SEGOVIA
It was an overcast Sunday morning when we left Madrid for the cities of the north and west – perfect traveling weather. We had all of two days in which to see three cities, but the distances were not great and I was certain that we would have enough time. Rikki and I were on our own by now since the Kays had already returned to the States. Our plans called for a visit to Segovia, then on to Salamanca for an overnight, and then a visit to Avila on the second day with an overnight there. In truth, we fell in love with Segovia – it was easily our favorite city in Spain – and we were loathe to leave it. So we stayed there overnight.
We entered the city from the south, driving on an exceptional stretch of highway, and I suppose I was taken aback by a sign that proclaimed that we were at a place called the Conde Sepulveda. I have no idea who that particular Conde or Count was, but the county is called Sepulveda, and there is a city by that name some 40 miles NE of Segovia. I did find out that in 1111, Alfonso I of Aragon and Count Henry of Portugal fought and defeated Urraca of León and Castile. This victory resulted in the independence of Portugal. The city of Sepulveda had a small Jewish population in the 13th century ... but I digress.
The name Sepulveda took me by surprise. You see, I grew up in Los Angeles just one block away from a major north-south boulevard by that name. As a kid, I used to sell newspapers on the corner of Washington and Sepulveda. When we first arrived in L.A., my mother pronounced it (in accord with her Ladino background) “See-pul-vee-tha,” but the L.A. natives soon corrected her – Seh-pul-ve-da. I was so focused on the name and so into a reverie going back umpteen years, that without realizing it, I had turned onto Avenida Fernandez Ladreda – the short road that leads to the Plaza del Azoguejo, which is the entrance to Segovia.
And suddenly, there it was. It was simply astounding, and nothing we had heard about it could have prepared us for it. I had read, of course, that there was an impressive aqueduct in Segovia, but I had no idea just how impressive it would be. It is the largest, most well preserved Roman aqueduct I have ever seen – and that includes Rome, Israel, and other parts of Spain. This one is almost half a mile long; at one point, it bends at a 70 degree angle, and its two tiers rise in some places to about 90 feet high. The aqueduct consists of slender, almost delicate Roman arches built upon each other, and all of it is in perfect repair. I am told that the aqueduct still works and is still used, but whether or why it is still necessary I don’t know. But I do know that it transects the large plaza and crosses over the medieval wall that outlines the southern half of the entire city.
There were very few tourists in Segovia at this time of year, but the 20 or so of us standing in the plaza were staring gape-mouthed at this structure. Rikki and I walked most of its length. Then we climbed up a small hill to take a closer look at the way in which it was constructed in its first and second tiers. It was a work of integrity and craftsmanship. The stones appeared to be selected with care or perfectly shaped. It was built to span the city entrance ... and the ages ... and it does and has.
The Romans must have thought their rule here would last the ages, and with good reason. Much like Toledo and Granada, Segovia sits like a huge ship on a massive triangular mesa that soars 3000 feet above the plains. The prow of the ship stands above the confluence of two smallish rivers – the Rio Eresma and the Rio Clamores. So that one can easily imagine the safety and security that the Roman soldiers felt when they occupied this town in the first four centuries of the common era.
After Rome was defeated in the 5th century, Segovia sat abandoned until the Moors occupied it in the 8th century. During their rule, it became a sheep and wool town. In 1088, Catholic King Alfonso VI, settled the town and fortified it mightily by building walls around it, which still stand, along with five major gates, three of which are still in place. In the following two centuries, several impressive churches went up reflecting a flourishing economy ... still based on weaving and wool merchants. Private palaces and lovely public buildings including the Fabrica de Monedas – the mint, also sprang up. At the height of its prosperity in the 16th century, Segovia was a center of culture and art and boasted a population of some 60,000 people, about the same number as reside there today.
We made our way from the aqueduct to the middle of town, the Plaza Major. One of the oldest town centers, it is also one of the most unusual. A large public square, it features a tree lined, park-like area surrounded by nose-in parking. Parking is often at a premium in most towns in Spain, but here there must have been close to 100 spaces around the square. However, 99 of them were occupied when we arrived. We spotted someone pulling out and successfully raced a Mercedes to the spot. Not exactly knowing the lay-out of the city, we were gratified to see a tourist office just a few feet from our parking space. Once again, in a country that wants tourism, needs tourism, welcomes tourism, it must still be the only country on this planet that has monolingual workers in its town tourist offices. What must they be thinking, that all tourists come from Spanish speaking countries?
Well it doesn't take Spanish fluency to ask for a mapa and a lista de los hotels. The pleasant lady behind the desk suggested that we stay at any one of the following ten places, all of which were anywhere from five to ten blocks away. Lord, how I hated to give up my parking place. Well, we left the office and decided to take a stroll around the Plaza Major just to get the lay of the land, so to speak. Less than 25 steps to the left of the office was a lovely side street; less than 10 steps from that corner was a lovely hotel – La Infanta Isabel. Our tourist office lady had not mentioned it.
One could smell the fresh paint and new wallpaper from the entryway. The foyer was small and charming; the desk clerk spoke English. He also spoke “special Sunday night bargain rate.” A well turned out young lady showed us to our room on the third, topmost floor. It was fresh, spotless, and enormous. The window overlooked the Plaza Major. There right below us was our car with our luggage – not much more than 20 steps from trunk to lobby. I can't recommend a hotel more highly. I can't recall a more pleasant stay in any such home away from home.
Well ensconced, we walked the city by night. The weather was quite balmy, and people were out strolling, and shopping. At about 10:00pm, we found a small restaurant – at one table there were seven ladies in their 60s. We sat at the table next to them. At another table was a family of five. They were speaking Hebrew, but they had just finished dinner and were on their way out. The ladies were deep in conversation about family, friends, and government. It's not that we were eavesdropping, heaven forfend. It's just that they did not seem to care how loudly they proclaimed their opinions.
The talk was non-stop and rapid fire. We caught every third word. Were it not in Spanish, I could have sworn that these were Jewish ladies from Tel Aviv intent on either solving everyone else’s problems or on creating new ones. We enjoyed dinner enormously ... and so did the waiter who seemed most interested in the blonde lady who spoke incessantly and persuasively through the smoke of the cigarettes that one after another graced her lips.
The next morning we rose early to tour “our Segovia.” Across from the Plaza Major is the Cathedral – a massive building of beautiful blond stone constructed during the reign of Carlos I (Charles V). It is the last Gothic church in all of Spain. Standing on the highest point in the city, it towers over the houses below. Begun in 1525, it was finished in the 1690s – 175 years later. We were pretty much churched out, but decided to visit anyway. There is nothing cozy or haimish about Cathedrals! The ceilings fly away, the walls are ungapotchkied with gargoyles and statuary, the side apses and chapels are a mélange of gilt and dark paintings stashed behind prison-like bars. There is something very ... un-Jewish about Cathedrals!
One constant, of course, is that they are bone-chilling cold, bitter cold, brutally cold, cold without relief. In this Cathedral the cold went right through our zippered jackets and under the wool scarfs and hats. We happened to notice people walking through a small door into what looked like a chapel off to one side. More to escape the cold than anything else, we followed. Compared to the main church, this was an intimate space ... about the size of Rhode Island, but with a low ceiling.
We stood against the back wall and noticed that ... it was warm in here ... about 100 people had already gathered ... a priest in purple robes had taken his place in the confessional box some 20 feet to our left ... and a woman dressed in a nice blue suit was on her knees speaking through a hole in the confessional and had been there for the better part of ten minutes. So much to confess, and so little privacy in which to do it?
At last, the priest was released from his earful and made his way to the pulpit where he proceeded to conduct the Mass. He sang it in Spanish, but the melodies were not American High Church at all. They were tinged with the Gregorian and colored by what could easily pass for synagogue Ladino. I was amazed and captivated. The congregation sang along. When the priest began his sermon we ducked out, thus skipping the offertory as well.
It was warm and lovely outside. We made our way around the Cathedral toward the southern end of town. The Calle de Daoiz was the main street, but still one had to jump up on the narrow sidewalks whenever a car passed. I was on the sidewalk when I happened to glance up at the street sign on a narrow alley – Calle de la Juderia. Sure enough, right where one might expect it, just behind the main Cathedral was the old Jewish section of town. We have no record of Jews living in Segovia prior to the Moorish period, but we do know that Jews played a significant role here during the reign of the Moors.
We walked down Calle de los Judios – Street of the Jews. High walls on both sides meant that the living quarters had an internal focus with patios and atriums hidden from the street. It is estimated that in 1390 there were some 50 Jewish families in Segovia. The next year was fateful for Jews all over Spain, with massacres and the pillaging of Juderias in every town controlled by the church. Many of Segovia's Jews were forcibly baptized. Therefore, the town naturally became a center of Marrano activity for the next 80 years, and naturally, in 1474, there would be an auto da fe at which many were burned at the stake.
It is not likely that the Jewish population knew peace during those 80 years. In 1410, there was a charge that the Host had been desecrated – that is, that a wafer used in the Mass had been stabbed by a Jew causing it to bleed. (I have yet to figure out if the people were really that stupid, or if this was just an agreed upon ruse – a wink of the eye, so to speak, which gives license to mean-spirited folk to murder unarmed innocents in cold blood.)
In the ensuing investigation, the town's Jewish physician, Meir Alguades, was put to death and the main synagogue was confiscated and turned into the Church of Corpus Christi. So unimportant is that church that it does not appear on maps of this very small city. According to records, it was built in 1389 in the Mudejar style similar to Santa Maria la Blanca in Toledo ... only much plainer. Franciscan nuns took it over in 1572 and it was badly damaged by fire in 1899, only to be hastily and tastelessly restored. We did not look for it.
Two years after the Host hoax, in 1412, Queen Catherine of Lancaster ordered the Jews to be confined to a new area known today as the Barrio Nuevo or the Juderia Nueva. Its current church of La Merced is thought to have once upon a time been the synagogue. As it turns out, that was the very street on which we were walking – which explained why it was such a nondescript area. By the time the Jewish community was forced to move, it was so spiritually depressed and so financially debilitated that it could not build with passion or with class.
The persecutions by the church continued almost unabated. In 1415, there was another accusation that the Jews had desecrated the Host ... thus, stirring the masses after Masses. In 1480, Segovia became a center of anti-Semitic and anti-Converso activity, much of it led by one Antonio de la Peña. The name Peña sound familiar? In Spanish, it means cliffs, high places. I'm certain he was no relation to a Peña we Denverites know ... who is also in high places.
[Federico Peña was the first Hispanic mayor of Denver, elected in 1983 and re- elected in 1987. He was President Clinton’s Secretary of Transportation and then of Energy.]
One name might be familiar, however, and not only to Jews. The leading Spanish financier and tax-farmer of all of Castile lived in Segovia in the 1400s. His name was Abraham Señor (1422-1500). You may remember his counterpart of several years earlier in Toledo, Samuel HaLevi ibn Abulafia (treasurer to King Pedro I and builder of the El Greco house and of the El Transito Synagogue there). His counterpart in Granada during these same years was Isaac Abravanel (also spelled Abarbanel).
I did not speak about the Abravanel family (Isaac and his sons Judah and Samuel) because they were in Spain for so brief a time. Suffice it to say, one was more brilliant than the next – all were scholars, poets, commentators, philosophers of note, and financiers to rulers of Portugal, Italy, Naples, Corfu, Sicily, Germany, and France. Samuel Abravanel served in the court of Ferdinand and Isabella, but they could not or did not protect him from the decree of Expulsion in 1492 (which is why and when he left Spain) and his sons were born elsewhere.
Meanwhile, back to Señor Señor. As the leading Jew in Segovia, he was very active in the life of the community and was appointed court Rabbi. Along with Samuel Abravanel, he helped arrange the marriage of Ferdinand and Isabella and helped finance it. (Such historical irony!) Unlike Abravanel, when faced with the prospect of Expulsion in 1492, Abraham Señor converted and assumed the name Fernando Perez Coronel. His son-in-law, Meir Melamed, also converted and took the Coronel name. Abraham Señor died in 1500 at the age of 78. There is no marker or statue to him in the city ... in either name ... nor perhaps should there be.
As far as I am concerned, the most interesting part of Segovia stands at the southern-most point of the city – the bow of the ship, if you will – overlooking the confluence of the rivers. That is were the Alcazar of Segovia stands. Seeing it for the first time evokes the word “Disneyland.” This may have been the model for the Fantasyland castle.
Slate roofed towers and squarish turrets hover above this sand-colored, medieval-style castle set on a high bluff amid dwarfed trees and manicured gardens. It was so charming as to appear unreal. We were tempted to take the perfunctory photos and just leave. But castles do have an appeal and somehow, one never seems to get “castled out.”
This royal residence was finished in the 16th century by Filipe II, son of Charles V, who married Anna of Austria – his fourth wife – here. But, who knows when the castle/Alcazar was begun. Mysteriously, it is mentioned in a 12th century document as having been used by the court of Alfonso VIII as his residence because of its security and because of its proximity to excellent hunting grounds. It is also referred to in a 14th century document as having sustained damage from artillery in heavy fighting during the battle of the Trastámara Succession, when the descendants of Henry II of Castile lost Castile to Isabella who then married Ferdinand, thus uniting the kingdoms of Castile and Aragon ... whose actual ruler of both kingdoms at the time was the then convent incarcerated Juana la Loca.
To add to the confusion, some of the castle’s foundation stones are similar to those used in the Roman aqueduct ... but it couldn't possibly be that old. In 1764, it became the College of Artillery. About 100 years later, it suffered a major fire. In the restoration that followed in 1898, the Alcazar was turned into the museum it is today.
I really don't want to turn this into a guidebook description of the Alcazar. Suffice it to say that each room, each display sustains interest. The architectural styles range from Gothic to Mudejar to Baroque, and there are heroic tapestries, stained glass depictions of kings, and ceilings of exceptional design. There are suits of armor, furnishings of the period in excellent condition, halls, bed chambers, an artillery exhibit, and much more, all in fine repair. But sweet irony emerges here, too.
For you see, it is from the great tower that Isabella the Catholic marched to the center of Segovia, to the Plaza Major – just about where we had parked our car – to be crowned Queen of Castile. Today, that high redoubt is called the Tower of John II. It was his mother Catherine of Lancaster who had ruled as his regent until he came of age. It was she who had made the Jews move to the Barrio Nuevo. It was she who had extended the great tower now named for her son. But when she built it, it was to serve as a prison for the politically dangerous. She named it The Tower of the Jew because a Jew had been imprisoned there for years, refusing to accept the church. And so, it can be said ... ironically, that Isabella the Catholic had begun her rule from The Tower of the Jew in Segovia.
Please introduce your friends and family to “Beyond Belief.” Thank you.