The shanty town was a blot on the landscape. Much of Barcelona’s old town around the cathedral had been repaired since the siege, and some newer properties near Santa Maria del Mar were rising to as many as five floors, with much-sought after accommodations for increasingly rich merchants. Since winning control of the city in 1714, the Castilian administration had gloried in its rich prize, and supported rapid growth of trade. After many years the city fathers, in surprisingly philanthropic mode, could no longer tolerate the chaos of the shack dwellers on the Barceloneta beach, and resolved to do something about it. Eventually building work began.
Work on the massive Cuitadella fort, and the long causeway out to sea, had taken many years. As the fortress neared completion, however, the military engineers had less work to do, and they were commissioned by the city to investigate building civilian housing outside of the city walls, south of the fort, replacing the seaside shacks.
There could not be a greater contrast between the chaotic way in which the shacks and hovels had grown up on the seashore, and the military precision of the new development. Straight roads were laid out, with uniform dwellings on either side. The foundations for a new church were laid, and a large open space for a market square identified. North of the housing, alongside the Cuitadella causeway, a large military parade ground was created.
The years had taken their toll of the older people of the shanty town. Susana’s parents had died, and her brother had moved away from their shack which was now occupied, like many of the hovels on the beach, by fishermen and their families. Carla’s parents had lived to surprising old age, but had died in the 1740’s, leaving Carla, Rafael and Susana to continue with the chiringuito, assisted by Antoni and his brothers and sisters. The business had grown and flourished: at first busy with the workmen from the Cuitadella fortress, then the growing numbers of fishermen. By 1753 when the Barceloneta housing development began, fishing was the main trade for the residents on the beach, and the links with the old Ribera slum were few.
Rafael maintained his disguise as “Macia”; his son knew that his father’s name was Rafael but he always called him Papa. Rafael kept his own curly blond hair hidden under a rough hat; and Susana cut Antoni’s hair very short at all times, so although he was blond, there was no clue that he would have luxuriant curls given the chance. Rafael continued to carry the Catalunya sword, wrapped in Grandfather Macia’s senyera, strapped to his body, and the community knew him as the cripple, injured somehow in the siege many years before. He would take the sword off only at night, when he and Susana climbed into the tiny box bed in the corner of the kitchen, and Antoni had never seen his father unclothed, or without the limp caused by the hidden sword.
Whilst the chiringuito continued serving meat and bread, more and more fish and seafood came onto the menu, and gradually the links with the fishing community strengthened. Living in terrible conditions in the shacks on the beach, many of the fishermen and their families would bring fish to the chiringuito to be cooked, and sometimes eaten there; often they would exchange fish for bread or dried meat. Susana found a source of rice, and experimented with paella. This rapidly became a favourite amongst those who could afford to eat at the chiringuito.
Antoni grew up on the beach and was well-known among the regular patrons of the cafe. He was one of many children in the area who were bi-lingual: speaking Catalan at home, and Castilian to customers. Like all in his position, he knew exactly when to use which language. As a small child, running freely along the shore, he made many friends with the fishermen and their families, and sometimes would return home triumphant, with a fearsome lobster or flailing octopus, exchanged for running an errand, or minding a baby. As he grew older, his parents saw that he had a fascination with drawing, mostly sketching with charcoal on any surface he could find; growing into adolescence, he used an old knife from his great-grandfather’s butchers shop to whittle small sculptural shapes from driftwood. He seemed to have some skill with this, and the fisherfolk would often save unusual pieces of driftwood for him. The chiringuito was decorated with many of the fanciful sculptural shapes he created, which were a source of amusement, and occasional ribaldry from the customers.
Contacts with the customers had made him curious about reading, and he had gradually, but very successfully, learned to read and write both Catalan and Castilian, the first of the family to achieve fluency in both.
As he developed into a handsome young man, his skills developed, and his sculptures became larger and more accomplished; he made various tools from bits and scraps he found on the beach and he took much time smoothing the surfaces and creating an impressive finish. With growing confidence he begged his mother to let his hair grow, and with his blond curls, and blond beard, an outsider would have seen him as an artist at work, but he never thought of himself this way.
One warm summer’s evening, a couple of rather grand gentlemen appeared at the door of the cafe, and asked for supper. One was a civilian in good quality clothing, and the other in a military uniform which Susana could not identify. Seating them on a beach table, Susana offered paella, and the men accepted. At that time Antoni was working hard as part of the chiringuito team. He carried a bottle of rioja and two glasses out to the men, and was intrigued by the language the military gentleman was speaking. Living in a fishing community, he was used to other accents, but he could not identify the language being spoken by the soldier. One of them was obviously Spanish and spoke educated Castilian, but the soldier was struggling with Castilian, and reverting to an odd gutteral tongue Antoni had not heard before.
Returning to the chiringuito, he asked his mother who the strangers were, but she could not identify them either; they agreed, however, that the uniform was not of the Castilian army. She served the paella.
Clearly the men were engaged in serious business as betrayed by the earnest conversation. From the snatches of Castilian, Antoni realised that they were talking about some kind of building or construction. Standing just inside the doorway, Antoni tried to hear the conversation and make some sense of it. Suddenly he was surprised by the military man coming into the chiringuito. The man had come simply to ask for more wine; but before he could do so he saw the mass of sculptures which filled the walls of the hut. In his strange tongue he exclaimed and pointed to them. Susana, guessing his question, pointed at her son, who smiled uncomprehendingly.
The soldier turned abruptly and called for his Spanish colleague. The Castilian joined them in the hut, and finally explained what was going on. The two men were, it transpired, architects, charged with the development of Barceloneta. The Spaniard was to design and build the church, and the soldier was to plan and oversee the housing. The Spaniard became very excited by Antoni’s sculptural work, and said that he would be returning to talk to him.
The men returned to the table on the beach, with Susana following with another bottle of wine, and as the sun started to set, the men continued deep in conversation, occasionally turning towards the hut and clearly talking about Antoni. Rafael, who always remained well in the background when anyone military appeared, had also tried to listen to the conversation, and was equally unable to identify the language or nationality of the soldier.
The next morning, the Spaniard returned alone, and sat at the same table as before, setting down a large flat bag beside him. Susana went out to greet him, and he ordered a jug of ale, and asked to speak to Antoni. The young man stood beside him, but the Spaniard invited him to sit. Glancing back anxiously to where his father stood in the shadows, Antoni sat at the table, uneasy at the idea that he who usually waited at the table should be sitting with a customer.
“Tell me your name, young man,” said the stranger.
“Antoni Macia, sir.”
“And have you always lived here by the sea, Antoni, working in this cafe?”
“It’s a chiringuito, sir, a kitchen on the beach. And yes, I’ve always lived here. I was born in that hut, in the kitchen. I’ve never known anywhere else.”
“Tell me about the sculptures,” said the man.
“It’s just a hobby,” replied Antoni. “I’ve been doing it for years. I only have an ancient butcher’s knife and home-made tools. I use the driftwood from the shore.”
“Can you show me one or two of your most recent pieces?” asked the man.
Antoni went into the chiringuito, and picked two large sculptures from a ledge on one side, one of a snail, and the other of the Virgin.
Susana whispered, “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know,” whispered Antoni, and he carried the sculptures out to the man.
The stranger acknowledged the statue of the Virgin as well done, and caressed it slowly. To Antoni’s surprise, however, he was equally enamoured by the snail, running his hands over the smooth surface, and following the spiral of the shell.
“These, young Antoni Macia, are beautiful,” he declared.
“Thank you, sir,” replied Antoni.
“Who taught you to work like this?” asked the man.
“No-one sir,” replied Antoni. “I just picked it up as I went along.”
“You have created some very special sculptures here,” continued the man. “You have great understanding of the wood, both in your rendition of the Virgin, and this exquisite snail.”
“I just work at it until it feels right in my hands,” said Antoni. “And then I stop, and it gathers dust in the chiringuito. Mother threatens to throw them all into the bread oven sometimes.”
“No, she must not do that.”
The stranger looked at Antoni reflectively, considering his next question.
“Have you considered an apprenticeship as a sculptor?” he asked.
Antoni was astonished. “No sir, I’ve never given it a thought. I work here at the chiringuito; I work with mother and papa, and grandmother; and one day the chiringuito will be mine. I have brothers and sisters, but I am the oldest and will one day be the man of this house. This is my life, here on the beach. I have never thought of any other.”
The stranger smiled. “I understand how the chiringuito is your family business,” he said, “and I am sure you will make a great success of it. But you have a talent, a real talent. I believe you would make a good, perhaps great, sculptor. I am offering you an apprenticeship Antoni Macia.”
Antoni put his hand out and smoothed the curves of the snail. He looked silently at the stranger, unable to know what to say.
“Go and fetch your father,” said the man. “I will explain all to him.”
Rafael reluctantly limped out to the stranger, who rose and shook him by the hand.
“Please sit,” invited the man, “and I will tell you what we’ve been talking about, this young man and I.”
Rafael sat, and looked suspiciously and intently at the stranger.
“Now,” said the man, “My name is Joan Soler I Faneca. You should address me as Master Faneca. I am a master architect and one-time stone mason. I have been charged by the city fathers of Barcelona to plan and build a church for this new barrio of Barceloneta. You may even have seen the space allotted for the new church. I will have one master sculptor working for me, and I am recruiting one apprentice. I would like to offer that apprenticeship to your son Antoni.”
Rafael opened his mouth to reply, but Master Faneca continued quickly. “Your son has a rare talent; and deserves to develop his ability. As an apprentice to the master mason, and if he works hard and diligently, he may one day become a master mason himself. Meanwhile, he will leave an indelible mark upon the new church of San Miquel del Port, here in Barceloneta.”
“This is all very exciting, replied Rafael, “but who is the military man you were with yesterday? I am unsure how a soldier can be involved in such a project.”
Master Faneca smiled. “He is a famous military engineer, and comes from the Low countries. His name is Prosper Verboom, and he is planning and overseeing the new barrio which is being built around my new church of San Miquel. My stone mason and his apprentice will work closely with him creating this new town by the sea.”
Susana was lurking at the kitchen door, and Rafael beckoned her over and introduced her to Master Faneca. Seated unfamiliarly at one of their own cafe tables, the family watched as Master Faneca pulled a large parchment from his bag and spread it on the table. They were astonished to see a drawing of a very strange building, but Antoni was instantly enthusiastic.
“This is wonderful sir, a most magnificent plan.”
“Thank you, young man,” replied Faneca. “Not everyone responds with such enthusiasm for my ideas. This is the new architecture; it is called ‘Academic Baroque’.”
“The lines are so clear, and the decoration so clean. And there’s my snail, twice on the facade!”
“Quiet, Antoni,” interjected his mother, “listen to Master Faneca.”
“No,” replied Faneca, “let him speak. And this spiral is a classic part of the new baroque design. He betrays an artistic clarity which will stand him in good stead should he accept the apprenticeship.”
“Oh yes, sir…..” began Antoni with further youthful enthusiasm, before looking at his parents and hesitating.
“This is not your decision,” stated Rafael sternly. “Go for a walk whilst Master Faneca and I decide.”
Taking him firmly by the arm, Susana led him down towards the shore. “Be optimistic Antoni,” she said. “Your brothers and sisters can work here with us at the chiringuito. I do not think your father will deny you this opportunity.”
They stood on the shingle, and turned to watch the two men in earnest discussion, silhouetted against the bright morning sun. Rafael’s black coat and hat, and his stiff seated posture was distinctive; and Master Faneca, could be seen to be seated and explaining the plan of the church to him. Once or twice they both turned to glance at Antoni. After a while, Rafael came limping down the beach.
“Go and shake hands with your new master,” said Rafael. “There are papers to sign which I cannot read, so you must read them to me before you sign them.”
With his father signing with a cross, and the young man signing as Antoni Macia, the bond was fixed. Work was due to start on the new church in the autumn, so Antoni would continue to work at the chiringuito for the summer. When September arrived, Antoni would be prepared to move into the master mason’s house in Barcelona old town in accordance with the terms of his apprenticeship.
On the evening before his departure to his apprenticeship, Rafael took him to one side, and talked privately to him. In a speech which echoed the night he had asked Susana’s father for her hand in marriage, he revealed the secret of the Lion of Catalunya to his son.
Pulling off his hat he shook out his blond curls, matching his adolescent son’s unruly straw mop; taking off his long jacket he unstrapped the sword, and held it before him. Antoni, always ready with a quick answer, was for once speechless, as his father explained the significance of the precious Blanxart sword, wrapped in the Macia senyera.
“This is an evening you will never forget,” continued his father, “for I have to tell you that your real name is not Antoni Macia. You are Antoni Blanxart, first born son and direct heir of the Blanxart family, once from La Ribera, now of Barceloneta. You have inherited the distinctive blond curls of the first-born Blanxart men; and you will inherit the sword and the flag. Remember, my son, whatever happens to you in the future, as you go out into the world, this sword, this flag and this responsibility will be your inheritance. You will one day be the Lion of Catalunya. Soon your hands will fashion the stones of our new town. Let each stone be placed in the name of Catalunya. In your apprenticeship, you will speak Castilian at all times, I know, but in your mind you must never forget your Catalan inheritance. One day our nation will rise again; I doubt it will be through me, and it may not be through you; but you and your first born son, and generations to come, will carry the future of the Catalan nation, ready for the time when our land is reborn and our language and culture are restored.”<
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“I know not what to say…..” began Antoni as tears filled his eyes. Rafael waited for him to regain his composure, and at last Antoni continued, “Little did I ever have any suspicion that you carried this burden; but I know that we carry a wonderful Catalan inheritance. I have learned Catalan songs from all of the family, and I am proud that I can read and write in Catalan as well as Castilian.”
“There is a final burden for you to know about.” responded Rafael. “It is a family tradition that all the first born men of the family should take as their wife a true Catalan patriot from a true Catalan family. I would never have married your mother without knowing her family to be steadfast. As time passes it will be increasingly difficult to be sure who is; but it is your task to ensure the inheritance continues. Oh, and another thing: you had better be sure that your first-born son has blond curly hair!”
Whittling pieces of driftwood was one thing; but chipping with a chisel at a block of limestone was quite another, and as autumn turned to winter, Antoni’s hands became bloody and then calloused as he struggled to learn the skills of the master mason, and the nature of stone. Master Faneca would visit the stone yard regularly to inspect the efforts of his protege, and Master Verboom would usually accompany him. Antoni got to know both men well, and they in turn encouraged him in his endeavours. The stone mason, his master, had scant praise and much criticism for him, but grudgingly agreed that Antoni had talent.
All that winter, and for the next year, Antoni laboured in the stone mason’s yard. When he was feeling frustrated by his efforts, the visits from Faneca and Verboom encouraged him, and he was flattered that they shared with him the plans and drawings. He was surprised to discover as an apprentice he had a couple of labourers available to shift the heavy blocks of limestone, but not surprisingly, his muscles soon bulged as much as their’s. On his brief weekly visit to the chiringuito, he was invariably exhausted, and enjoyed a short respite from work whilst his brothers and sisters admired his physique.
The Lions of Catalunya Page 19