A comic's grave story

What better place for a story about death than a graveyard?

No one knows that better than Rafael Solaz. He’s a specialist in the history of Valencia, where he (and we) live. And he guides groups around the General Cemetery in the city. 

Solaz likes to tell one story in particular. A story he likes so much, in fact, that he’s written it up as a short book. It’s the story of Vault 1501.

It’s a Spanish tradition, as in many Mediterranean countries, to bury people in specifically built wall recesses, which I believe are generally called vaults, into which a coffin can be placed. The vault is closed by a stone which, like a gravestone, can contain a few words about the loved one.

Vault 1501 in Valencia General Cemetery is occupied by Emilia Vidal Esteve. Hers is a sad tale, of a death in 1876 at the age of nineteen, from typhoid, in the full bloom of first – and in her case only – love.

The stone that closes the vault is so eroded now that it’s hard to read what it says. But one can see the words “Memorial by V. García Valero”, in effect the signature of the man who arranged the burial.

Like Emilia, Vicente García Valero was a native of Valencia. His ambition was to be an actor and, even though at first he worked for the tax authorities to put bread on his table and a roof over his head, he devoted all the time he could to acting, as an amateur, before making it as a professional.

Caricature of Vicente García Valero
at the height of his fame

He eventually made a national name for himself. That meant leaving Valencia to settle in Madrid. As in other countries, you could only go so far as an actor in the provinces of Spain, and real success was only possible in the capital.

That all happened towards the end of the nineteenth century. As well as winning fame as a comic actor, he also wrote his own comedies and several books, including memoirs. He played many major roles, but at times settled, with equanimity, for minor ones, such as that of a deaf man who spoke just four words in the entire play. He wrote of himself, “he plays leading roles and sometimes just the appetiser.” 

The irony is that, for a man of the comic stage, death was a huge presence in his life. He’d been Emilia’s first love, just as she was to be the great love of his life. They’d been childhood sweethearts when he was 15 and she 13, but then she’d died when he was just 21. 

He was away when she died. When he got home, he discovered that her father, a musical director and composer, hadn’t had the money to bury Emilia on her own. Her remains had been buried in a common grave.

Vicente couldn’t bear the idea. Unfortunately, the civil authorities were unable, or unwilling, to help. They wouldn’t hear of disinterring the body for reburial elsewhere. Vicente was in despair.

But then he heard that the priest who managed the cemetery was – how shall I put this? – approachable on difficult matters, if sufficient lubrication could be provided to ensure that things ran smoothly.

Vicente went to confession. He told the priest his sad story and admitted that he had no authority to move the body. On the other hand, he was more than prepared to undergo any sacrifice the priest felt appropriate if it could be done.

They met a few days later at the common grave, at the point where Emilia’s body had been laid. Gravediggers dug down to the coffin, pulled it out and opened the lid.

“Yes, it’s her,” he exclaimed, “that’s enough. She looks as though she’s sleeping.”

Serious lubrication had changed hands, to the priest and his assistants, including the gravediggers. Vicente was assured that his payment would provide prayers for Emilia’s soul. Given the sum involved, Vicente couldn’t help wondering how anyone could possibly need that many prayers. 

But the deed had been done. The coffin was moved to vault 1501 and reburied there, with an engraved stone in place. Vicente swore to the family that he would keep it maintained and prepared for the visits to the graves of the dead that take place on 1 November, All Saints’ Day, each year. 

In the meantime, celibacy didn’t suit him. Poor Emilia had been snatched from him before they could be married, but there was always Ángela, her sister. He was luckier this time, and she lived long enough for them to marry. Sadly, their daughter Emilia – named in a touching gesture after Ángela’s sister, who was nearly also her sister-in-law – died in infancy, and her mother followed her to the grave at the age of 35.

Leonora Dare
Not quite what she seemed to Vicente

A widower, he found himself once more in need of a wife. This time, his professional life seemed to throw a new opportunity his way. An enchanting gymnast, Miss Leonora Dare, caught his fancy. Unfortunately – or possibly fortunately – before they got to the altar he discovered that she was in fact what we would now call trans. They decided she had the wrong genitals for the relationship they had in mind, and vanished from his life. 

Happily, there was a solution ready to hand. He’d loved Emilia and married her sister Ángela. So what about the third sister, his sister-in-law Amparo? 

She married him and they even had kids, who survived him, though sadly she didn’t. For the third time, he found himself burying a woman he’d loved. Life had injected yet another dose of tragedy into the comic actor’s life.

But there’s one more story to tell about him, from 1911, when he was married to Amparo. In his late 50s, Vicente found parts in plays becoming scarcer. That year, he realised he didn’t have the money to keep his word to look after vault 1501 and prepare it for the All Saints’ Day visits. It would be neglected for the first time since Emilia had died.

Vicente was a little bit of a gambler. Not for large sums. And entirely without success. Lucky in cards, they say, unlucky in love. Sadly, with all three sisters dying on him, and never winning at games of chance, he’d been unlucky in both.

But then, that year, he saw a lottery ticket on sale. Number 1501. Now, buying an entire ticket was too big an investment for him. But you could buy a one-tenth share in it, and he did. And, to his and Amparo’s amazement and delight, the number came up.

His one-tenth share came to 600 pesetas. That would be worth between 1500 and 2000 euros today. In one of his memoirs, he tells of Amparo’s delight that they would after all be able to prepare her sister’s grave properly.

You can make of that story what you want. Luck? Providence? You choose. I simply like it. And I’m glad that someone like Rafael Solaz is around and prepared to do the work to share them with us.

It just goes to show you can dig up some extraordinary things in graveyards.

Rafael Solaz on Vault 1501