La Calahorra Castle, a time capsule that opens five centuries later

“When you visit Michel de Montaigne's tower, near Bordeaux, you see the latrine and you say: 'Wow, look, that's where the French philosopher did his business.'” Researcher Miguel Sobrino would like to find these kinds of details—the kind that don't appear in art history books—in La Calahorra Castle , now that it has just passed into public hands five centuries after its construction, and access to its interior will be less restricted. Precisely when the purchase of the fortress by the Granada Provincial Council was announced in April (for 6.5 million euros), Sobrino was finalizing the publication of his book Leer a mano. Textos breves sobre artes, oficios y patrimonio (Reading by Hand. Brief Texts on Arts, Crafts and Heritage ), in which he argues for the less artistic elements of the imposing defensive building that dominates a wasteland next to Guadix to be maintained.

"It's an almost unique example that has preserved not only the vital organs but also the smaller items; the mistake of removing these humble rooms could be made, and no one, except those of us who have seen them, would miss them," says Sobrino.

La Calahorra Castle is a kind of "time capsule" that has managed to preserve almost every detail intact. "The work began at the end of the 15th century and was completed at the very beginning of the 16th: today we have the courtyard with its marble columns, but also the servants' quarters and the original woodwork, which is 500 years old!" highlights the author of the monograph "Castles and Walls ." And that's despite the fact that "its conservation hasn't been the best either" because "the family lived in the building for only a few months," analyzes José Manuel Rodríguez, professor of Art History at the University of Granada and director of a master's degree on the protection of historical heritage.

It could even have suffered the same fate as the neighboring castle of Vélez Blanco (Almería), whose courtyard was dismantled and sold at the beginning of the 20th century and is now on display at the Metropolitan Museum in New York. At the height of the American collecting boom, the Countess of Benavente—the owner at the time—tried to market its stones, but "the proposal was reported in the press, and her nephew decided to stop the sale," Rodríguez explains. A timely retreat did not prevent some elements from being sold, such as the chapel's portal, now in the Museum of Fine Arts in Seville.

Beneath the elongated shadow of the Alhambra, the Granada castle hides a (very little-known) milestone for Spanish art. “From the outside, it's a closed, hermetic fortress; inside, it's a completely Italian-style palace,” describes Rodríguez. This is the first Renaissance castle in Spain. In fact, construction was directed by Lorenzo Vázquez , the architect who introduced the Renaissance to Spain, under the orders of the powerful Mendoza noble family. An emerging style embodied in “the decorative display of the palace, the groin vaults of the gallery, the use of iron braces, and the central location of the staircase, which in Spain until then had a very secondary role,” enumerates the professor at the University of Granada. That early attraction to Renaissance art even suggests future discoveries in the monument. “It was a very ambitious project, partly yet to be discovered; it's possible that mural paintings were executed and then covered up, as in other places,” speculates Sobrino.

The innovative construction is thanks to its promoter, the Marquis of Cenete, "a character from a novel." Miguel Ángel León Coloma, author of a biography of Rodrigo Díaz de Vivar y Mendoza , the Marquis of Cenete, knows him well. "He never saw any kind of obstacle ahead; he had a reputation for being daring and a man of impressive courage," he describes. Such was the case when he went to Toro to discuss the secret marriage that had brought him into conflict with the family of his new wife, María de Fonseca, and the Catholic Monarchs themselves. “They warned him that the king was asleep, but he kicked the door and entered his room; Ferdinand grabbed a knife and when he recognized him, he said, ‘It could only be you,’” recounts León Coloma. The castle of La Calahorra was “a kind of exhibition by the marquis in the face of the fact that the justice of kings could be arbitrary,” as he would express in a defiant inscription he placed on the first floor of the building. “It was destroyed for being seditious,” explains this professor at the University of Jaén.

Initially, the Marquis wanted to build a castle “in the Castilian style, with a Gothic interior,” says Sobrino. But an event radically changed his plans. “The great trip to Italy, which led to the commissioning of a Renaissance project, took place in 1498; it was a very detailed tour in which he visited Genoa, Naples, Rome, Milan, and even the city of Mantua,” León explains. There he met two of the geniuses of the Italian Renaissance, and “in front of Leonardo da Vinci and Andrea Mantegna, Don Rodrigo displayed his skill in cutting paper with scissors.” Convinced of the twist he intended to give to the decoration of La Calahorra, “he brought a taccuino , an Italian notebook of drawings and prints full of capital motifs and copies of ancient sculptures,” describes Sobrino. It is the so-called Codex Escurialensis , a volume that today belongs to the library of El Escorial and is on display in the Gallery of Royal Collections in Madrid.

Already in La Calahorra, the Marquis sought out masters to carve the local stone. “The problem is that the result, both the design and the workmanship, is quite rough,” Rodríguez explains, adding: “Limestone is a very porous material, which doesn't offer the hardness and quality that marble offered in Italy, and, furthermore, the stonemasons weren't accustomed to working in a novel style, for which there was no tradition in Spain.” Díaz de Vivar y Mendoza was so enraged that, according to the legend recorded by Professor Rodríguez, “he imprisoned the poor architect Lorenzo Vázquez,” and the situation forced the Marquis's cousin, the Count of Tendilla, to intervene, demanding his release so he could continue the work he was doing for the family.

To end the crisis, the Marquis of Cenete hired a prestigious Italian architect, Michele Carlone, who brought his entire team from Genoa (including already carved stones) and completed the project: a kind of safe, a vault, on the outside; a delicate Renaissance palace on the inside. Despite the meticulous result, the Mendoza family abandoned the castle months later, and the Marquis eventually moved to Valencia, where he died in 1523. The building went from having a strategic location at the beginning to becoming completely out of reach. It would never be occupied again.

Five centuries later, what can be done with a palace preserved just as the Marquis saw it completed? Rodríguez, who chairs a study center for the promotion of the Guadix area, maintains that the building "doesn't need an intervention project, but rather a master plan," in line with the castle's heritage listing in 1922 and the more recent declaration of its natural and archaeological environment. "It's an essential piece of the Spanish Renaissance, even of Spanish military architecture," he emphasizes. Regarding its future uses, Sobrino favors "a library, a museum, or a study center, something that reflects the Marquis of Cenete's interest in culture." He cites the Episcopal Palace of Albarracín, in Teruel, as a model, with 15th- and 16th-century houses currently used for cultural purposes. He sets a clear red line: "The original architecture has been respected there; nothing has been touched."