The Tragedy of Saint Eulalia

The grisly story of a young martyr who would be venerated as Barcelona’s patron saint

On another episode of “sick shit men do to young girls,” I’m going to tell you the story of Saint Eulalia, a pre-pubescent girl who was tortured and mutilated all in the name of “God'“.

Upon my initial investigation of Barcelona, I was immediately hooked on the idea of the Gothic Quarter. While described as not one of the best neighborhoods to stay in because it’s, well, old as fuck, and we all know old usually means dilapidated and dangerous, I was enthralled at the idea of staying in a neighborhood with 2000+ year old streets and buildings. If you’ve never heard me rant about ancient history and Roman ruins, just know that the idea of staying in the Gothic Quarter during my trip was an absolute panty dropper. More about that here. But the other draw was the Barcelona Cathedral. While not thousands of years old, it does have a few hundred years under it’s belt, and where it falls short in antiquity, it all but makes up for in horror.

It was a couple hundred years after Jesus had come and gone and the city of Barcino was under the rule of Roman Emperor Diocleciano. Dio was essentially purging the city of Christians, requiring all residents to renounce their faiths and make sacrifice to the Roman gods. Being a young headstrong girl, Eulalia slipped out of the house and stomped down to the court, condemning the head henchman Dacian and refusing to submit to the order. Dacian was enraged and decided to make an example of her, sentencing her to 13 tortures, once for every year she was alive. She was imprisoned in a tiny cell, whipped, had her flesh ripped off by hooks. She walked barefoot on burning embers, had her breasts cut off, wounds aggravated with stones, and branded with cast iron. Boiling oil and molten lead poured over her, then she was submerged in lime. She was locked in a flea box, rolled naked down a hill in a wine barrel filled with knives and broken glass, and finally crucified on a cross. Having survived all that and still choosing not to renounce her faith, she was decapitated. It’s said that she escaped her earthly body as a white dove and flew off to heaven. 13 white doves are kept on the cathedral grounds in memorium to Eulalia, the patron saint of Barcelona. She even has her own festival in February, albeit somewhat puny in comparison to Merce, but that’s an argument for another time.

I thought rolling down the hill in a cyclone of sharp objects was bad but cutting someone’s breasts off seems a little extreme as well.

Which leads me to “what in the actual fuck!?” I think the worst part of this terrible story is that unlike many other silly tales that are easily disregarded as folklore, this one is likely true. Not only has it been recounted in text in multiple places throughout the centuries, but there is also legitimate documentation of her skeleton being moved in the 800’s and finally resting in a crypt within the cathedral. I guess the thing I find so haunting is the steadfast conviction of a child. I would have sang like a canary any song they wanted to hear to avoid that fate. If that makes me a weak ass bitch then so be it, but that child was a tougher than Sarah Connor*. Walk on hot embers? I can barely walk barefoot through my living room without catching a corner with my pinky and throwing myself on the ground, writhing in pain.

As for the cathedral, absolutely breathtaking in the eeriest of ways. I went two different times. Once in the day and once for mass Sunday evening. In the day it is quite a sight: very specific architectural details and lines, which I like. The facade is very striking and sets it apart from the other buildings and looming Roman wall, which it stands absurdly close to. You can actually see the top tiers of the roof from all over the city. But seeing it at night really brings out the gothic architect and the moisture seeping through the stone vaulted ceilings actually looks like the church is crying. It certainly has a creepy quality about it. My only complaint is that I didn’t spend enough time there vibing out there, and I wish I’d gone back just once more.

If you find yourself down in the Gothic Quarter, go check out the church and the surrounding streets. It’s a couple hours you’ll be glad you wasted.

*Sarah Connor, mother to the leader of the revolution, John Connor, in the critically acclaimed movie series Terminator. Don’t act like you didn’t know who I was talking about.