These reliefs are unquestionably more vigorous and artistic, and also more in harmony with the structure generally, than the gorgeous Renaissance cenotaphs of Ferdinand and Isabella--most probably the work of the Spanish sculptor, Bartolome Ordoñez. The two great sovereigns are shown lying side by side, the faces expressing infinite dignity and repose. At each corner of the sepulchre is seated one of the four Doctors of the Church, below whom is a Sphinx. Medallions on two of the four sides represent respectively the Baptism and Resurrection of Jesus, and St. George and St. James. Beautifully done are the figures of the Twelve Apostles, the escutcheons, and, in fact, all the details of this grandiose but unimpressive monument. The adjacent sepulchre of Ferdinand and Isabella’s daughter, the unhappy Queen Juana, and of her husband, Philip I., the Handsome, is inferior in design and execution. The heads of the recumbent figures are not faithful portraits. The reliefs represent the Nativity, the Adoration of the Magi, the Agony in the Garden, and the Entombment. In the niches are figures of the Cardinal Virtues (not conspicuous in Philip during life), and at the corners the statues of Saints Michael, George, Andrew, and John the Divine. Very beautiful are the figures of children, and much of the heraldic decoration. The whole is in the most florid style of the Renaissance, and was carved at Genoa by order of Juana’s son, Charles V. Very different are the actual resting-places of the sovereigns so gorgeously commemorated in stone above. Descending to a narrow vault beneath the cenotaphs, we find five rude coffins, with iron bands. Herein repose the remains of Ferdinand and Isabella, of Juana and Philip, and of their son, Prince Juan. Ferdinand’s coffin may be identified by the letter F. “Here,” writes Pi Margall, “lie together in the dim light fathers and sons, monarchs of three dynasties united in less than a century for the greater glory of the fatherland; here lie the last princes of the Mediæval Age, and those who at its close inaugurated the Modern Era. Here they lie--heroes and fathers of heroes--kings who never retreated before the face of danger, and queens whose lives were consumed in the fire of profound love; fortunate ones who, returning from the battle, found rest and refreshment in the arms of their beloved; and unhappy souls who drained the cup of suffering, without finding in the dregs even that lethargy which the excess of grief procures for some. Who can enter this murky precinct without feeling his heart swayed by contrary emotions--without inclining with reverence before the lead which covers the men who rescued the nations from the anarchy of feudalism? While a tear may drop on the bier of that great princess [Isabella], who can restrain his pity for that unhappy queen [Juana] who, intoxicated with love, passed the night waiting for the dawn to break that she might go forth, alone, to the ends of the