The Lions of Catalunya

by Jeremy D. Rowe

  Xandaro died peacefully in 1866; unaware that he had reached the greatest age of any member of the Blanxart family so far, and unsure of his surroundings. His funeral procession to Montjuic was, however, distinguished by the brilliant new senyera draped over his coffin, with his grandsons walking either side, each holding a corner of the flag.

  Many of the activities which sprang up had little or nothing to do with the history of Catalonya. A new dance, the sardana, developed, and was taught as if it had a long history. Standing in sedate circles, holding hands in unity, the dancers would dance intricate steps to ‘traditional’ Catalan music, which had only recently been composed. Francesc’s book gave them a solid historical basis for their culture, but without records of music and other aspects of the culture, the Catalan nation had to invent much of its own history.

  Jordi himself was much in demand as a concert performer; although self-taught, he had achieved a standard far beyond the street buskers. He still sang on the corner of Sant Miquel, but he encouraged Juan to accompany him far and wide across the city, to sing not only in churches and bars, but often in squares and on street corners. The Liceu opera house presented many mixed programmes of song and dance as well as opera, and Jordi was a popular attraction at these events, sharing the stage with a wide variety of other artists, including circus acts like sword swallowers and jugglers. Jordi’s performances were always focussed on the folk songs of Catalunya and talk began of the Catalan people building their own concert hall. To Jordi this seemed very fanciful and unlikely.

  The festival of San Jordi was revived, and annually, on 23rd April, men would go out and buy flowers to present to all the women in their lives. Women, to reciprocate, would hunt for books written in Catalan to give to their men. Francesc Blanxart’s history of Catalunya was a popular choice, and ensured that amongst the growing celebrations of Catalan culture, many of the real traditions and history of the nation were preserved. The romantic revival of Catalan culture grew from strength to strength during the rest of the century, and became known as the “Renaixenca”.

  Jordi was keen to teach the reality of all this. Not for him the artifice of the sardana or other new “traditions”: he was concerned to teach Catalan with good and accurate grammar. He would sit and talk through the ideas and conventions, whilst his brother would show how the rules appeared in writing. He was also in great demand as a singer, famous for his wonderful tenor voice. He was one of many performers at the celebrations in 1868, following the Glorious Revolution, which sealed the destiny of the region.

  Finally in 1873, a tentative declaration of independence was made: Catalonya was now a Federal Republic, with lands stretching from Perpignon in the north to Valencia in the south. Senor Rosa, who had become friends with the family, and especially with Jordi, came to visit in advance of the declaration of independence.

  “Young man,” he said addressing Jordi. “You have become the leading singer of Catalan Folk song in our land. A group of friends, many of whom you know, want to celebrate our independence in a very special way. We have come to seek your advice. We want you to sing, of that there is no doubt. But we want more. How can we solemnly begin this new country of ours, this re-birth?”

  Jordi thought for a moment, and then replied, smiling, “You have read the book. You know the significance of the great church of Santa Maria del Mar in the history of Catalonya. I believe the Virgin will smile upon a celebration held in her great cathedral of the sea. We have a magnificent organ and we have a great choir: let them sing a solemn mass of thanksgiving that our country is at last independent. And then I will sing.”

  All were thankful that the day of republican celebration was free of bloodshed despite warnings from anarchists and Castilians. The day dawned with the Blanxart family, and others from Barceloneta gathering at their local church of Sant Miquel. Following the prayers, the family stood in the sunshine of Placa Sant Miquel, and Juan whispered softly to Jordi, “Sant Miquel is smiling.”

  “If only I could see the statue,” said Jordi, in a rare moment of self-pity. “If only….”

  The family then walked to the wide square outside the Generalitat building, where the announcement of the republic was made. Again many were fearful of violent interruptions, but for once the trouble makers stayed away.

  It was then time to go to Santa Maria del Mar. Almost everyone gathered in the square planned to attend the church service, and so it was a joyous procession that marched down the hill, passing the Mediaeval cathedral, across the new scar of Via Liaetana, and to Santa Maria. As they walked, more and more of the population joined the throng, and at the doors of the church, a silence fell as they filed inside.

  Whilst others knelt at their favoured side chapel, Juan led Jordi directly through the gathering throng to the choir, where his guitar was safely waiting for him. The brothers sat quietly waiting for the mass to begin.

  “There is a delay,” whispered Juan.

  “I can tell,” replied Jordi. “Can’t you feel the place filling up? There have rarely been this many people here.”

  “Thousands,” suggested Juan. “It seems we have to wait whilst others find somewhere to stand.”

  “What an extraordinary atmosphere,” whispered Jordi. “I can feel the people. There is a rustling and movement in the air, like none I have known before.”

  At last the mass began, the organ and choir leading the celebration, and the huge crowd responding with enthusiasm. Finally the moment arrived that all were waiting for. The priest placed a stool in front of the famous statue of Our Lady of the Sea, and Juan led his brother, with his well-worn guitar, to sit on it. At that moment, the sun came out, shining as it always did upon the statue; but this time including Jordi, and his aura of golden curls, in its dazzling glow. The audience gasped, such was the drama of the moment.

  In the silence that followed, Jordi started to strum, quietly and gently at first, but then with a passion and fervour unknown in this solemn place of worship. The chords rang out, tumbling over one another as they echoed into the high vault. And then he started to sing. He sang of the mountains and the sea, he sang of fishermen and troubadours, he sang of the senyera, and he sang of the heroes of Catalunya’s history. His voice rang out, and the stones and pillars of the church reflected the glory of his music and the achievement of the people.

  When the music finished, there was a long silence as the sound died away into the stone. Then came a stamping, roaring noise as the people showed their love and affection for the blind young man. Alejandro and Emilia, standing to one side with Juan, tears flowing at the adulation for their son, were speechless. Jordi himself simply sat and smiled and waited for the noise to fade.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The peace was short-lived. If anyone thought they would walk away from the celebration at Santa Maria del Mar into a new dawn of independence, sweetness and light, they were very much mistaken. Political groups of all kinds sprang up, some opposed to Catalan independence and wanting Castile to intervene, some unhappy at the liberal socialism of the industrial areas, jealous of the prospering middle classes, and passionate in their communist ideals, and others simply without any philosophy or foundation, who schemed for nothing more than anarchy.

  Alejandro had often worried if he had missed his opportunity, and should have carried the Pujol sword to Santa Maria that day of music and celebration, but as the political wrangling and bloodshed resumed, he was glad he had not. Another worry had entered his mind, and he took Emilia to one side to talk to her.

  “Our son is now thirty-three years old,” he began.

  “And unmarried,” Emilia completed the sentiment.

  “You have been thinking as I have been,” said her husband.

  “Indeed, and I reach no conclusion.”

  “I am past my sixtieth birthday,” continued Alejandro, “and it is time to pass the title of Lion of Catalunya to Jordi. But without a wife or child, what will happen? Does this fragile independence mean the end of the line?
Shall I, or shall Jordi, be the last Lion?”

  “And what of Juan? He also should have the chance to marry and have a family. He has spent his whole life being his brother’s eyes. Should we find a match for Jordi, will Juan continue to be his brother’s eyes? And if we should find a match for Juan, what will happen to Jordi? It is a puzzle, husband, and I was turning it in my mind long before that day at Santa Maria.”

  “Indeed, I watched our son that afternoon, his golden curls bathed in our Lady’s sunshine. He is truly beautiful, and there were many young women in the church who would make good wives, and could love him,” continued Alejandro. “Many of them have taken to hanging around the street corner, hoping he’ll sing to them. But he does not see them, and I can hardly tell him to start singing love songs to see what happens!”

  “I do not think we can wait for chance or fate. We must take matters into our own hands. Husband, you must talk to the boy.”

  Alejandro was nervous, and hesitated before talking to Jordi. He arranged for Emilia to take the rest of the family to the beach, for supper in one of the family chiringuitas, and told Jordi that he needed to have an important conversation. Jordi immediately was suspicious that his father was about to hand over the title of Lion, and became nervous, but when Alejandro started to talk about finding a wife, he burst out laughing.

  “You forget, my dear father, that Juan is my eyes in every way. Do not think I am unaware of my many admirers when I sing; Juan has described them all. There’s Nuria with the long black hair, who always wears a red flower for passion; there’s Elena with squinting eyes, and pouting lips for kissing; there’s Amelia shyly fanning herself; there’s Alissia, who Juan is keen on for himself, but she only has eyes for me; there’s Clara, the most persistent, who comes every night and brings fragrant flowers so that I can smell their perfume….”

  “Stop, stop, Jordi.” said his father, starting to laugh with him. “I had no idea. So what’s to be done?” He paused, and then nervously asked, “Have you been with any of these young women, Jordi?”

  “I’m not sure if a father can ask such a question!” chuckled Jordi, “and I surely will not give you an answer, except that neither my brother nor I are inexperienced.”

  Alejandro laughed some more, and then checked himself, saying, “This was supposed to be a serious conversation. I suppose now you’ll tell me which of the ladies you prefer!”

  At that moment, the street door crashed open, and Juan came running up the stairs, laughing. “Mother has told me what you two are up to,” he laughed, “and you should know that as the eyes of my brother, I should be here also. I’ve left mother and the others on the beach. Now how far have you got?”

  “Nuria, Elena, Amelia….” began Alejandro.

  “Alissia, Clara….” laughed Jordi.

  “Anna?” asked Juan, “Or her sister Violeta?”

  “I was coming to them,” replied Jordi. “I was bringing father round gently to telling him our plan.” He stopped, and Alejandro waited.

  “Alright,” Juan broke the silence, “of all the girls who have eyes for my handsome brother, Anna is the one he knows and trusts. It happens she has a sister, Violeta, who has shown great interest in me.”

  “They love us, father, and want to marry us!” blurted out Jordi. “Have you heard of it before, brothers marrying sisters?”

  “I am sure it will not be the first time,” said Alejandro slowly, “But first we must talk, and then I must talk to the girls’ father. What do you know of this family?”

  “They are the daughters of Senor Valdes, father, a wine merchant in the old city.” Began Juan. “You have met him many times, as he is one of the suppliers of wine to our chiringuitas. He was with his daughters at the independence service at Santa Maria’s. You spoke to him briefly at the end of Jordi’s music, and whilst you were distracted we were talking to the girls. Behind your back, Anna took Jordi’s hand and kissed it and then let him touch her face. She has always understood how to communicate with him by touch instead of sight. It was about that time that Violeta admitted her interest in me, and we started meeting the girls together.” Juan stopped and looked at his brother, who was nodding vigorously and grinning.

  “That’s all very well,” said Alejandro severely, “Bur there are obligations which must be fulfilled. You know that Jordi will one day be the Lion of Catalunya. As such he must marry a girl from a known Catalan family, a girl committed to the cause of our nation as much as we are. How can we be sure about a family from the old city?”

  “There is no problem, dear father,” said Jordi.

  Juan continued, “No problem. You know that we check all our suppliers for the chiringuitas, always have done, and only take supplies from families loyal to the Catalan cause. The Valdes family have supplied us for some time, and have celebrated our country’s independence with much enthusiasm.”

  “Very well,” agreed Alejandro. “I will seek a meeting with Senor Valdes, and your mother can meet Senora Valdes. This is a far more complicated liaison than one ordinary marriage, and there must be clear marriage contracts, arrangements for dowries and clear understanding of all the obligations.”

  Alejandro asked around the barrio, and in all the chiringuitas, for information about the Valdes family, and was greatly relieved that all he heard about them was positive. They had come from Girona some two generations ago, when that town was becoming more impoverished, and Barcelona was beginning its boom. The Valdes in Girona had maintained the Catalan language quietly at home, bringing Catalan-speaking servants with them when they came to Barcelona. They had bought one of the big houses in Montcada, and set up a flourishing wine cellar, echoing the Blanxart business of many years before. Once satisfied that their credentials were impeccable, Alejandro arranged a meeting with Senor Valdes, at which generous dowries were agreed. The sisters had only one brother, Oscar, who would inherit the wine business, and thus Senor Valdes was able to indulge his daughters lavishly. Emilia was equally delighted to meet Senora Valdes, and they quickly became friends. Although the Blanxarts were financially very secure with their chain of chiringuitas, they were not as sophisticated as the Valdes, and Emilia enjoyed her visits to the big house in Montcada, with its grand chamber on the piano nobile. She was excited to see that there was a large senyera hanging at one end of the huge room..

  Alejandro then surprised the Valdes family by arranging a meeting of all four parents, and all four children. They were to meet in the upstairs room in Carrer Sant Miquel, and Emilia found herself preparing refreshments for another exciting gathering. In the morning, Alejandro summoned his wife and sons, and they opened the secret chamber, taking out the sword, wrapped in the original senyera, and the history book. The stone was returned and the rug rolled back, so that the visitors would not know where the hiding place was when they walked over it.

  Jordi waited anxiously at the door, listening for the voices of Anna and Violeta, and soon grinned eagerly when he heard them approaching. He led Anna upstairs, and Juan, with a similar grin, led Violeta. Senor Blanxart greeted Senor and Senora Vales and escorted them up the steep stair to the upper room, where Emilia was waiting to greet them. A small table, covered by the ancient senyera, stood in the centre of the room. Once all were seated, parents on tapestry-covered chairs, and the youngsters on stools, and wine glasses filled, Alejandro cleared his throat, ready for his speech.

  “Senor and Senora Valdes, welcome to my home. Welcome also to your beautiful daughters. The Blanxart family have lived in this house in Barceloneta for many generations since it was built by my great-grandfather, the famous sulptor Antoni Blanxart. Our fortune has been built on the chain of chringuitas along the beach, a humble trade, but an honest one! And since my grandfather, Francesc, author of the famous history of Catalonya, we have also given much importance to education of our young people, especially reading and writing our difficult Catalan language.”

  The Valdes family began to wonder where this preamble was leading.

&n
bsp; “Great-great-grandfather, Rafael, survived the siege of Barcelona, bringing with him, from the flames that devoured La Ribera, the old sword that had been in the family for generations before him. Partly due to his blond curls, and even more due to his bravery, Rafael was known as the Lion of Catalunya…”

  Jordi gasped, anticipating where this was leading.

  “The Lion of Catalonia. The sword and the title have been handed down the generations ever since, to the first-born Blanxart; and by an extraordinary stroke of destiny, each first-born has had the same blond curls.”

  Anna, sitting close the Jordi, ran her fingers through his long curly hair. Alejandro, seeing the gesture, smiled, and went on.

  “At this time of celebration, we anticipate a double wedding, and since Senor Valdes lives so close to Santa Maria, in that great church. Anna, I turn first to you. You are an extraordinary girl, falling in love with a man who will never be able to see you, and who will be unaware of your blushes; I know you will care for him and cherish him, but the obligation will be greater than you expect. For, my dear, you will be marrying the Lion of Catalonya!”

  At this everyone gasped and exclaimed. Jordi jumped to his feet and Alejandro dramatically pulled the senyera off of the table to reveal the sword.

  “Jordi, my son, through your music and your knowledge of Catalunya, you are a worthy successor to the line of ancestors who have been Lion before you. I hand you the sword, I place the ancient senyera around your shoulders, and declare you to be the Lion of Catalonya!”