Altar Cards and Portable Altars from Spanish Cathedrals

Given the ecclesiastical climate and the general lack of support for traditional liturgy in Spain, I was not prepared to see, when I visited a number of cities there last July, so many Tridentine altar cards left out on display, as it were. Granted, one might say that they are left there out of sheer inertia, or perhaps because someone thinks they are pretty, but it’s gratifying to notice these artifacts of continuity, which stand as concrete reminders of a tradition lost to these altars for now, but someday reclaimable.

Thus, in the cathedral of Sevilla, we have a side chapel in honor of St. Gregory the Great (you can see in the large center panel the famous scene of his miracle, one of the most frequently depicted subjects in Catholic sacred art), where the Last Gospel and Lavabo cards stand to left and right, while the main card is placed elsewhere in the chapel (note the handsome woodwork):

Already here, beneath the main reredos, we can see a feature that will recur through the churches of Spain: the words of consecration carved into wood or metal and placed right above the center of the altar, as if to ensure that, whatever else may be the case, these essential words are always available to the celebrant, and stand permanently as a verbal testimony to the mystery of transubstantiation.

The same cathedral shows us, elsewhere, a clear example in silver:

Now we come to the famous cathedral of Cordoba, a mosque converted into a cathedral beginning in 1236 (the Christians of the city claim that, prior to the mosque, there was a Visigothic church at the same location). One of the side chapels displays the aforementioned words, this time surrounded by gilt wooden swirls:

Another chapel retains the altar cards in their proper place:

Yet another puts the smaller cards forlornly on an otherwise empty side table, as if the custodians don’t quite know what to do with them, but don’t want to throw them out:

Another sighting, this time a marvelously elaborate Lavabo card featuring St. John the Baptist:

In the cathedral of Salamanca, an austere Gothic side-chapel displays a set-up that looks very much as if some local priests may use it, as the altar linens are present, and little would need to be done to make it ready.

In particular, note the exquisite metalwork and calligraphy of the main altar card, which ought to inspire artistic rivalry in us today (for, as Shawn Tribe often points out, we should seek to beautify and elevate everything connected with the Holy Sacrifice, including the little details):

I was plunged into deep melancholy at this cathedral when I walked past a chapel dedicated to St. Peter, the main altar of which apparently had been set apart at some point for the perpetual daily offering of the Requiem for the Holy Souls in Purgatory – and which very obviously had not been used for a very long time and showed no signs of being restored to use.

After this point I began to ponder the fate of hundreds of side altars that I had seen or would see throughout my time in Spain, all of them stripped, denuded, abandoned, like so many Christs in His Passion, often with their altar stones harshly exposed, or removed, with tabernacles removed – for all the world like Aztec victims whose hearts had been torn out to placate the insatiable gods of modernity, the little demons of liturgical reform that bartered away the daily offering of the Holy Sacrifice at countless altars for the pittance of pitiable concelebrations of dwindling ranks of clergy.

An example of one such magnificent side altar, now bereft of use, is from a side chapel in honor of Our Lady, in the cathedral of Leon:

A most harmonious space! Note once again the prominent display of the words of consecration, this time painted in gold on a blue background surrounded with scrollwork:

But it was the treasury attached to the cathedral of Segovia that held two of the most delightful surprises among liturgical artworks. The first is a splendidly detailed gold and silver tabernacle from 1557 (if I have that correct), on which we can find several curious features.

First, note once again the words of consecration at the bottom center:

As the ultimate in “cheat sheets,” two angels have been added towards the top, each holding a heart-shaped setting of the Gloria incipit:

Beneath them may be seen a matching pair of Credo incipits. Here is one of those:

When you have unchanging chant melodies, you can afford to carve them into metal or stone – a wonderful testimony to the abiding power of settled tradition, perfected ritual.

The other surprise was an astonishing portable altar and reliquary made in the first quarter of the 17th century. Let’s have a look at the entire thing from the front (the glare of the glass made photography somewhat challenging):

You can see here exceptional craftsmanship in the main altar piece, depicting the Holy Family and the Blessed Trinity, with folding wings, silver highlights, and the ubiquitous metal plate with the words of consecration, surmounting a set of little drawers enclosed by a pair of doors, all of them bearing religious imagery. Directly on the tiny altar is a piece of silver that reads: “quorum reliquiae hic sunt,” part of the prayer said by the priest as he kisses the altar after the “Aufer a nobis” and prior to the Introit:

As for relics, they are present in abundance. Mounted into the two wings of the altar are artfully arranged bones with labels:

The artisan also made two side reliquaries, each of which doubles as a small altar card (if you peek around the back, you see the text attached there). So, when Mass is being said, the text faces forward, but otherwise, the relics face forward. At least, this seems to be how it was utilized at some later point, since the text inserts are printed on paper and tacked in.

The same treasury contained a portable altarpiece that seems to be something you simply set up over your altar while traveling (if you belong to the class of people who travel with such furnishings). Once again, it is hard to believe the lengths to which people went, before our age of minimalism and utilitarianism, to make everything and anything connected with the worship of God beautiful, even when on the road.

Lastly, also from Segovia’s treasury, a shimmering silver set of altar cards, accompanied by all the other items needed for a pontifical Mass, such as missal stand, candlesticks, candle holder, pax brede, and incense boat:

Dare we hope one day to achieve such cultural heights again?

Read more of Dr. Kwasniewski’s writing at Tradition & Sanity on Pelican+, and visit his personal website, his composer page, or Os Justi Press.