The Lions of Catalunya Read online

  “I do not know how your mother will feel about such a journey,” smiled Miquel, “but you may ask your Anna to talk to her father. I will be interested to know if he is able to offer a suitable dowry for such an eligible young man!”

  Anna’s father was indeed a wealthy landowner with a surprisingly magnificent house. His fortified farmhouse dominated the Sant Cugat valley. Rising like a small castle on its own hill, it commanded excellent views over the surrounding countryside. Like a number of other landed gentry, for some generations his family had been gradually buying small plots of land from lesser peasant farmers, and accumulating a significant land holding. He also came from a tradition of very large Catholic families, and Anna had six brothers, all older than herself, and three sisters. Her father was thus anxious to get his daughters well married and away, and offered modest dowries for all four girls.

  The Blanxart family were intrigued to receive a invitation to join Anna’s family on their annual autumn mushroom forage. Miquel was unimpressed by the prospect, but Elena assured him that this was a country tradition, and it was an honour to be asked to participate in a party arranged by a member of the country gentry.

  Thus it was that Miquel and Elena, accompanied by a very excited Perot, made the unfamiliar journey inland, Miquel and Perot on their horses, and Elena on a small pony. Their loyal servant was left behind to guard the shop which would be closed whilst they were gone. The road passed west out of Barcelona, and through the village of Gracia, before heading high up into the hills. For a family whose life was concerned with trade and the sea, it was unusual to be so far inland.

  “Jordi must have travelled all these roads,” reflected Elena. “This is strange and unfamiliar to us, but it was the background to his everyday life. He would have enjoyed this jaunt over the hills.”

  “A familiar road to you also,” said Miquel to his son. “How strange that both my brother and my son know this countryside better than I; and it is all part of Catalunya.”

  “More than that,” replied Perot, “This is where our wealth comes from. Look how you can see the terraces of vineyards on these higher slopes. See over there the hamlet of Horta. Those are the nearest vineyards to Barcelona; and they stretch for many miles north and west from here, around and beyond the mountains.”

  As they rose higher, Elena especially was amazed by the panorama. “Let us stop for refreshment,” she suggested, “at a place where we can admire this splendid view. What a sight our city is!”

  Perot showed where to tether the horses under some trees. He knew this route well, and had often stopped to enjoy the sight of the city below. He delighted in pointing out the landmarks to his parents. “There is Montjuic, and down below the beaches near our warehouse. There, standing tall in the smoky air, is the Cathedral of Santa Eulalia, and to the left of that, you see our own Santa Maria del Mar. Look further left again, and can you see the mass of houses and shops, all with their smoking chimneys? That’s our own La Ribera.”

  “I had no idea Barcelona was so big!” exclaimed Elena. “And look how the sand of the beach stretches out into the sea. Those must be the sand dunes of Barceloneta, where I used to play as a child. I have often looked up to these mountains from the beach,” she continued, “but have never looked down from the mountain to the sea. Do these mountains have a name, Perot?”

  “Yes, mother, we are climbing the track over the Serra de Collersola. And see above there is a chapel at the top. That is the chapel of Tibi Dabo, the mountain top visited by Jesus, and given to us by Him.”

  “You are knowledgeable young man,” said his smiling father, “Does this track take us right to the chapel?”

  “No father, there is a goat path to the chapel, but we skirt round. See how there is a kind of saddle between the two high peaks? That’s how we get through to the valleys beyond. Once over this saddle, we are very close. And we must ride on,” said Perot. “We are expected before nightfall, and indeed this journey is hazardous in the dark.”

  As they drew close to the castle, Perot could tell that they were being watched from the castle, and that Anna’s family had been alerted to the arrival of the Blanxarts.

  Dusk was falling as the little party rode up the final hill into the farmyard at Sant Cugat. In the slight mist of early evening, the fortified building was impressive on top of its own hill rising above the valley. The main house, within the mediaeval tower of the castle, was surrounded by many outbuildings. Illuminated by flares held by the younger brothers, the family were ready in their best clothes to greet the Blanxarts. Miquel was particularly delighted to see the Catalan flag hanging from the top of the castle. The four blood stripes reassured him that this family would match his own in their loyalty to the Catalan state.

  Having led the party into the farmyard, Perot hung back as his parents greeted Anna’s parents; and Anna herself was nowhere to be seen. Once the formalities were completed, Anna’s father sent one of his sons to fetch Anna, and she was presented to Miquel and Elena. Perot was brought forward, but of course he already knew Anna’s family well from their business dealings, and he greeted both Anna, her parents and all her brothers and sisters warmly. Elena presented Anna’s mother with a package of white sugar, which was in the form of a small solid cone. Anna’s mother and her sisters were exceedingly delighted by this gift, and it was clear that the women were immediately warm with one another.

  Anna’s mother led the party into the hall of the farmhouse. The large room was lit by tallow candles, and roaring log fires, one at each side of the hall, filled the space with heat. A generous meal was set out on the long trestle table and several servants stood ready to serve the guests. Elena and Miquel tried to look as if they were used to dining in such splendour, but cast surreptitious glances at the wall hangings, and the furniture. Supper was a jolly affair, brought to a close only by tiredness from the journey from La Ribera. Elena was surprised by the size of the farmhouse and was shown to a guest bedchamber, the like of which she had never seen before. Perot was to sleep with the brothers in the main hall of the house, and the two fathers sat outside, a good bottle of wine between them, and under the stars, they discussed the future of their offspring.

  Anna’s father was aware that Miquel had lost many sons to the plague, and started the conversation in a very careful manner.

  “Perot tells me he is your youngest and only surviving son.” began the older man. “My heart goes out to you losing your sons in the way you did. May they be in heaven with Our Lady; and may the Virgin continue to comfort you in your loss.”

  Miquel thanked the old man, who continued, “I have six surviving sons, and I thank the Lord daily that they avoided the plague. In my case, it was my youngest son that was carried off, God rest his soul, and the others have all grown up strong and good. Alas with such a large family, I can offer only a modest dowry for Anna, but she has a goodly chest of linens and will bring further gifts to you.”

  Miquel smiled. “I am successful in my own way as a trader and businessman, and I do not look for a grand dowry. I believe my son is truly in love with your daughter, and I am sure they will make a good match. Although our wealth comes to us from very different means, we understand one another well, and the link between our families will be satisfactory. Your daughter will find life different in our small family after living with so many siblings, but I believe she will not find La Ribera dull. Life beside the sea, with all excitement of trade and commerce will be quite a contrast to this rural idyll. I trust your daughter will be as prolific as your wife and provide me with many heirs.”

  “I believe she will. And when we break our fast in the morning, we will announce the marriage.”

  The annual mushroom hunt turned into a kind of alfresco party, with all the young people running and jumping wildly through the undergrowth, watched by proud and delighted parents. For two days, the families were engaged in preparations for the wedding as well as much merry-making.

  Perot and Anna were married in the chur
ch at Sant Cugat, and Anna returned riding her own pony, with her husband and his parents, the following day. They stopped at the same mirador in the mountains, and Perot excitedly showed his bride the city spread below them.

  “I had no idea Barcelona was so huge,” said the girl. “And the sea so blue.”

  “This is the dark blue of an autumn sea,” said Perot, “You wait for the summer sun; then you will see the sea sparkle like sapphires; then you will know why we love it.”

  Perez Blanxart was born in 1680, followed rapidly by nine more children, most of whom survived childhood. Perez, the first born, however, was the one who inherited the Blanxart trademark: curly blond hair. Miquel had done a splendid job filling Perot with all the stories and songs of the Catalan tradition, and Perot in turn wasted no time in giving little Perez and his brothers and sisters an understanding and knowledge of their precious culture. Anna knew many of the stories told by her husband, and was able to add a few from her family that were new to Perot. At home, as always with the Blanxart family, the only language spoken was Catalan, and the children learned many of the old folk songs when they were still very young.

  Anna may have thought the merchant’s house quiet when she first arrived as a new bride, with only her husband and his parents, but the arrival of Perez and his siblings soon put an end to that. Passing the shop, neighbours would hear the singing as the children raised their voices in the songs their father and grandfather taught them. Anna, coming from another strong Catalan family, knew other songs to add to the repertoire.

  Ringing out from the shop, passers-by would hear the great songs of the mountains, the songs praising the bandits, and of course, many sailors’ songs. Miquel was in great demand as a story-teller for the children, and they had two favourites: the ancient story of the senyera, and the much more recent story of the Corpus de Sang. Miquel now an old man himself, would tell how he heard the senyera story from his father Joan, and how he used to tell it in the old baker’s shop; and he would match it with a remarkably detailed account of the exciting time the bandits went to Madrid to assassinate the House of Austria. Just as he omitted his own role in that particular adventure when he told it to Perot, so he similarly omitted it when telling his grandchildren.

  For a land pummelled and bruised by war, it was astonishing that trade flourished and grew. Perot had taken over the bulk of the work at the Barcelona end, and Javier and Jose were now in command of a major import and export business in London. Perot continued to diversify, but the export of fine Rioja and good local brandy remained the mainstay of the trade. The Barcelona warehouse was a hive of activity, with a growing workforce employed; the employees were very varied – some local men and some from the countryside, but they had one thing in common: Perot would only employ loyal Catalans, and he expected that all daily communication would be in Catalan, despite the official ban on the language. The lusty singing of his children added only to emphasise the political dimension of the business, and that it continued to do so well in the face of Castilian opposition, was little short of a miracle.

  Letters were exchanged every time the Swan or the Woodbird docked and Miquel and the family followed with interest the fortunes of Javier, now a successful business man in London, with Jose managing the Blanxart warehouse. Both brothers had made successful marriages, and were clearly well established in England. The family were aware of countless cousins they had never met, and they were resigned to the fact that the “English” side of the family would grow away from them.

  It was thus with some astonishment that Miquel received a message to hurry to the shore where he found a distinguished elderly man and his wife had disembarked from the Woodbird. It was one day in 1690. Miquel welcomed the strangers onto the beach. The two men looked at one another for a while and in slightly hesitant Catalan, the man said, “You must be Miquel. My, how your golden curls have gone grey!”

  And Miquel, also hesitant, said, “Are you Javier, my brother?”

  “Indeed I am,” replied the stranger, “but I am having much trouble remembering my Catalan. I sailed away from Barcelona in 1642 as a young man; I return more than forty years later, with my wife, to make a pilgrimage to my birthplace before I am too old.”

  Miquel embraced Javier, and was introduced to his wife, who spoke only in English. At the shop, there were many introductions, and once the curiosity of the younger children was satisfied, they were sent to play. Perot, however, kept Perez, his first-born, who was now ten years old, to remain with the adults.

  “So who is the Young Lion now?” asked Javier.

  “I am,” replied Perez boldly, running his hands through his golden curls. “Father is the Old Lion and grandfather is…..” and he faltered, unable to finish the sentence.

  “The ancient one,” laughed Miquel. “It seems we Blanxarts live long if we are not murdered in our beds.”

  “I have been in awe of how long you have survived, Miquel. You have been a wanted man for over forty years. But Madrid has never identified you; the Virgin must be watching over you, of that I am certain.”

  Perez looked at his father with a puzzled frown, but Perot mimed for him not to speak. His Uncle Javier continued: “At home, we follow the fortunes of Catalunya. Your letters, and reports we read in the Times of London, give us much information. There is little love lost between the English crown and the kings of Castile or France. Should you need them, I believe the English would support Catalunya in a battle against either France or Castile, or even both.”

  “How ironic it is,” said Miquel. “We live with our King Charles the Second in Madrid, and your English government has returned to the monarchy by putting your King Charles the Second on your English throne.”

  “A strange time to have lived through,” said Javier. “Much of what Cromwell stood for was reflected in many of the ideals of Catalunya, but in the end he was a despot, and become much despised and disliked. There was great rejoicing when Charles came to the throne; of course many of those singing loudly, had been equally delighted when his father was executed.”

  “Philip died in his bed,” replied Miquel. “I often wondered if he knew how near he came to his end on that night in 1640. He had twenty-five more years that he didn’t deserve.” Miquel paused and looked around the room, and put an arm around Perez’s shoulders, smiling as he did so. “Perhaps your visit is a good time to enact a little ceremony here in the Blanxart family. I have been thinking about this for some time – and now seems the right moment. Let us go down into the cellar.”

  Puzzled by this instruction, they all clambered down the steep ladder into the cool of the cellar. Hastily lighting candles, Elena looked around her family in the flickering lights. She was the only one anticipating what was about to happen. Reaching behind the barrels, Miquel pulled the dusty bundle into the candle light. Perot, at last realising what was to happen, put his arm around Anna, and Perez looked from one to another in bewilderment. Javier gasped, “Is that the sword?”

  “Indeed it is.” replied Miquel, “And now, in front of my brother, returned from London, the time has come to hand the sword to Perot. I am too old now; the responsibility lifts from my shoulders, and falls to you Perot. This is the sword that killed my father, your grandfather, and it was used on the night of Corpus de Sang to despatch many of the princes and princesses of Austria. It was I who carried it to Madrid, and I who joined with my loyal friends, the so-called bandits, in our attempt to rid Spain of the royal family.” It was now the turn of young Perez to be astonished as Miquel continued, “It is to be used to defend Catalunya, and when the call comes, Perot, you will obey it.” Turning to Perez, he went on, “So you see, Young Lion, one day your father will hand this sword to you. Meantime, learn all you can about our traditions, and the noble history of our land.”

  Perot took the sword solemnly and held it before him. “I swear to defend our land until the last breath in my body. And I swear that my first-born son Perez will inherit both the sword and the responsibility
from me, just as I have inherited it from my father, and his father before him.”

  Turning to Perez, Perot told his son, in very serious tones, how important it was that he keep the secret of the sword, not even telling his brothers and sisters. Javier patiently translated to his wife the significance of the little ceremony, whilst Anna and Elena emptied their larder to prepare a meal welcoming Javier and his wife to their home.

  The sword was returned to its hiding place, and the family went upstairs to the parlour. Anna gathered the rest of her children, and they sang many of their much-loved Catalan folk songs to Javier and his wife. Javier whispered a commentary to his wife, “This song is telling us about the noble mountains of our country.” And later, “Now they sing about the romance of the bandits who defend our land.” Finally, chuckling, he said, “I think this is about us, my dear, as they are singing about sailors who return to defend our shores!”

  Her eyes sparkling, Javier’s wife asked him to tell the company how honoured she was to have been part of the day’s events.

  The priority for all of the family was a visit to Santa Maria del Mar. Javier’s wife, brought up amidst the over-decorated gothic cathedrals of England, was at first surprised by the severity of the building, but as the family knelt in prayer, she was consumed by the peace and tranquillity of the vast space.

  She particularly admired the tall octagonal columns rising far overhead, with the giant keystones holding the arches secure. Instead of kneeling, she sat back and gazed in awe at the lofty roof high above. She was amazed that such a simple but enormous building could contain such an atmosphere of peace, and she was sorry when the rest of the family rose to leave.

  Standing and looking around, she whispered to her husband that she would like to visit each of the side chapels in turn, and slowly the family made a pilgrimage from saint to saint. They paused for a long time at Sant Antoni’s statue, and once outside Javier translated to his wife the whole sad story of the deaths of his brother and the little boys. They walked back to the winery very slowly.