e student of Christian art may well
deplore that the Koran, in its abhorrence of idol-worship, forbade its
followers in any way to reproduce human or animal forms. Forever
debarred all the wider possibilities of movement and poetry these would
have given them for interior decoration, Moorish art necessarily
stagnated to mere conventionalization of floral and natural subjects.
These are well adapted to exterior mural surfacing. When we look at the
fancifully handled geometric patterns on the Giralda, we can only
rejoice that the frescoes added by the later Renaissance artists in the
upper arches and along some of the lower surfaces have been washed away
by time. They were ineffective; all that remains of Moorish is
magnificent. A small arcade, running the width of each side in its
single panel, terminates the Moorish work.

It is almost to be regretted that the Renaissance top has been so well
done, for its barbarous exotism is sufficient to condemn it. It has
excellently fulfilled a dastardly purpose.

The original Moorish termination was taken down by the architect,
Francisco Ruiz, who was commissioned by the Cathedral Chapter in 1568 to
give it a more fitting crown. His design consists of three stages
reaching to a height of about a hundred feet. The first, of the same
width as the shaft below, is pierced by openings "to let out the sweet
sounds of the bells inside." The second stage consists of a double tier
of considerably smaller squares pierced by wide arches. Around the four
sides of its upper frieze runs the inscription so legible that all
Sevillians who know how may read, "Nomen Domini Fortissima Turris"
(Proverbs, xviii, 10). The third stage consists of a double lantern
surmounted by a soaring Seraphim, bearing in one hand the banner of
Constantine and in the other the Roman palm of conquest. The
"Girardello" was cast in gilded bronze by Bartolome Morel in the year
1568. Intended to symbolize Faith, the name, a diminutive of Giralda, or
weathercock, is most inappropriate. Despite her enormous size and
weight, the faintest zephyr blowing down from the Sierra Morena sets her
turning on the spire she treads so lightly, whereupon the crowds of
hawks resting on Girardello disperse in noisy scolding.

Dumas gazed at her in wonder and admiration. "C'est merveilleux," he
said, "de voir tourner dans un rayon de soleil cette figure d'or aux
ailes deployees, qui semble, comme un oiseau celeste fatigue d'une
longue cou