in fact as effective as the elaborate carving of Salamanca and Segovia.
Seville preaches a great lesson to our twentieth century, of peace, rest
and completeness. It has room for all its children; they may kneel at
eighty-two different shrines and find romance or encouragement or the
consolation they are seeking. Some churches are strangely secular in
their restlessness of feeling, while others breathe an atmosphere full
of poetry, exaltation and the infinite peace of the Gospels. Seville's
religion is for the humble and simple as much as for the grandee. It is
not only the g