Lluis Montaner may have looked back to Mediaeval times for the decoration of his building, but he used the most modern construction methods available, fascinating to both Enric and Rafael who visited regularly to watch the progress. Rafael knew the story of his illustrious ancestor, Antoni the sculptor, and how he had danced high on the keystone of Sant Miquel, but he didn’t offer to go up to the top of the new hall and dance on the thin steel beams!
Enric would return home to report to Jordi the exciting developments. He described the huge windows which seemed to be hanging from the steel skeleton: “Curtain walls they’re called,” he told his father. And young Rafael watched with bated breath, as the huge sculptures which were to be part of the structure were carefully unloaded from trucks.
“There are many great horses,” he told his grandfather breathlessly, “with riders. They are called the Ride of the Valkyries. And there are great pillars supporting whole trees.”
Enric explained that these huge sculptures would form a massive proscenium arch: traditional music being represented by Beethoven with trees and pillars, and modern music represented by Wagner with the Ride of the Valkyries. Rafael’s grandmothers no longer played the piano in public, but they tried to give the boy some idea of the music in question. They could manage several of Beethoven’s themes, and the boy particularly liked the great ending of the ninth symphony, the Ode to Joy, but they gave up with Wagner. “One day,” laughed Anna, “you will hear the Ride of the Valkyries at the Liceu Opera House, and you will know why my sister and I cannot play it!”
As the great sculptures were hoisted into place inside the hall, similar massive sculptures were erected on the façade. One day Rafael was very excited to meet Senor Miguel Blay as he was supervising his great carving being placed at the corner of the building.
“Look young man,” said Senor Blay, “my sculpture represents all Catalunya in music. We are a nation of singers and players.”
“I know we are,” said the boy confidently. “My grandfather is Jordi Blanxart, the guitarist. He plays in the schoolroom on the beach, where I go to school!”
As the building nearer completion, Rafael was allowed to travel on his own, by the tram, up the Via Laietana, to watch progress. The day he came face to face with a line of huge busts, he was very excited. As he reported back to the family, “I have met Senor Palestrina, Senor Beethoven, Senor Bach and Senor Wagner! They are all there, waiting to be placed in their places. Senor Blay has made them all, and will be there to watch them being hoisted up.”
Many other Catalan characteristics were built into the fabric of the building: huge ceramic flowers decorated the pillars, and even the electric lamps were constructed to look at if they were growing organically out of the walls.
Rafael insisted that his father came with him to watch the crowning glory of Montaner’s design being inched into place. The extraordinary inverted dome, with its sun design and circle of singers, had to be lifted high above the curtain walls and lowered gently into place. Although its steel frame made it strong, as it rose in the air it appeared fragile, and work on the entire site came to a halt to watch it being positioned. Enric remembered the history of Antoni, and imagined that the lowering of the great keystones at Sant Miquel must have been just as nerve wracking as watching this great glass construction lifting high into the sky.
Once the roof was in position, an army of workmen moved into the hall to start the internal decoration. Rafael was frustrated that he was not allowed in - “not safe for little boys!” - and had to be content with watching the arrival of all that was needed. Organ pipes, more sculptures, and hundreds and hundreds of seats all passed by the boy, and the day drew near when the hall would be finished.
On the day of the grand opening, a carriage was arranged for Jordi and Juan and their wives to be taken to the new concert hall. Rafael went with his mother and Eduard by tram, and no-one would tell him where his father was. Rafael became upset that his father would miss the great event, but he was reassured his father would not be missing it, and had a special task to perform.
Rafael was particularly pleased that he had been chosen to lead his grandfather in the grand procession to the stage. The ushers directed Jordi and Rafael upstairs to the elegant hall overlooking the street, where they sat waiting for the moment to arrive. Jordi was particularly excited to meet Senor Albeniz, and promised him a good performance of the piece he had chosen. Rafael was puzzled by an introduction to a man called Senor Erard, and afterwards Jordi told him that he was the famous builder of pianos in Barcelona and had made the piano they played on at the school on the beach.
Other musicians joined them, and soon all the great and good of the musical world of Barcelona were together in the room. The great choir, Orfeo Catala took its place on the stage amidst much cheering from the capacity audience, and the new organ was heard for the very first time. The ushers invited the honoured guests in the platform party to line up. Jordi, with Rafael as his eyes, was almost last in the line.
As the organ swelled into a solemn march, the procession began. Rafael whispered a commentary to his grandfather as they shuffled slowly towards the stage. As each celebrity reached the stage, they climbed the few steps and turned to acknowledge the audience, whereupon the audience produced a great cheer.
“Senor Montaner and Senor Blay, the architect and the sculptor, are leading the procession, grandfather,” whispered Rafael. “In front of us are many other musicians, but I cannot name them. We are following behind a Cobla Band.”
“We come through the great glass doors and across the top of the grand stairs. Now we are entering the auditorium. Gosh grandfather, there are so many people here, and they are all standing up. Now we go down the slope of the audience. I have your hand grandfather, you will not fall, although it is quite a steep hill. Everyone is looking at us grandfather. Now I can see the stage. The choir are all standing round in their places and the front of the procession has already got there and they are going to their seats. Oh grandfather, nod to your right for there I see Senor Fabra, you know the one who is writing a spelling book of Catalan. Oh and now nod to the left for I have seen Senor Alio. He must be very excited that we will sing his song soon. Senor Albeniz has just reached the stage. That extra loud cheer was for him.”
The cobla band, immediately in front of Jordi in the procession, received a great ovation when they mounted the stage. They took their places in a semicircle around the remaining empty chair, the one with a guitar resting on it. Rafael, as he had been instructed, waited for the band to be seated, then guided Jordi up the steps and onto the stage. The cheer for the blind musician was the greatest yet, and he stood for a while acknowledging the acclamation. Rafael picked up the guitar, guided Jordi to the seat, and he sat down. With a sigh almost of relief, the audience sat and silence fell.
Jordi started as he so often did, with gentle strummed chords, but then as his volume increased, a melody started to emerge. It was Francesc’s Reaper’s Song, played quietly once, and then as he reached the chorus, much louder. It was then that the great organ took up the theme, playing the verse on trumpet stops, and although Jordi continued to play, his guitar was drowned. When the chorus was reached the choir leapt to its feet with the great words, “Let us swing the sickle, let us swing the sickle, defenders of our land, let us swing the sickle!”
At that the audience stood once more, and the words rang out.
“Triumphant Catalunya, will once again be rich and full!
We must not be the prey of those proud and arrogant invaders!
Let us swing the sickle!
Only Rafael knew how hard Jordi was strumming his guitar as if bringing all the passion he could from the instrument. Upon the second chorus, the cobla band entered with their shrill rhythmic sound.
“Now it is the moment, oh reapers! Now is the moment to be alert!
Awaiting the arrival of another June, let us sharpen our tools!
Let us swing the sickle!
&
nbsp; With the third chorus, a line of young men entered from the rear of the auditorium carrying huge flags, the red and yellow senyeras of Catalunya, on tall poles. As they came out from under the balcony they raised the flags and swung them over the audience. At the same time another troop of men appeared in the upper balcony and took places behind the audience up there, again swinging large senyeras.
“May our enemy tremble on seeing our noble flag:
Just as we reap the golden corn, may we also cut free of the chains!
Let us swing the sickle!”
Jordi was the only one not standing for the performance, sitting strumming. At the end he handed his guitar to Rafael, who had been standing proudly beside him in the centre of the stage, singing his heart out, and unsteadily stood up.
Another roar of applause, another rustling and sighing as everyone sat down. Jordi remained on his feet. He coughed quietly and then spoke:
“My friends, my Catalonians…” Another cheer interrupted him. “This is a great day in the history of our nation. This extraordinary achievement, this great palace of music, stands as a symbol of the glory of Catalunya and her people. We are a great nation, with an illustrious history. We have a culture which comes from the mountains and the sea, a culture and heritage older than Castile…” Another great cheer, “Many of you will know our history from the book written in secret and in dangerous times by my great grandfather Francesc Blanxart. You may know of the old tradition of the Lion of Catalunya.”
There was a murmuring of agreement.
“We have always had a dream. My friends, God is willing and the dream is coming true: you all know the story that there was a symbolic sword carried by the Lion of Catalunya. Perhaps you felt this story, and other such stories, was a myth, a mystery to amuse our children.”
Jordi paused, and the audience whispered. There was nothing of this in the official programme.
“I can reveal to you that Francesc Blanxart, author of that great history, was himself one of the Lions of Catalunya. He received the title from his father, the great architect Antoni, and he handed the honour to his son Xandaro, and so it passed to his son, Alejandro, my father. Each of them was the Lion of Catalunya, and my father in turn handed it to me.”
The audience started to applaud, but Jordi held up his hand.
“No, I am no longer the Lion of Catalunya, I am too old and lack the strength. I have passed the title to my son. Please welcome him, my son, Enric Blanxart, the Lion of Catalunya, revealing, at last in the daylight, the Sword of Catalunya!”
The audience turned as Enric entered and marched down the central aisle. Round his shoulders, the ancient Macia senyera, in one hand Francesc’s original hand-written history book, and in the other, the sword. As he reached the stage, he stood between his father and his son. The sun, shining through the great glass dome, illuminated the halo of white curls of the former lion, the golden mane of the present lion, and the youthful locks of the future lion. In the roar of applause, no-one heard what Enric said to the other two.
“Today the fight is over, and we stand, the previous Lion, the present Lion and the future Lion, shoulder to shoulder. The fight may be over, but there will still be many battles to come.”
As he finished speaking, there was a great clap of thunder, rain started to pour as clouds covered the sun, and the great Palau de la Musica darkened. There would indeed be many battles to come.
This eBook is published by
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Copyright © Jeremy D Rowe, 2016,
The right of Jeremy D Rowe to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with Section 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
Cover photograph by Ian Jones of the church of Sant Miquel, in Barceloneta and cover layout - Ben Rowe
ISBN 978-1-78623-346-2 in electronic format
ISBN 978-1-78623-012-6 in printed format
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The Lions of Catalunya Page 29