The Phoenix of Montjuic

by Jeremy D. Rowe

  Since taking holy orders, Sister Maria Monserrat had returned to the school where the family had first known her, attached to the church of La Mare de Deu dels Angels. Jose, and a few months later Louis, were fortunate to be in her class when they started school, although they were fearful of the alarming Sister Frigido whenever they saw her.

  Eduard and Emma had another baby in 1960, a little girl they called Monserrat Anna, and as soon as she was old enough, she joined Maria and Marta in Clara’s little home school. When Monserrat started lessons with Clara, Maria was nearly ten years old. Clara’s older girl gave her particular pleasure in her skills with needlework, and seemed to have the same gift with sewing as her mother and grandmother. She had mastered the electric sewing machine at a surprisingly early age, and soon was making dresses for all the family. Manel remembered Anna’s skills when she was young, and how she had been important in the beginnings of the department store, but he shook his head over Maria: she was at least as gifted as her mother and grandmother, but he was unsure how such skills could be used in the store, with the modern trend towards ready-made clothes.

  Eduard knew how lucky he was to have a job he loved. So many men in the city hated their employment, and lived only for the end of the day, and the respite of Sundays. Eduard looked forward to each rehearsal and performance at the opera house, and supplemented this with occasional appearances with the band at the Windsor Palace, where he could develop his love of jazz. In the pit of the Liceu, there was constant challenge, and the regular repertoire of Verdi, Wagner and Puccini was interspersed with challenging new operas, and occasional Zarzuelas.

  The opera ‘Arabella’ was written in the 1930’s by Richard Strauss, and had been performed in Dresden and London; but it had not been particularly popular and not been repeated for twenty years. With bold planning and daring staging, the Liceu management decided to stage Arabella in 1962. Eduard was very enthusiastic about this unusual work, and reminded Ambros that it was time to take Clara to the opera. For many years they had talked about it, but it had never seemed the right moment. Finally Emma had intervened, and offered to have all the children for an evening, giving Ambros, at last, the chance to take his wife.

  Emma arrived with Louis and Monserrat, and Maria, Marta and Jose jumped up and down with excitement. Looking after all five children, with such a wide age-range was daunting, as Emma had little experience of other children except her own, and had never had much time with them all together. For once, Clara was not wearing a dress that she had made herself, as Maria, a precocious nine-year-old, had designed and made a dress for her. The entire family were astonished. Anna said, “I could do quite good sewing at her age, and Clara was better than me. I never dreamt that my grand-daughter would be even better, but the dress she’s made for Clara’s first opera trip is very stylish and clever.”

  Eduard had arranged for Emma to go to the opera a few times when they were first married, but Emma had not been too excited by it, and certainly did not share her husband’s enthusiasm. Thus it was that she was happy to remain with the children whilst Ambros and Clara had their night out.

  By chance, Eduard had managed to secure the same seats that his parents had occupied several years before, but instead of the jolly ‘Magic Flute’, Ambros and Clara would see ‘Arabella’ as their first experience of opera. “Either they will love it or hate it,” thought Eduard.

  As Clara made her way to the dress circle, she was as astonished by the glorious interior of the Liceu as her mother had been. Once seated, she whispered to Ambros, “Just fancy, this is where my brother works and spends so much time. What an extraordinary place to work in.”

  The house lights dimmed, and suddenly, without an overture, they were launched into the world of Arabella and her sister and parents. The complex love-life of the sisters unfolded before them with Strauss’s tumultuous score. Barcelona’s most famous soprano, Montserrat Caballe, was singing almost from the first note of the opera, and Clara and Ambros were immediately enthralled by her. At one stage Eduard was able to glance up at his sister, and was very pleased to see she and her husband were fully engrossed in the complicated story.

  They had arranged to meet at the end of the opera, and Eduard steered them into one of the tiny alleys at the back of the opera house, to a surprisingly jolly and respectable cafe for a late supper.

  “I thought all these lanes in the Raval were rather dangerous,” said Ambros. “I’m surprised you’ve brought us here.”

  “Sometimes the Ramblas itself is more dangerous than the Raval,” said Eduard. “Remember that nasty man Perella attacked your father on the Ramblas.”

  When they got home, Emma was relieved to see them, although the children had been no trouble. “Mainly,” she said, “because Maria is so good with the little ones. She kept everyone happy and busy. Look, they made little rag puppets and did a puppet show for me.”

  “I hope they were not too late going to bed,” said Clara.

  Emma smiled sheepishly. “I don’t think I’ll tell you what time they finally fell asleep, but for Maria it wasn’t long ago. However, it’s worked out well, and I’ll be happy to baby-sit again for you.”

  Eduard put his arm round his wife, and turned to his sister. “So you liked Richard Strauss’s music. I am very pleased as it’s not everyone’s favourite. If you liked that, there’s a lot more for you to enjoy. People who like Arabella, usually like Wagner’s music dramas, and we’re giving Walkure in a couple of months. I think you should come to it.”

  Emma nodded. “Yes, I’ll have the children again, and you go and enjoy the opera once more.”

  “Most of the audience were much older than us,” said Ambros.

  “You wait for Wagner,” said Eduard. “Most of the audience will be positively ancient, but they’ll still enjoy it – and, I think, so will you.”

  Maria had listened with interest the tales the adults told about the opera house, and she was intrigued. A few days later, she had a chance to talk to Eduard. “Uncle Eduard,” she said, “Everyone says the opera is very exciting, but I’ve never been. I’m nearly ten: do you think I could go sometime?”

  “We never see children at the opera,” said Eduard. “Most of the audience are older people. That’s mainly because it’s quite expensive.”

  Maria was disappointed. “Oh, Uncle Eduard, can’t you get me in somehow?”

  “Let me think about it,” said Eduard. “Years ago, when I first worked there, I took your grandparents to their first opera. It was called ‘The Magic Flute’, and they loved it. We’re doing it again soon. I wonder if they’d like to see it once more, and take their favourite granddaughter with them?”

  “Please, Uncle Eduard, would you ask them for me? It would be very exciting.”

  Thus it was that Anna and Manel went to the opera again. Maria found her best dress was rather short and tight, as she was growing quickly, so she set to work and made another. Once more the family marvelled at her skills with the sewing machine. Eduard sat with Maria, and told her the story of Magic Flute, telling her that she would enjoy it more if she understood what was going on.

  “You said it was very funny,” said Maria, “but it sounds rather serious.”

  “Some of it is,” said Eduard, “but I promise that you will laugh at the Bird Catcher.”

  Eduard met them on the Ramblas to give them their tickets, and said that he’d meet them at the end of the performance. Maria walked between her grand-parents, grasping them firmly by the hands. She was impressed by the foyer, and the grand staircase. The staff smiled indulgently at the thrilled little girl, who was trying hard to look older than she actually was, but it was very hard for her to control her excitement. Everything from the thick red carpets to the golden lamps was wonderful, and she squeezed Anna’s hand in anticipation.

  Finding their seats in the house, Maria could hardly sit down. “Look up there, there’s people with seats right up by the ceiling,” she gushed, “and lots down below us. It’s mag
ical. Look at the dragons holding the lights, and there’s so many of them! Is that the stage? Will those huge curtains open? Where is Uncle Eduard?”

  “Sit down and get your breath back,” said Manel. “You need to be calm and ready when the music starts.”

  Momentarily, Maria sat down. Then Eduard appeared, crouching through the small door into the orchestra pit, and glanced up at his excited niece. Maria was immediately on her feet again.

  “Don’t wave at him,” said Anna, too late. Maria was already waving at her uncle, and he smiled back, and held up his trumpet in a kind of salute.

  “Now sit still and be ready,” said Manel.

  Just as her grand-parents had been years before, Maria was entranced. She sat forward on the edge of her seat, and was motionless. As the curtains closed for the interval, she turned slowly to her grand-mother, and with mouth slightly open, she nodded speechless.

  “Do you like it?” said Anna, and Maria nodded silently again. The three remained in their seats during the interval, and Maria’s magical silence soon evaporated, and she was full of questions. Anna and Manel answered as much as they could, but when Maria wanted to know more about “that man Mozart”, they realised they did not know very much about opera themselves.

  “Tomorrow you shall go to work with your father,” said Manel, “and see if he has any books about opera in the library.”

  “And we shall tell your mother to teach you some more about Mozart, and other composers, if you are interested.”

  There was another unexpected excitement for Maria: she was mesmerised by the costumes. The Liceu’s production contained countless colourful outfits for the singers, and both men and women were dressed in long flowing robes. Papagano’s eccentric suit, which appeared to be made of green leaves, particularly pleased Maria, and she giggled loudly when she saw Papagana’s matching dress. She was entranced by the Queen of the Night’s ball gown, and as more and more of the cast returned during the second act, in ever more extravagant costumes, she was spellbound. Silently, she pulled at Anna’s sleeve, and pointed at Princess Pamina’s gorgeous gown. Anna smiled and nodded.

  As Eduard came up to them on the Ramblas at the end, Maria rushed up to him and flung her arms around him. “You liked it, then?” he said.

  Maria nodded, and then her first words were, “Where do they get all those costumes from? They’re fantastic!”

  Eduard laughed. “They make them, here in the opera house. There are workshops, and they make them here.” Maria went very silent as she thought about this unexpected reply.

  “They’re not from shops? They make them here?”

  “That’s what I said. Just like I make the music, so there are people who make the scenery, and people who make the costumes.”

  “And do all the operas have amazing costumes like that?” said Maria.

  “No, not all. Some are very plain, and many have historical costumes. If the opera is meant to be some time in history, the producer will want historical costumes.”

  “Mother has shown us picture books when we’ve been doing history lessons,” said Maria, “but I never thought of making the clothes people wore in history. Is that what they really do?”

  Anna and Manel delivered their excited granddaughter home, and Maria could not stop talking about the opera. She wanted to know more about the music – “Uncle Eduard will help with that” said Clara - and the costumes.

  “I’ll look for some picture books from the library,” said Ambros. “I think I’ve got one or two you will like.”

  Maria was exhausted, and fell into a deep sleep that night. The following morning, Clara could not interest her in her usual lessons, as she was still entranced by her visit to the Liceu, and insisted on sitting making costume drawings. She ran down to Ambros mid-morning, and came back with three picture books of historical costumes, and refused to help with the smaller children as she usually did during their reading lessons. Looking over her daughter’s shoulder, Clara saw some very detailed and accurate drawings.

  For her tenth birthday, Ambros found a book about Mozart, with several good coloured pictures of the composer. Maria started reading after breakfast, and soon came indignantly to her mother: “You were not sure if I was old enough to go to the opera when I was nine years old,” she said, “but Mozart was only six when he was writing music and performing it in public!”

  Meanwhile, she had been working on a secret project, which was a mystery to her parents. Nine-year-old Marta and eight-year-old Jose were sworn to secrecy, and whenever Clara went into the children’s bedroom there was a great deal of hurriedly hiding something, and Clara had only glimpsed a flurry of green fabric. Finally Maria had finished her mysterious scheme, and asked her parents to be ready to attend an operatic performance in their own kitchen.

  With her brother and sister giggling outside the door, Maria announced with a flourish, “Please welcome Papagano and Papagana into the kitchen opera house!” In came Jose in a costume made entirely of green scraps of material, singing “Pa-pa-pa-pa-pa!” closely followed by Marta in a matching dress of green patchwork, similarly singing “Pa-pa-pa-pa-pa!”

  The two did a little dance, and then bowed to their audience, who clapped.

  “So that’s been your secret,” said Clara. “You are a clever girl.”

  “Yes,” said Ambros. “We must show these lovely costumes to Uncle Eduard and Aunt Emma.”

  “And your grandparents,” added Clara. “They will be very pleased, and impressed.”

  When Anna was given the little performance by her grandchildren, she said, “Perhaps that’s what you can do when you grow up, Maria: make dressing-up clothes for children.”

  “Grandmother,” said Maria severely, “They are not dressing-up clothes, they are stage costumes, costumes for opera.”

  Anna looked at Eduard. “Do you think….” she began.

  Eduard nodded. “I know what you’re thinking, but she’s still too young to work at the opera house. I’ll investigate.”

  Clara decided she had to rethink the way she was teaching the girls. It was not sufficient to keep to basic mathematics, and reading and writing stories. Maria was pushing hard to know more about the world of opera, and Marta’s interests in history and music had been growing. Jose and Louis came home with stories of Sister Maria Monserrat playing the piano and teaching songs to the little boys, action songs which were not religious, and which were fun for them to sing. Clara knew only a few nursery rhymes which she had taught the girls, and she worried that they were thirsty for a repertoire she could not give them. She found different stations on the wireless, and they sat together listening to everything from the latest rock and roll, to classical music. “I’m not sure that we should be doing this and calling it school work,” she told the girls, but they thrived on listening, and started to make up little dances to some of the tunes.

  Clara asked Jose about Sister Maria Montserrat. “Yes,” said Jose, “she plays the piano, and teaches us songs. I don’t think Sister Frigido approves.”

  “Never mind Sister Frigido,” said Clara. “I have a little idea.”

  “Tell me!”

  “No,” said his mother, “as it may not work, and I don’t want to get anyone too excited.”

  With the excuse of wanting to talk about Jose, Clara arranged a meeting with Sister Maria Montserrat. “Sister,” she said, “if I buy a piano, would you come to our apartment and teach the girls some of the songs?”

  “It would be rather unusual,” said the nun, “but I don’t see a reason why not. If Father Matias asks, I could say I’m preparing the girls for their communion – and indeed I will genuinely include some instruction when I come to you.”

  “Can we keep this a secret until I have found a piano?” said Clara, and Sister Maria Monserrat smiled.

  A few days later, Maria and Marta went sent to their Aunt Emma for a morning on the pretext of amusing baby Montserrat. With a great deal of huffing and puffing, and a lot of interference from
Senor Sanchez, the piano was delivered. Ambros’s father was particularly admiring of the walnut finish and the elaborate brass candlesticks, but Clara simply said that they were a sign of how old the piano was, and she hoped it had survived the journey up the stairs.

  Clara arranged for Sister Maria Monserrat to bring Jose and Louis home from school. The boys were astonished that their teacher was coming to their house, and they arrived just as the girls were returning from Aunt Emma. Of all of them, it was Marta who rushed across the room first and tried the keys. Her mother stopped her, and said that Sister Maria Monserrat would be playing it, not her.

  Sister Maria Monserrat sat at the piano, and started to play some simple songs. Jose and Louis, of course, knew the words and were soon singing with great enthusiasm. The girls joined them, picking up the words as best they could. After two or three songs, the nun turned round from the piano and grinned at Clara,

  “Senora Sanchez,” she said, “this is lovely. I think we should do this every week.”

  Meanwhile, Maria had been industriously working her way through the historical picture books her father had found for her, and was created a collection of careful drawings of historic costumes. She worked on a drawing first in pencil, and then went around the main lines with a pen and black ink, finishing some of the pictures with coloured crayons. With her grandfather’s assistance, she pinned some of her favourite coloured sketches to the bedroom wall.

  Although the girls had always happy to have lessons with their mother, she had never seen them as excited as they were with all the new information and experiences they were getting, mainly from the music, but also from drawing and the occasional illustrated history book which Ambros brought to them. One evening, just as the girls were going to bed, Ambros looked at the sketches on their bedroom wall.

  “We must buy some paints for our children,” he said. “I never did anything like this at school, but it seems to me that it’s good to do so much more than the basic stuff.” Clara decided that she would stay with “basic stuff” in the mornings, but in the afternoons their time would be devoted to art and listening to music.