The Desire to Touch the Past: The Precursor King Exhibit in Toledo

The cloister at the Monastery of Santa Cruz, Toledo,
now the Museum of Santa Cruz

As readers of this blog know, 2021 marked 800 years since the birth of Alfonso X, el Sabio, in Toledo (Spain) on November 23, 1221. I did everything I could to commemorate that important anniversary: going to a concert and exhibits, releasing a book of tremendous importance to me, and presenting that book in Zamora, Burgos, Salamanca, and Benavente. 

Here we are again on November 23. Happy 801st birthday to the focal point of my scholarly joy! 

In May of this year, I had an opportunity to revel in more than 200 objects (pottery, architecture, clothing, manuscripts, recreated musical and scientific instruments, and more!) having to do with Alfonso X, el Sabio, and I think this is an excellent occasion to share some highlights. 

I haven't counted, but I think the most celebrations over these two years have taken place in the city of Alfonso's birth. And I have to assume the exhibit Alfonso X: The Legacy of a Precursor King was the most extensive, impressive, and enjoyable. 

My mother was with me, and I wore her out looking at everything on offer for a long Spanish morning with excitement that only seemed to increase with every piece. I felt each object in my heart and bones. 

The exhibit filled the entire second floor of the Museum of Santa Cruz, and was beautifully organized into moments of Alfonso's life, from birth and family connections, to his early reign, the intellectual projects (the biggest section, of course--we're talking about a certified brainiac), through to the end of his reign, and the impressions of him throughout history since his death in 1284. 

The exhibit started in an anteroom with this lovely model for a nineteenth-century statue that was never completed. I took the opportunity to be photographed with a handsome physical representation of this person I will never meet in life. 

The bead curtains in the background were used throughout the exhibit to separate the sections and highlight the pieces. The intense colors, translucent glow, and symbols of royalty made this visitor feel like she was walking into an Alfonsine manuscript.

One representative of Alfonso's early family life was his brother, Prince Felipe. This linen and silk bonnet was removed from his tomb in Villalcázar de Sirga. The colors have darkened over time, but the castles and lions, emblems of the prince's royal status, are still visible. 

When you work mainly with texts, your heroes are ephemeral collections of thoughts and ideas. Anything that gives evidence of that hero's physical existence, even if it was 800 years ago, is the closest thing we have to traveling in time. 

Closed tombs, architecture where they lived, or pottery they might've used become a concentrated blast of emotion accumulated over years of study. If possible, clothing is an even more intense sensory experience. 

Clothing so rarely survives because it's so delicate, and it is one of the most intimate things any person will ever use. Being so close I could touch the threads and smell the earthiness of the silk and metallic gold, and imagining this very hat on the head of Alfonso's brother... and ones just like it on the head of the king himself... Simply overwhelming. 

Unlike the hat, this cape retains all its original splendor. Probably a gift from Alfonso X to his brother-in-law, Prince Sancho, when Sancho was made Archbishop of Toledo (the most important ecclesiastical role in medieval Spain), the cape's silk and gold threads show the symbols of Castile and León (Alfonso's kingdom), Aragón (Prince Sancho's kingdom of origin), and the eagle of the Staufen family in memory of Alfonso's mother, Beatriz of Swabia. 

This closeup shows itsintricate detail and solid embroidery. It had to have been created by a team of royal tapestry-makers, and it's so intact, it must hardly have been used and been stored in very fortunate conditions. The bead curtains we were "wrapped" in the whole time are based on this pattern. 

The Book of the Privileges of Toledo, late thirteenth century, is a deluxe manuscript to ensure no one forgot exactly what rights and benefits Toledo had from the king. The miniature shows Alfonso X granting these privileges to grateful Toledans, yet another representation of the king doing his job with due generosity. 

I have a cherished replica of this seal at my home in the United States. In the Middle Ages, seals of authentication were large and hung from the documents by a cord. This wax seal is as big as the palm of an "average" man's hand and shows Alfonso X riding into battle. 

Medieval Spanish kings were expected to be able warriors and participate in whatever important battles came up. Though we no longer emphasize this aspect when remembering him, Alfonso X took active part in many battles, including helping his father win important cities in the south while he was still prince. His declining health in later years and extraordinary intellectual accomplishments are what people emphasize about him. Every once in a while it's good to recall that Alfonso X never shirked his physical duties, either. 

Here I am with the To codex of the Cantigas de Santa Maria. Remember what I wrote about clothing being so personal? In Alfonso X's case, Cantigas manuscripts, which he definitely commissioned, may have edited and approved, and certainly physically touched to refer to when complete, are probably the most personal physical object possible. 

The only reason my head didn't explode at this point was that I had already seen this very codex in February in Madrid at the National Library. That day I saw so many of the manuscripts I've spent decades admiring from afar that I broke down sobbing for a few minutes. With that out of the way, in May I had emotional space to take in this manuscript again and all the new-to-me wonders, as well. It's an accomplishment! 

The To codex was open to a different page for this exhibit than it had been in Madrid. Significantly, it displayed Cantiga 12, which takes place in Toledo. 

Alfonso X enters Cádiz and takes possession of the sea in this lively nineteenth-century painting that won the artist, Matías Moreno, a gold medal. This painting was at the entrance to the document-heavy section of the exhibit, so perhaps it served to remind visitors that these documents are not merely dry ink on vellum. They depict exciting events, many of which had centuries-long repercussions. 

Many legal documents display these beautiful circular symbolic royal signatures for a validation that's obvious to anyone who looks at it. This royal circle, especially deluxe with its rich reds, greens, black, and gold, is from a May 24, 1256, privilege granting coin minting to the archbishop and council of the Cathedral of Toledo.

A closeup of the same document shows the king and queen's names highlighted in green and red. I have a feeling I'll be discussing Queen Violante more on this blog in the coming months. 

A painted wooden St. Mary of the Navarra school, late thirteenth century, is a three-dimensional example of the aesthetic found throughout the Alfonsine manuscripts. 

In the astronomy section, some of the most impressive pieces were reconstructions of the instruments described and illustrated in the Alfonsine books that measure the phenomena of the night sky. Eduard Farré recreated this Mercury clock, which shows the movement of the constellations, based on the Book of Knowledge of Astrology.

The most diligent intellectuals are the people most in need and deserving of taking a little break now and then. This philosophy is found at the beginning of the Book of Chess and Board Games (1283), the last book Alfonso X commissioned. This chessboard from fourteenth-century Granada looks like it came out of an illustration from that book. It's practical, with storage for the pieces and a way to secure and carry it wherever it's needed for some clean fun. 

The exhibit boasted an enormous altar of musical instruments recreated from illustrations in the Cantigas manuscripts. Jesús Reolid, Jota Martínez, and María José Campos crafted this lovely citole, accurate down to the castles and lions. 

After a somber section describing Alfonso X's difficult final years and death, but that also provided a video summary of his accomplishments, the exhibit featured what turned out to be the star items. When they opened the tomb of Sancho IV, Alfonso's second son and successor, in 1947, the scholars rescued many items Sancho had been buried with. The first on display was this spectacular sword. 

I don't think I would be so into medieval Spain or swords if I hadn't adored The Princess Bride as a preteen. This kind of thing still has plenty of capacity to delight me. This sword is regally decorated and must have rested in Sancho's hand on any number of occasions. It's another very personal item for that reason. 

The piece I had been longing to see came at the end. Another item extracted from Sancho's tomb, this is the only medieval Spanish king's crown that we are aware of having survived to the present day. The only one! And it seems extraordinary. 

I love the ingenious way the castles serve as the peaks. There's no pictorial evidence that this was the usual way to design a crown. The large precious stones, however, are typical. The cameos aren't a medieval specialty, but it was very medieval to repurpose Roman cameos. I think these cameos were probably already antique when they were set into the crown. The hinges so it could adapt to different heads and headwear are another delightful surprise. The king would've worn a soft hat, often of velvet, and placed this crown on top. 

Here's the thing. Though it was found in Sancho's tomb, it's pretty clear Alfonso X used this crown before his son did. Alfonso's 1282 testament granted his heir "the crown with stones and cameos." Most scholars agree it makes sense that he's referring to this crown, the only one that survived the Middle Ages to our time. 

I would've bought a reasonably accurate replica of this crown, no questions asked, no matter the cost. Even though I had no room in my suitcase after my mom had brought me a couple of things from the United States and three weeks of travel. Even though I have nowhere to put it in my apartment. I would've found a place. 

But no replica was available, and so I went home with just a great CD of Cantigas by the Jota Martínez Ensemble.

Granular closeup of a bejeweled sheath said to accompany a
sword belonging to "Roland." Since it's from 1250 and part
of the royal treasury, it's likely Alfonso X, his father, and his son
were the actual owners of this sword. 

After a wonderful visit, I've been reading about the Romanesque art of the cathedral of Santiago de Compostela. Maestro Mateo, the designer, was kind enough to sculpt a near-life-size statue of Santiago the pilgrims could approach and wrap their arms around. In this way, they tangibly experienced the object of a devotion so strong, they left their homes and walked for months in its honor. 

This was nearly a thousand years ago, so it has nothing to do with modern commercialism, but with a deep-seated need for humans to bring their interior hopes and dreams into exterior reality. 

I've left the place of my birth and have been on this Alfonsine journey much longer than it takes to walk the Camino de Santiago. Of course I want tangible evidence of my decades of study. The Precursor King exhibit has been the event that came closest to fulfilling that desire. 

But I wasn't able to literally touch any of the books, clothing, instruments, or metalwork. The saga continues...

Thanks for letting me share a small part of my joy with you. 

Further reading:

Our Lady's Troubadour

Law and Order in Medieval Spain

Announcing The Atwells Avenue Anomaly with Cover Reveal

The act of writing is very important in Awash in Talent, which is a novel made up of a journal required by a therapist, a young firestarter's secret diary, and a psychic therapist's case log. As I was finishing up the second section, Waterfire, I had an idea to explain where the manuscripts from that world populated with Talented people and those envious of them came from. I was going to frame the novel with the story of a down-on-his-luck Brown University professor stumbling onto a portal to another universe. In the end, I didn't use that text, but there may be a reference to a certain house on Atwells Ave in Providence at the end of Awash in Talent that has its origin in that idea. 

That idea, in turn, came about because of the long drop awaiting anyone walking out this door on Atwells Avenue in Providence, Rhode Island. I took this photo way back in 2008. 

In 2017, after Awash in Talent had been published, I took up the story of the dumb-luck professor in Providence as a kind of lifeline during the first year after my beloved husband passed away. The first part was well-received at the Tin House Summer Workshop that year, but it wasn't yet complete. 

Four years later, the story has become a novella that undermines every expectation a reader might have, The Atwells Avenue Anomaly. 

Here's the description and a first look at the cover (my newsletter subscribers got the first look):

A lonely English professor falls for a physics genius. His only chance to be with her might be in an alternate universe populated by flipper-footed birds and cats covered in rose petals. It's not only the low atmospheric oxygen that makes them lightheaded. 

When the happy couple is separated by chance, the physics genius must raise their brainy daughter with no other humans to ask for advice. Are scientific curiosity and the memory of love enough for mother and daughter to create their own world?

In this unique novella, the author of Awash in Talent and Unpredictable Worlds brings you a fast science fantasy read about isolation and belonging the editors of Hybrid Fiction have called "sweet, imaginative," and "engaging." 


The Atwells Avenue Anomaly will appear in ebook and paperback in August with exclusive illustrations by Shirley MacKenzie. Catch a small glimpse of the artistic wonders below. 

"Something of Monumental Proportions" by Shirley MacKenzie, 2021
Part of The Atwells Avenue Anomaly series. 

The Atwells Avenue Anomaly will debut at a low price so my devoted readers can save a few dollars. Don't miss it! Preorder here.

The Best Castle

Loarre, camouflaged against its rocky outcrop
Photos in this post 2019 Jessica Knauss 

That's right. Through years of hard toil and the sweat of my brow, I've visited castle after castle--some in Britain, one in the United States, but mostly in Spain--and I'm pleased to report I've found the best one.

Loarre's first line of defense is that if they approached from the mountain pass,
the enemies couldn't see Loarre, but Loarre could see them.

Its name is Loarre, and I'm only disappointed it's not closer to where I live. My friend Daniel and I found Loarre in our trusty guidebook of Romanesque architecture in Spain by Jaime Cobreros. I'm always up for a castle, anyway, but the rave review Cobreros writes for Loarre would've convinced even the most entrenched castle skeptic. We planned to see it on our way out of Aragón after my week-long university course in Jaca.

Photo 2019 Daniel Sanz 

Talk about a grand finale! Driving up, it seemed as if we would be the only visitors. There was nothing for miles around. Loarre looked like the only castle in the world, and it was beautiful from every angle.

This panorama catches most of what remains of the thirteenth-century wall.  

But we're talking about an eleventh-century military building. That's not to say the architects didn't appreciate the aesthetics of this spot, only that everything they did also had a purpose beyond loveliness.

The outer wall was not built by the original architects, but it still combines usefulness and beauty. Created in the thirteenth century, it defended the castle and the town around it. They didn't have to build the wall all the way around because the rocks, the original and ultimate defense, were already there, and will continue there long after the castle falls into ruin. The town moved down the hill in the sixteenth century, and people took many stones from the wall to build new houses.

The topmost tower is also the oldest: the keep. 

Loarre was only remodeled for about one hundred years. Although it was used at different times as a castle, as a monastery, and as a palace, it's all a single architectural style: Romanesque. Here on the left, the apse of the monastery's enormous church is clearly seen. The double windows in the middle section are also from the time of the monastery. They would've started out as arrow slits in the time of the castle.

A watchtower, end of the eleventh century, separate from the rest of the castle,
takes in the view perfectly. The tower may have been connected
to the castle with a bridge or tunnel at some point. 

The day we visited was hazy, but we still got a good sense of why this location was chosen. The entire area known as the Hoya de Huesca, and more, is laid out before the castle. The guide said that on a clear day, she's seen the cathedral towers in Zaragoza, 85 kilometers to the south.

Walking around the castle to get to the grand doorway, you see the church windows up close. There's no mistaking the checkerboard pattern and perfect half-circle. It couldn't be any more Romanesque. It was about this time that we realized we did not have the castle all to ourselves. Not only was it doing a booming cultural tourist business, but people seemed to be coming from all over to do sports, too.

Loarre is a popular paragliding spot. Jump off a rock and float around the best castle.

The grand doorway is flanked by columns with capitals. This may look like a leafy Corinthian column, but look more closely: it's crouching monkeys!

The grand doorway opens onto this grand staircase. In this castle, you would think the only direction was up. But the architecture uses the uneven terrain on which the castle sits to create a maze-like path upward designed to confound enemies. It's an effective strategy probably borrowed from Hispano-Muslim architecture. It would've been impossible for anyone who had never entered the castle before to mount an attack. Indeed, Loarre's impregnable fame led to no one even attempting to attack it.

Note that the stairs are quite a bit lower in the center. The guide proposed that this could have to do with "protocol," or to have the advantage in an attack, but given what we saw later on, Daniel proposed that the different levels provided drainage. On rainy days, people used the high stairs, and the rain used the low stairs. I'm going with that idea.

Halfway up the stairs, a small doorway lets you into the Crypt of Santa Quiteria.

This small, rounded chapel was used for burial services, and since its wall is the castle's outer wall, it's built like a fort and has a couple of secret escape routes.

In the door jamb, a Romanesque artist portrayed Santa Quiteria's faithful dog.

The angles between the door and the windows of the crypt led to a shadowbox effect. Over the crypt door, we watched the moving silhouettes of people walking down the main staircase and wondered what the eleventh-century monks and soldiers thought about such an uncanny show.

Leaving the crypt, at the top of the stairs, you're confronted with choices and strange changing volumes and angles that would confuse you if you didn't have a guide.

The builders took full advantage of the rock, and left evidence of their sturdiness in many unexpected places.

The church isn't twisted. This is some strange
camera phenomenon. 

The Church of San Pedro would be worth visiting all by itself. The monks who moved in during the second half of the eleventh century spared no expense in constructing a grandiose place of worship that reaches for the heavens. Large windows flood the blind arches and 84 decorated capitals with light. There's space here for a hundred monks or more.

The lovely dome with four oculi increase the sense of expansiveness.

As this window demonstrates, this side of the church is a sheer drop.

Alabaster, a plentiful resource in Aragón, covers some of the upper windows.

The capitals include mythological figures ...

... Biblical figures ...

... and plant designs. 

The foot of the church is a little bit curved to follow the unique landscape. Note the rocky formation that was left as a reminder of exactly where we are. It's also possible the rock was considered God's perfect architecture, and as such, shouldn't be tampered with.

Even the capitals up too high to see have scenes on them. 

There are two doors in the floor of the nave near the apse.

The guide opened a door to reveal one of the passageways from the crypt. I would never have known we were right above the crypt from the path we took. This passage had two uses, one religious and one military. First, the door could be opened during services in the crypt and the monks in the church would be able to hear everything. It served this purpose many times in the eleventh century. Second, if an enemy had made it to the crypt and found this passage, it was too narrow to climb the stairs with a sword and a shield, forcing the enemy to choose between defense and offense and decreasing the chances he could accomplish anything against you. As I mentioned, it never served this purpose, but the architects get mad strategy points for this.

Leaving the church, you come upon the monks' dormitories. They kept livestock in the space below and slept above. In this way, they took advantage of the ecological heat generated by the livestock. Winters here at the foot of the Pyrenees could be deadly cold. 

The arches were built as mere supports for the rooms, which have since disappeared. Now that the arches have been revealed again, they're highly admired by architecture historians, the guide said. 

In the part below, with the livestock, the guide showed us this room, which she told us is where monks and probably the soldiers before them did their business into a pit which has since disappeared. Why didn't they have sewer chutes to direct waste immediately outside the castle? The guide says they couldn't drill through the rock, for one, and for another, the drop was too sheer on all sides, making it too dangerous. No one wanted to risk his life relieving himself. And so the ingenious sewer system of Loarre was born.

See that "crack" in the sloped floor? It's actually plumbing. It leads from a cistern near the bodega and uses gravity to evacuate rainwater (and what comes out of the privy room!) using the force of gravity all the way out of the castle, keeping it rainwater fresh. Was the creator of this feat of engineering also the architect who came up with so many wonderful strategic defenses? 

The bodega, where the monks stored their wine and grain, served as a prison in the time of the castle garrison. The guide said twentieth-century renovators found a skeleton manacled to the wall at the back.

Confusing passages full of beautiful angles.
This is taken from where the weapons were stored. 

This is one of the lovely double windows
visible below. 

At some point during the visit, you can look
back on the entrance to the church from above. 

Finally, the visit arrives at the summit, which is the oldest part of the castle. Here we see the homage tower or keep, just a little higher than the cupola of the church.

Across the arms patio from the keep, a large vista point probably created in the time of the monks gives great views. In the foreground, the tiny Church of Santa Maria would have served the original castle garrison of no more than fifteen soldiers.

The little church is built with walls as thick as the rest of the castle, and indeed, forms part of the outer defense. I visited here first, and when I came out, Daniel asked me what it was like inside. "It's really old, and you can tell it's really old, so I love it," I said.

Looking back toward the start of the Pyrenees from the arms patio. 

In order to climb the towers, the castle managers have provided these wooden staircases, which struck me as exactly what must've been here before.

These gorgeous windows serve watchtower purposes because they're high enough and far enough inside the arms plaza to be out of range of any eleventh-century weaponry.

On a clear day, you can see Zaragoza. 

The Church of Santa Maria and the Hoya de Huesca beyond;
barracks buildings on the right  

The monks' dorms seen from the keep 

Photo 2019 Daniel Sanz 

The master suite, at the top of the keep, where everyone would retreat to in case of attack, has a lovely chimney for keeping the winter chill off. They say the chimney has come down to us in perfect condition, directly from the eleventh century.

The room is not large, but it's not lacking anything an eleventh-century soldier would need.

Why has Loarre come through the ages without the interference of later architectural styles? Easy. The border moved, and the King of Aragón saw fit to move the base of military operations along with it to a place called Montearagón. I don't think Montearagón enjoyed the same good luck as Loarre, and not much, if anything, survives to this day. 

The last angle: Loarre seen from the "campsite" restaurant 

Climbing back down the castle, avoiding the sun, aching with thirst, I decided Loarre is the best castle I've had the privilege of exploring. Do you agree?

Daniel and I stuffed our empty stomachs at a "campsite" restaurant (read: a rustic place that gives you tremendous amounts of fresh food from the area, prepared for the delight of foodie Instagrammers) not far from the meeting points for rafting and paragliding. Loarre was never attacked, but it conquered my heart.