The name of the Great Captain is associated with the Cartuja, or suppressed Carthusian monastery, the site of which was his gift. The monastery, begun in 1516, was pulled down in 1842. A small portion of the buildings, however, remains, together with the church. The single nave is disfigured by over-elaborate ornamentation in the plateresque style. The doors of the choir are richly and tastefully inlaid with ebony and mother of pearl, cedar and tortoise-shell, and were the work of a friar, Manuel Vazquez, who died in 1765. The sanctuary, in the baroque style, is enriched with precious marbles, some richly veined with agates. On some of the slabs the hand of Nature has traced the semblances of human and animal forms. In the adjoining sacristy, various marbles have been combined so as to produce an effect dazzling and gorgeous in the extreme. The hall is certainly one of the most remarkable in Spain. Scarcely less marvellous are the exquisitely inlaid doors and presses. The generally bad style of the church is also redeemed by a statue of St. Bruno, the founder of the Carthusian Order, ascribed to Alonso Cano, and some pictures by Bocanegra, Giaquinto, and Cotán. The last named, a friar, was responsible for the pictures in the cloister, representing the martyrdom of Carthusian monks in London by the tyrant Henry VIII. and the brigands who acted as his officers. The Cartuja was formerly much richer in works of art, but, like San Jeronimo, it was ransacked by the French under Sebastiani, who exhibited, as on all occasions, the discrimination of a dilettante coupled with the rapacity of a bandit. In front of the church of Santos Pedro y Pablo is a very handsome mansion built in 1539 for Hernando de Zafra, secretary of the Catholic sovereigns. The portal is in three stages: the first contains the entrance, a square doorway, between Doric columns; the second bears the escutcheons of the family, above them being sculptured griffins and lions; the third, a balcony between pilasters, carved in delicate relief. In a line with this is another balcony, bearing the curious inscription, _Esperandola del Cielo_--“Looking for it from Heaven.” These words are explained by a tragic legend. De Zafra is said to have suspected his daughter of a clandestine attachment. To satisfy his doubts, he burst into her room one day, and found her page assisting the lover to escape by the window. Baulked of his prey, the father turned, with death in his face, upon the boy. “Mercy!” shrieked the page. “Look for it in Heaven!” answered the Don, as he hurled his daughter’s accomplice from the balcony into the street below. So runs the legend. De Zafra does not appear, according to the records, to have left any children; but his daughter may not have survived the terrible consequences of her amour. “After all,” remarks Valladar, “nothing was easier in the sixteenth century than to throw a page out of the window without attracting the attention of the police or magistrates.”