Saint Mouse and the Lions
A Byzantine legend, unraveled
Who doesn’t love a good tale of Christian martyrdom?
We live half a block from what is purportedly the oldest building in Sitges, from 1668—a private residence now, but which I am all but certain was once a chapel in the local tradition of shrines to Sant Mus or Muç (“Saint Mouse” in Catalan, possibly) which were popular in Catalunya at that time.
For historical reference, in 1668, the last King Charles (II) had been restored to the English throne; Louis XIV (the “Sun King”) was hard at work transforming a hunting lodge into a posh pad at Versailles; and the United States would not be an independent country for another century.
Interestingly, there was another Chuck on the throne of Hapsburg Spain at the same time: Carlos II the “Bewitched,” that famously homely result of “keeping it in the family.” (I shudder to think of the man for whom this was probably the artist’s most flattering depiction. Bless.)
In any event, Saint Mus (or Muç or Mouse or whatever) was a Macedonian from Amphipolis (present day Greece) who was arrested during the reign of the Roman Emperor Diocletian for destroying an altar to Bacchus (hey now, Mouse, calm down there.) He was tortured with fire and thrown to the lions, but miraculously escaped to Byzantium (now Istanbul) only to be beheaded in 304 AD.
Seems like in the 6th century, as Christianity was really gaining steam, the cult of Saint Mus spread into Catalunya, where small chapels in his honor became popular, and festivals somehow involving pilgrimages and xató (a sauce of almonds, hazelnuts and nyora peppers) had been celebrated until very recently and perhaps still—these mystery cults lose something of their specificity in translation, time, and space.
Our little decommissioned chapel of Saint Mus is located between Carrer de Sant Muç and Passatge Sant Mus (no explanation for the discrepancy) on Carrer de Mossèn Joan Llopis Pi, which definitely a mouthful.
(P.S. As a sidenote, there are an inordinate number of streets in Sitges named for historical Catalan figures, for example, Carrer de Josep Bonaventura Falc, Carrer Salvador Soler Forment, and Carrer de Felip Font i Falp, to name but a few picked at random. Who wants to write all that?)
(P.P.S. In a further curious addressing decision, our apartment number is noted as Escalera 6, Piso 4, Puerta 2—all spelled out or in various combinations of abbreviation, but never simply #642, which would be far too succinct for local sensibilities—why use 3 syllables when you can use 30?)
(P.P.P.S. Charmingly, Carrer—“Street” in Catalan—is usually but not always used for street signs, with Calle—“Street” in Castilian Spanish—sometimes used by itself, or as a second sign posted below the Catalan.)
Saintly Shenanigans
I wonder about the resonances between Sant Mus and Santa Tecla, the patron saint of our town and for whom we still celebrate with fireworks and festivities in late September.
Santa Tecla de Iconio (Turkey) was one of the earliest (1st c.) and most widely revered of the virgin martyrs, a follower of the Apostle Paul, whose legend has her saved from burning at the stake by an earthquake and rainstorm, and from the lions when they refused to eat her, lying down at her feet. Seems all very curiously similar to Saint Mus, this surviving of fires and lions, especially when one considers Tecla’s reputation for dressing as a man to spread the gospel. Unlike Mouse, she died of natural causes, which makes me question her martyrdom, if not her luck.
Besides its sandwiching between the two Mus/Muç streets and it’s chapel-like shape, the last clue to the building’s origin is the somewhat robust tiled shrine in the wall, which, though not shown in the picture, currently presides over a row of street dumpsters. (These seem like a good idea when you first encounter them—free waste pick-up for everyone—until you realize how quickly they fill up, or how often people can’t be bothered to actually place their garbage in the bin and just chuck it in their general direction, resulting in a stinking mess.)
There is a very eroded plaque of cherubs holding a heraldic medallion also set in the wall around an area I like to think was an old monastic garden full of fragrant roses and herbs, both healing and poisonous.
And there you have it. I would pay good money to investigate the insides.
Sant Mus is conspicuously absent from the festival schedule nowadays, but if this was late June (San Joan) or late August (Fiesta Major) or late September (Santa Tecla,) we would be celebrating all our saints by shooting off some fireworks, which any Catalan will tell you were invented right here, the birthplace of Christopher Columbus and Leonardo da Vinci.
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It must be so cool to live in a place with historical roots that go so deep. Thanks for sharing the story. I love how your wry wit is always there, working under the surface of anything you write.
I've been to Catalonia many times but never visited Sitges... will have to remedy that. The thought that popped into my head reading this was: "of course, the mouse that roared!" - It was irresistible. Love your posts, Troy!