“Hey senor, is it true there’s going to be a park, with fountains and statues?”
“Yes boys, one day there will be; and watch - you see where that old flagpole is, just being taken down? That’s where the lake will be.”
“To swim in?”
“No,” replied the man, “I shouldn’t think so. But I think there will be boats. And you see those bricks and stones all neatly stacked?”
“Yes.”
“They’re going to be used to build our great Universal Exposition.”
“Our great what?”
“Universal Exposition! This will really put Catalunya on the map. It’s what will be here first, before they make the park.”
The boys looked at one another uncomprehendingly, wondering if they could remember the strange phrase ‘universal exposition’ when they got home, and how it was going to be there before the park. It seemed very mysterious. Jordi would know what it meant, he knew everything even though he couldn’t see, and they would ask him about it. The man was still talking to them.
“Yes, all this will certainly put us on the map! And where we’re standing now, this side, near the railway, will one day be a zoo. In fact I think you two are in the monkey house!”
“No! Now you are joking with us, aren’t you sir?”
“Go home and ask you father. Tell him you met Senor Roca, and he’ll tell you I don’t joke. As sure as there are four blood-red stripes on our flag, I tell you there will be a zoo. Watch out, there’s one of the bears behind you now!”
The boys jumped around, and laughed some more. “Very well Senor Roca, we will tell our fathers.”
“No,” continued Roca, “better than that, bring your father here, and describe it all to him. Tell him about the steam shovel, tell him how the earth is being flattened. He’ll like that. He’ll love to stand here and hear all these sounds: sounds that represent the demolition of this hated fortress.”
Enric looked curiously as Senor Roca. “You know who we are, don’t you Senor? You know my father.”
Senor Roca laughed, “I’ve known your father since before you were born young man. Now I’m serious, go and get him. He’ll not want to miss this.”
By the time the family got back to the little vantage point where the boys had met Senor Roca, a crowd was gathering, and cheering each time a particularly large piece of masonry fell.
“Jordi!” called Senor Roca, “Over here! You mustn’t miss this!”
With his wife to guide him, Jordi was soon by Roca and shaking his father’s old friend by the hand. “A great moment, Senor Roca, a great moment!” And the old man and the young lion continued to clasp their hands together as the sounds of demolition filled their ears.
Later that evening, Enric asked his father about the “Universe thing, that Senor Roca spoke about.” Smiling, Jordi explained to his son, “Catalunya is a new country, just a little older than you, my son; but we are lucky enough to be a rich and successful industrial nation. Or, to be accurate, we live in a rich and industrial city in the middle of a rural and rather backward land! The city fathers want to show off their wealth, and put Catalunya on the world map, and to do so, are holding a great exhibition, inviting other nations to bring exhibits of their achievements, but more importantly to show what we have achieved in our country. There will be many exhibits about the factories and the goods they produce. There was an exhibition like this is London some years ago, and we will have one just as good.”
“It sounds a bit dull, father,” replied Enric.
“I expect it will be dull to you, looking at looms and machine tools; and it will be very dull for me also, listening to the machinery with no idea what it’s doing. But we must remember we are flying the flag, the senyera, for all the world to see, and that’s what’s important. Perhaps there will be a machine which plays the guitar!”
Despite the boys’ insistence that they would be bored, and Jordi’s scepticism, the two families, with Oscar Valdes with them, made an expedition to the Universal Exposition. The boys were very excited by the unexpected route they took, along the beach and over a long bridge which spanned the new railway and landed them in the middle of the exposition. Coming from the slums of Barceloneta, they were very impressed by the sheer scale and size of everything. Centrepiece of the exposition was a giant horseshoe of warehouses, following the curving line of the railway track. Large formal gardens lead them to a range of exotic pavilions set amongst palm trees. They rode the new trams, and watched huge looms producing enormously long lengths of cloth. One machine was turning out the longest senyera in the world! Even Jordi was impressed, and the boys remained engrossed all day. There wasn’t a machine that played the guitar, but there were several that played organs and pianos, which greatly excited the boys.
After the excitement of the demolition of La Cuitadella and the visit to the Universal Exposition, life returned to its daily routine. Oscar was an excellent manager of the chiringuita business, and very happy to let Jordi pursue his career as a singer and guitarist, and Juan run the language school on the beach. Enric grew into a handsome young man, proud of his blond Blanxart curls, and Eduard his cousin remained his best friend.
After the excitement of Wagner, the brothers were eager for the next sensation to come to the Liceu, and were eager to be at the opening night of Rossini’s William Tell. Although Wagner’s star was still in the ascent, there was still a great deal of loyalty to the Italians, and a Rossini opening was an event which brought out all the wealthy of Barcelona in their finery and jewels.
The opera season opened late in 1893, and it was the first week of November before the new opera was to be played. The glittering audience took their places, and Jordi and Juan, with their wives were up in the hen-roost nervous with anticipation.
Anna and Violeta had asked their husbands to explain the story of the opera to them. “It’s very complicated,” said Juan, “but the most important thing for you to know is that William Tell is a revolutionary, fighting to rid Switzerland of Austrian occupation.”
“It seems like an echo of our old Catalonian struggles against Castile,” said Jordi. “We know from our own history what that’s like. I expect the Swiss hated the Austrians, just like we hated the Spanish.”
“I think we’re in for a memorable evening,” said Anna, not having any idea that her words would be prophetic in a way no-one could possibly imagine.
Jordi could tell the atmosphere was one of great excitement, and Juan told him that he could see everyone from Barcelona high society, many ladies in new dresses, glittering in their jewels. There was a hush as the orchestra attacked the unfamiliar music, and as the overture grew to its breathless climax, Jordi whispered, “That’s a tune I can transcribe for the guitar!” and all around them went “Shush!”
After the first interval, during which everyone seemed to agree that they were at the first night of a very exciting opera, the audience settled down for the next act. A sudden commotion close to the brothers and their wives up in the hen-roost, turned everyone’s attention away from the stage. A wild-looking man in the front row had stood up, screamed incoherently, and flung some kind of package over the balcony rail. Immediately there was a terrific roaring explosion, and the opera house filled with smoke. Anna and Violeta clung to their husbands, and hid their eyes. Juan looked around desperately, to see how he could lead his brother and the two women to safety. The safety curtain came crashing down and suddenly the glamorous audience was reduced to panic and confusion. No-one had any idea what had happened, and amid the chaos, the crowd was faced with the horror of finding a way out through choking smoke and blinding dust.
Juan shouted to Jordi that the place was on fire and no-one could see where to go. Jordi was used to negotiating the place without sight, and despite the confusion, realised he would find it easier than the others to find the way to the stairs and the fresh air. He yelled to his brother, and their wives, and others near-by to cling to one another, and he would lead them to th
e stairs. The throng of shocked and confused people leaving the top gallery made progress very slow, but finally they made the staircase and groped slowly down. Coughing and spluttering, they found their way out into the side lane, and then onto Las Ramblas.
Las Ramblas had become a vision of hell. Rich patrons were stumbling out of the foyer, faces blackened with smoke and dust, debris in their hair, clothing torn, and bleeding from multiple cuts. Shocked husbands were desperately trying to find wives separated in the melee, and many, both men and women, were crying in their distress. Some of the injured simply collapsed onto the pavement. Anna and Violeta, being younger than most of the patrons, recovered quicker and once in the fresh air, began to see what was needed. Despite their own feelings of shock, they attempted to help some of the injured. After his calmness leading the family to safety through the smoke and dust, Jordi collapsed to the ground with a fit of shaking, and his brother could do nothing but cling to him and reassure him he was safe.
“A bomb, it must have been a bomb,” was the word which spread through the crowd, as more and more of the distressed audience emerged from the building. Passers-by on Las Ramblas helped to comfort the victims, most of whom were trembling and incoherent with shock.
After a while, a number of improvised stretchers were brought from the auditorium, some of them with people alive but badly injured, some of them with a sheet or item of clothing covering the face of the dead. Even for a city used to terrorism and violence, the atrocity was shocking.
With a single bomb, a mad anarchist, later identified as Santiago Salvador, had murdered twenty members of Barcelona’s richest families. When the opera house reopened two months later, the seats those twenty victims had occupied were left unsold.
Having done all they could, and ascertained they were themselves unharmed except for the shock, Juan helped Jordi to his feet, and urged them to hurry home. “Enric and Eduard will have heard the news, it will have travelled faster than we can, and they will have no idea we are safe,” said Juan. “Clearly we will not able to get a carriage, so we must walk.” Looking at his wife, he went on, “Are you sure you are unharmed? There is blood upon your skirt!”
“I’m alright,” said Violeta. “It’s not my blood, but someone else’s. My sister’s dress is also ruined, and we have both ripped our petticoats to shreds making bandages to staunch wounds. Oh, the poor people!”
Strangers turned and stared at the group as they made their back through the warehouses and sheds of the quayside. Hearing what had happened, many wanted to stop them and ask for details, but they headed on, worried about the children. As they turned into the Placa of Sant Miquel, Enric and Eduard and all the children came running, and great was the tearful reunion. Oscar, bringing up the rear, embraced his sisters and their husbands. “My God, we feared the worst,” exclaimed Oscar. “From what we heard, it seemed the whole audience had been killed.”
Later than night, when all had stopped shaking, and the children reassured that all was well, Jordi took Juan to one side.
“We must talk,” he said, “seriously.”
Juan led his brother to a quiet part of the beach, and found them a bench to sit on.
“We could have died this afternoon,” said Jordi. “Both of us together. And if we had, the secret of the sword would have died with us. Our wives know the sword exists, but have no idea where it is. I believe the time has come to reveal the secret chamber to our wives and to Enric. Perhaps even to bestow the title of Lion of Catalunya upon him.”
“And Eduard?” asked Juan.
“Yes, and Eduard. He should know the secret also. He and Enric are as close as brothers, almost as close as we are dear brother, and he deserves the knowledge of the sword, and to be brought into our confidence. I feel that the dangers of the secret are not so acute as they were when Antoni Blanxart created the chamber beneath the floor, and in this age of sudden death, we cannot afford to lose everything our forefathers believed in. I would hardly be an honourable Lion if I allowed the tradition to vanish without trace.”
“What about Oscar?” enquired Juan. “It seems odd to miss him out. Since the collapse of the Valdes business, and the deaths of his parents, he has become like a brother to us, and indeed the business is flourishing because he manages it so well.”
“If we had had this conversation yesterday,” said Jordi, “I would not have considered breaking the tradition; father to first-born son, and no-one else to know the secret.”
“Or in our case,” said Juan smiling, “father to first-born son and his brother!”
“Precisely! But after the events of today,” continued Jordi, “I am shocked to know how close we came to us both dying together, and with us the secret of the sword, and the knowledge of the Lion succession. So yes, we’ll bring Oscar into the secret as well. It will be quite a gathering, and a considerable surprise. The sword has never been revealed to so many at once.”
“And you mean to pass the title to Enric? He is still young.”
“But he knows the songs, even if he cannot sing them as well as I can, and has read great-grandfather’s book so many times he knows the stories by heart. Others who have read the book do not know who the Lion of Catalunya is, but Enric is shrewd, and will have his suspicions. He may even have wondered if he is being groomed for the honour.”
“How soon will you tell him, and reveal the sword?” asked Juan.
“Why wait? We could have died today, we may die tomorrow. Imagine a bomb like that thrown into the school on the beach. We are as much a target as the opera house for a fanatic. We will sleep one night only, and then reveal the secret. Can you gather all together in the lower room during the afternoon?”
“Will you not open the chamber in the morning, and have the sword on the table upstairs, as father did?”
“No,” replied Jordi. “I will explain that we are about to reveal the sword, then everyone can gather around the chamber and watch it being opened. All present shall learn the secret together. Once the sword is in my hand, I will hand it to Enric and pass the title to him.” Jordi paused, thinking about the coming ceremony, and changed his mind. “Juan,” he said, “I’m wrong. You must act out the ceremony with me. Once the sword is in our hands, we will pass it to Enric. You have been the eyes of the Lion, and thus you must be a part of the ceremony of handing the sword and title to the next generation.”
“I wondered if we should have taken the sword to the great Universal Exhibition. After all, that was supposed to be putting Catalunya on the world map.” said Juan.
“And I wondered if we should have taken it to the demolition of La Cuitdella,” rejoined Jordi, “but it was right that we did not. Today’s bomb at the opera shows how fragile our freedom is, and how easily we could lose it. The sword remains hidden until we are sure and strong. It will be part of Enric’s responsibility to decide if the sword should be revealed, but I will caution him to be very hesitant, and think long and hard, as we have had to do.”
The following afternoon saw the family assembled in the Sant Miquel house. Once more the little ceremony of revealing the secret chamber was enacted; once more reactions varied from complete astonishment to unbounded joy, and Eduard was the first to regain his composure and make a sensible comment. “Oh Uncle Jordi and Uncle Juan, what excitement, what an amazing thing!” Turning to Enric, he continued, “Congratulations, my brother, for as you know, I think of you, cousin, as my brother. We have both read our ancestor’s history book, and know it by heart. I had long wondered who is the Lion, and now, as Uncle Jordi hands the sword to you, I discover that the Lion was right here in our family. I was suspicious, seeing that Uncle Jordi has such unusual curly hair, and so have you, Enric! How wonderful!”
“I believe that I feel today, as all my ancestors have felt,” stated Enric, “ overjoyed, and humbled, delighted and frightened. From our ancestor’s book, we know of many years of oppression and struggle, and today we have our fragile republic. Our senyeras fly boldly in our streets, and
we hear Catalan spoken at every turn. This sword represents the courage of countless Blanxarts gone by: of the brave Perez, tortured and executed by Castile; of the fortitude of Rafael, concealing the sword from the Mossos; of the legendary strength of sculptor Antoni, who we see daily masquerading as Sant Miquel in his great sculpture; the wisdom of Francesc, writing our history, so that we know of these great ancestors; and now the brilliance of my father, who has sung the songs of our nation and told the stories, so all far and wide know the name Blanxart, and the legends of our land. And then dear Uncle Juan, we all know you as the eyes of my father, and we salute you too, for now we know you as the eyes of the Lion.”
“Others before me fought to gain our nation state; my task is to hold onto it, and strengthen it against all the forces of evil which would see it destroyed. As we return this noble sword to this extraordinary secret chamber, I swear to up-hold and defend our nation; to stand and be counted in the line of Lions who have gone before me, and tell the world, ‘We are Catalunya!’”
There was a silence, then Jordi said simply, “Well spoke, my son. Amen to all.”
Oscar, who had stood with growing astonishment and amazement throughout the simple ceremony, then said, “To think we have been walking over this secret chamber all these years. I must thank you, Jordi, for the honour of including me in this special moment. I have a bottle of my father’s best vintage, hidden in my room, almost the last of the Valdes wines. I have wondered why I was keeping it, as there seemed to be no reason. Now I know what it is for! Pray organise glasses whilst I run and fetch it.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The atrocity of the opera house bomb made the city vigilant, but determined that life should continue. The chiringuitas remained as busy as ever, continuing the simple fare of well-cooked Catalan dishes, mainly sea-food based, with paella as the basis of much of the menu; and with long draughts of locally-brewed beer to wash it down. It was a characteristic of the beach kitchens that all the customers mixed together, humble workmen would sit at the long benches rubbing shoulders with doctors and lawyers; even the Mossos, formerly so distrusted and hated, could come for supper and take part in the joking and ribaldry. No-one was turned away despite some fierce and angry political arguments, there were few fights, and the characteristic of the steamy atmosphere was more one of laughter than dissent.
The Lions of Catalunya Page 27
