In the spring of 1753, work started on the site. The Flemish engineer Master Verboom had designed a small new town along military lines, with fifteen long narrow streets, crossed at right angles by five avenues. The narrow streets, starting from just outside the old city walls, ran south towards the sea on the long peninsular of Barceloneta, and the widely spaced avenues gave eastern glimpses of the Mediterranean, and westward views of the bustling port of Barcelona.
The wide central placa, or market place, would be a focal point of the small town, with Master Faneca’s new church at one side of it. The enormous parade ground was to the east, filling a vast space between the new town and the causeway which linked the Cuitadella Fortress to the sea.
From the port, the handsome western facade of the church of San Miquel del Port would one day be visible across a wide square of its own. Standing on the newly installed steps of the church, Antoni paused to look around at the bustling scene. The first long narrow street, named for San Miquel, had been laid out from the very steps he had himself carved back at his master’s yard some weeks earlier. To his right the massive but crumbling walls of the city hid most of the buildings of the old town, except the towering mass of Santa Maria del Mar; to his left the new street stretched into the distance, stopping only at the edge of the sand dunes near his family’s chiringuito. He thought he could see Master Verboom, with strings and measuring chains, checking the alignment of the streets. The military engineer brought a military precision to his work, and the setting out of the streets was taking a long time.
Turning towards the notorious sea gate of the city, he could see a pair of cart horses dragging a cart with a massive piece of octagonal stone on board. Seated like a king on the huge block was one of the mason’s yard labourers, whilst another led the horses. Antoni smiled to himself as the first stone of the pillars which would support the roof of the church came into view. This was a truly significant day: it was not merely the base stone of the pillar, it was the base of one of the main supports for the whole building. Eventually an ornate keystone would crown the arch; but for now the focus was on this foundation stone. It had to be positioned with supreme accuracy. A shout from behind startled him. It was the master mason.
“Hey, dreamer, get yourself over here and check the scaffold with me. The stone will arrive before we’re ready, and by San Miquel and all the saints we must move and settle it correctly.”
Aware of the moment, Master Faneca appeared, and Master Verboom came striding up the newly laid Carrer San Miquel to join him. The labourers guided the cart round to the side of the church and into the nave itself. The heavy timber scaffold containing the block and tackle was waiting for its momentous load.
Work came to a halt in the surrounding area as everyone turned to watch the complex operation. The men pulled the ropes under the massive stone and up and over the pulleys in the scaffold. The horses were unhitched from the cart and hitched to the pulley ropes. Gently the labourers urged the horses to take the strain, the ropes creaked and groaned ominously, and very slowly the block of limestone lifted from the bed of the cart. Other labourers were used to manhandle the cart out of the way, and the job of swinging the stone into its position started.
The painstaking procedure took the entire day: but as dusk fell, both the master mason and Master Faneca declared themselves happy that the stone was truly positioned. At the final moment of double checking, the mason indicated to Antoni that he should stand on the block and move around to ensure its complete stability. Antoni climbed up and jumped up and down. The stone beneath his feet was rock solid.
Glancing around, he saw his mother standing among the small crowd that had gathered. Antoni waved to her to come forward and Susana revealed a bottle of the best rioja. Master Faneca, remembering who she was, went forward to her, and she shyly handed him the bottle of wine. Pulling the cork, Faneca announced, “May San Miquel bless the foundation of this house which we build for him!” and took a long draught from the bottle. Faneca handed it to Verboom, and the Flemish man added, “Amen,” and passed it to the master mason, who, adding his own “Amen”, took a drink himself.
There was a pause as the master mason looked up at Antoni, still standing high on the new block of limestone, then smiled and handed him the bottle. “Drink, young Macia, you’ve earned it.”
Antoni took the bottle. Looking at the three men through his long blond eyelashes, he was suddenly overcome. “Drink,” repeated the master mason. Antoni drained the bottle and grinned, a dribble of the red wine running down his chin. “Now dance,” shouted Faneca, and with everyone around clapping a rhythm, Antoni danced on the stone, his clogs beating out an insistent rhythm. His mother retreated and he saw her join his father who had been watching from the distance.
As he danced, Antoni pulled his apprentice’s hat from his head, and shook out the blond curls which had been growing all through the winter and into the spring. As the sun started to set, it cast a golden glow over the young man.
“The Lion of Catalunya,” whispered Rafael to Susana.
“He looks like a god,” replied his wife.
“We have a worthy heir, my love,” continued Rafael, “Soon will come the time to hand him the sword.”
In the nave of the church, the master mason put out a hand as Antoni jumped down. “This is nothing, boy,” he spoke quietly. “A year from now, you will be dancing on the keystone. Then we will have cause for real celebration.”
Antoni had not noticed a young woman in the small crowd, admiring him from afar, but she had seen him. Watching him closely, her pulse quickened. If this beautiful man favoured the spirit of Catalunya, she would pursue him. Smiling to herself, she resolved to find out more about this blond god-like creature.
The building site for the new town continued to develop throughout the year. Verboom’s revolutionary grid pattern of streets and avenues was completed, and the erection of the hundreds of uniform houses spread like children’s building blocks across the new barrio. Strangers came from miles around to look at the odd new architecture they called ‘academic baroque’. Reactions varied from appalled to enthusiastic. At the same time as the rows of stone houses were being laid out, the huge dressed stones were arriving one by one from the mason’s yard, and the pillars of the new church were growing.
The building technique of the church was unlike that of the houses. The houses were built in a simple manner, from the walls up; but the church was constructed by creating the structure of support columns first, with curtain walls to be filled in later. Thus it was that the enormous timber scaffold contained a huge rib-like skeleton, with the outlines of the twin domes supported, it appeared, in thin air. At last the time arrived for the crucial insertion of key stones, after which the timber scaffold would no longer be supporting the stone.
The familiar cart pulled by the mason’s two horses was inadequate for the job of bringing the enormous keystone to the building site. A larger cart, pulled by four horses had been employed. Antoni, stationed at the church as he had been to receive each of the stones of the pillars, watched as the horses strained to bring the first of the keystones from the old city, through the sea gate and out to the new town. Riding on the key stone was not one of the labourers as usual, but the master mason himself proud to be showing that his masonry was indeed high art.
Bringing the ornate stone to the site was all that could be accomplished on the first day; and it was the following morning before the mason and his apprentice supervised the beginning of hauling the mass of the keystone to its position high over the chancel. Each day the horses strained at the ropes, and slowly the stone was raised. Finally, after four nerve-racking days, as the huge weight hung from the ropes, it had been hauled to the top of the scaffold. On the fifth day, the mason and Antoni climbed the now familiar ladders to the very top, and lowered the key stone into place.
The whole operation had been watched by Faneca and Verboom, joined by a growing throng, holding its collective breath as the st
one was raised and then lowered into position. The procedure that they had planned and discussed endlessly, was a success. At last the master mason turned to Antoni. “Young man, I think we should call on your mother and take some of her excellent paella. And I’m sure your father will find a good bottle of rioja. Although it would be premature to celebrate too much, since we have two more such keystones to position in the coming weeks, I believe we deserve an evening of respite.”
As they climbed down the ladders, Antoni felt a glow of pride; in the years of hard apprenticeship his master had never spoken so warmly, almost as an equal. Gathering Faneca and Verboom, the band of four, heady with the success of raising the keystone, marched down Carrer de Sant Miquel, now paved and completed, and insisted that Antoni sit with them and join them for supper, much to the amusement of his brothers and sisters who waited upon them.
The ritual was repeated twice more, the team of four horses dragging the next two keystones to the church, the long and painstaking hauling of the stones to the top of the scaffold, and the final nerve-racking positioning of the keys into the pinnacles of the stone arches.
“Now we take away the scaffolding,” announced Master Faneca. “And heaven help us if my calculations are wrong.”
Antoni had carved and fitted many small keystones over doors and windows for the new houses of Barceloneta, but he had no experience of the enormity of the stresses and strains which the pillars and keystones of the church had to support. Whilst everything seemed secure with the mass of timber scaffold surrounding it, the idea of taking it all down and leaving the stone skeleton standing high was terrifying. His fears were unfounded. As the scaffold was removed, the stone stood firm and tall, until finally its extraordinary silhouette was revealed.
Just one ladder remained, the tallest they possessed, reaching all the way to the chancel keystone. “Up you go, boy,” said the master mason. “Dance.”
Fearlessly Antoni scaled the ladder and climbed onto the top of the keystone. He breathed in the sea air, and looked about him. North was the ancient mass of Santa Maria del Mar still tucked inside the remains of the city wall; south the beach with its chaos of shacks and hovels and the chiriguito; below him to the east was the placa of the Barceloneta market, and beyond it the barren parade ground.
Slowly at first, Antoni started to dance, stepping lightly on the stone; then he grew bolder and stamped out the rhythm. Below him, the crowd listened, first to the rhythm of his clogs, and then to his voice as he sung out loudly and clearly from the very topmost point of the church.
Rafael turned joyously to Susana: “The lion sings in Catalan!”
Carla, his grandmother, was now a very old lady, and rarely left the chiringuito; she had, however shuffled along the unfamiliar street of Sant Miquel, leaning on Susana’s arm, to witness this extraordinary moment. Quietly smiling to herself, she repeated under her breath, “Yes, the lion sings in Catalan. Yes, there was a crucifix on this spot once, where this church stands. Yes, a tall cross, and hiding behind it a young man, and his mother. It is good that this family is helping to build a church for Sant Miquel on this spot. Yes, it is good.”
Verboom turned to Faneca, “What is he singing?” and Faneca feigned ignorance.
The crowd, however, knew, and clapped and cheered, and many joined in quietly with the old Catalan folk songs they had not heard or dared to sing for many years. Susana, tears trickling down her cheeks, smiled at her husband. “Our land is not dead. There are more here than I realised who have kept faith with our Catalan traditions. One day we will raise our Senyera again!”
Standing in the crowd was the same young woman who had admired Antoni from afar when he first danced upon the foundation stone. She had hesitated, unable to ascertain his allegiances, and nervous that as he was working for the Castilian local government, he would be a Castilian supporter, and know little or nothing of the Catalonian spirit. His wonderful singing dispersed all doubts. This beautiful man was a true Catalan, and she would pursue him with all her energies.
Finding him alone on the beach one evening, she nervously engaged him in conversation. Flattered by the attentions of such a beautiful young woman, Antoni found himself flirting with the girl. Nervously he invited her back to the chiringuito, and asked Susana for a bottle of rioja, which they shared in the setting sun. Rafael and Suzana watched the young couple from a distance, and hurriedly stopped Antoni’s younger brothers and sisters from giggling and pointing.
When the time came for Antoni to walk back to the master mason’s, Alissia, for that was her name, walked some of the way with him. Antoni explained that he escaped only once a week to visit his parents at the chiringuito, and Alissia replied that she hoped he would like to see her again on his next visit. Impulsively he put his arms around her and kissed her, and then pulled away, apologising for his behaviour. Alissia smiled, and pulled him back. “Next week, beautiful man,” she whispered, and turned and darted away among the sand dunes.
It would be two more long years before the church was finished. Master Faneca’s revolutionary design challenged both the master mason and his apprentice. Not only was the baroque facade unlike any other building in Catalonya, but the internal decoration of the church was equally new. The break from the Gothic tradition scandalised many older residents of Barcelona, but the excitement of the new baroque architecture of not only the church, but also Master Verboom’s new town, created an atmosphere which was much celebrated by younger Catalonians.
Just as the new town of Barceloneta grew, so did Antoni’s love for Alissia. They continued their weekly tryst, but Antoni knew he could not consider marriage as long as he was an apprentice. By careful questioning, however, he discovered that Alissia was true to the Catalan tradition, and would one day make a suitable wife. Rafael and Susana were not surprised when he told them he was in love with Alissia, and Rafael had secretly made his own enquiries to reassure himself that she was a true Catalan. Antoni had a further reason to be attracted to Alissia: she could read and write in both Castilian and Catalan, matching him for skill, and they could exchange the few books they possessed, and talk about them together. Privately Antoni was overjoyed that their children, when they had them, would be taught from an early age to read the old stories of the Catalan heritage.
The facade of dressed stone of the church rose steadily, with Antoni responsible for many of the accurate smooth stones. The master mason consulted Faneca’s drawings constantly, and considerable effort went into replicating the baroque ornamentation. One day Antoni looked across the mason’s workshop to see his master working on a large stone spiral, much like a snail. It was at that moment that Master Faneca arrived, and laughed.
“That I should come at this moment!” he chuckled. “The snail. Macia come here and look.” Antoni and the master mason stared at Faneca unable to understand the joke. “Do you remember all that time ago, years ago, when I discovered you working in the chiringuito? And do you remember the sculpture you showed me then, the sculpture that got you your apprenticeship?”
“The snail!” gasped Antoni, the remembrance dawning upon him.
“Master mason,” continued Faneca. “You will remember that the facade requires two of these huge spiral sculptures. I propose a competition. You shall carve one, and Macia your apprentice shall carve the other. You shall each carve a face into the centre of the spiral. Master mason, you shall carve a likeness of yourself; Macia, you shall carve my likeness. We shall see if the apprentice can match the master’s skill.”
Turning to Antoni, he continued, “This shall be your masterpiece. Do well, my boy, and it will pave your way into the Guild.”
It was the master mason’s turn to laugh. “Very well, he is a quick learner and is doing well. But this is no challenge for me. You risk wasting a good piece of stone if he cannot manage the spiral – will you take the challenge?”
Antoni, who was rather horrified by the conversation, grinned nervously as he replied: “I’ll take the challenge; by the Vir
gin, I’ll carve my way into the Guild.”
For the next two weeks, Antoni and the master mason slaved over their respective blocks of stone. Although Antoni was flattered by Faneca’s confidence in him, he was very alarmed by the challenge. He was unsure what the master would think if he matched or bettered him in the creation of the spiral; equally he wanted to prove himself and justify Master Faneca’s confidence in him.
At last the snail-like spirals were complete, and the delicate features of a face peered out from the centre of each. One of the labourers ran with a message to Master Faneca to come and see the results.
Faneca looked from one to the other. Both sculptures were superb. Faneca shook hands with the master. “Excellent work, sir, I salute you. And I congratulate you on the way you have taught your apprentice. His work is equal to yours.” Turning to Antoni, he continued, “I always believed you had it in you to be a master sculptor. You have proved your worth. You are a credit to your master and yourself. Well done Antoni Macia. I believe you will now be invited into the Guild.”
Antoni shook hands with Faneca, and turned towards the master mason, unsure of his reaction. To his relief the older man was smiling. “This was your test,” he said. “Match me in the spiral relief, and you will complete your apprenticeship. Today you have done that, and I welcome you as my assistant and master mason in your own right. I will sponsor your entrance into the Guild. Meanwhile, I believe Master Faneca has something for you.”
“As an artisan and member of the Guild of Master Sculptors, you can no longer sleep in the workshop as you have been doing as an apprentice,” said Faneca. “Congratulations Master Macia.” And he handed Antoni a small ragged bundle.
Untying the rag, Antoni discovered a key. He looked uncomprehendingly from one to the other. Faneca grinned. “It’s a house key,” stammered Antoni.
“Master Macia, this is the key to a dwelling on Carrer Sant Miquel. You set the keystone over the door some weeks ago, and now the house is finished.”
The Lions of Catalunya Page 20