In the Street.
Excuse me, I can’t stop. The sermon begins at five, and Padre Macario preaches to-day. His words are worth their weight in gold, I don’t want to lose one. I thought of going to call on the Zaragatonas to give them a piece of my mind; deceitful things, they wrote an anonymous letter to the head of my husband’s department, saying he had the influenza, and that all the office would catch it, which is a vile story; he is quite well, and if he had anything the matter with him I should say so at once. ... They may be thankful this is Holy Week or I should teach them a thing or two, but I don’t want to offend Heaven to-day. The wicked scandalmongers! ... They shall hear from me sooner or later. ... But ... I can’t stop. What’s the time? Five o’clock. I must run the whole way. Oh! do you think you could manage to send me some stalls for La Tubau![19]
In the Church.
“Hail, Mary,” ... Madam, you are crushing my mantilla. ... “full of grace,” ... yes, you, Madam! “Blessed are thou amongst.” ... Good evening, doña Agustina. ... No, the sermon has not commenced yet, but it must very soon for I saw Padre Macario go into the sacristy. ... Yes, isn’t there a crowd, and quite natural too, there are not many orators like him. ... “Our Father which” ... You look rather pale? What’s the matter? ... Oh, don’t speak to me of husbands, there are some wretches amongst them? ... What, he wouldn’t let you come to the sermon? Heavens, what a man! Mine, thank God, is not like that; on the contrary, so that I might feel quite easy, he has promised to give baby his food. He’s a very good husband; fancy, this morning I had to go out to see the dynamiters in court, and he stayed at home to wash out some baby-clothes. ... “Thy kingdom come,” ... but he has his enemies. Those horrid Zaragatonas; ... they can’t bear me because I’m plump. ... They’re jealous and I’ve told them so. It’s the will of Heaven, for as for eating, I eat very little, and some days a little stewed veal, an omelette, and half-a-dozen oranges satisfy me as much as if I had eaten an ox. But it’s no good, they dislike me, because they themselves are so scraggy, and now they’ve started a nasty rumour about my husband. Suppose he has a little cold in the head, what’s that to do with them? “Pray for our sins now and” ... They are consumptive, if you like: you need only look at them, especially the eldest, who dresses her salad with cod-liver oil. I, of course, respect the sacredness of this week, or I should go and see them, when they would have to look to themselves. Besides, I don’t like talking ill of anybody, but they had a lieutenant-colonel lodging with them, who only slept there, for he ate with his mess, and paid them ten reals for a tiny bedroom, and was always making them presents besides; if he had an old pair of trousers, for instance, he would give them to their mother to make a little jacket for herself. Now that all means something. In fact, I don’t like scandal, but that lieutenant-colonel, “the Lord is with thee.”... What? Padre Macario in the pulpit? So he is, and just going to begin.
“Dear Brethren....”
What eloquence!
“May you in truth be brethren, with your conscience free from the sin of hatred....”
He’s right. People are so uncharitable, those Zaragatonas, for instance.
“Love one another with the love of brethren. Christ pardoned His tormentors....”
(Much moved) Ah! ah! It seems impossible that people won’t repent. When I think of those Zaragatonas, I don’t know what’s the matter with me! No, when Holy Week is over, I shall go and hear what they have to say for themselves. Horrid creatures!