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Updated: May 10, 2025
I love good poetry: I 've got the finest-bound copy of Shakespeare in Illinois, and my edition of Coleridge will knock the socks off any book in the country. My wife has painted all the Doray illustrations of the Ancient Marine, and I would n't swap that book for the costliest Mysonyay in all Paris! "I can't see where the poetry comes in," he went on to say.
"But, Doray," interrupted Don Filipo, "you know that Don Anastasio doesn't believe in purgatory." "I don't believe in purgatory!" protested the old man, partly rising from his seat. "Even when I know something of its history!" "The history of purgatory!" exclaimed the couple, full of surprise. "Come, relate it to us." "You don't know it and yet you order masses and talk about its torments?
Here you will observe something like our purgatory, if you take into account the differences in the religions." A vivid flash of lightning, followed by rolling thunder, caused Doray to start up and exclaim, as she crossed herself: "Jesús, María, y José! I'm going to leave you, I'm going to burn some sacred palm and light candles of penitence." The rain began to fall in torrents.
The Sage Tasio, watching the young woman leave, continued: "Now that she is not here, we can consider this matter more rationally. Doray, even though a little superstitious, is a good Catholic, and I don't care to root out the faith from her heart. A pure and simple faith is as distinct from fanaticism as the flame from smoke or music from discords: only the fools and the deaf confuse them.
Each prisoner had his family there to pray for him, to weep for him, to bestow on him the most endearing names all save Ibarra, who had no one, even Ñor Juan and the schoolmaster having disappeared. "Look what you've done to my husband and my son!" Doray cried to him. "Look at my poor son! You've robbed him of his father!"
In front of the jail the women who still had strength enough ran to and fro, while those who had not sat down on the ground and called upon the names of their beloved. Although the sun beat down fiercely, not one of these unfortunates thought of going away. Doray, the erstwhile merry and happy wife of Don Filipo, wandered about dejectedly, carrying in her arms their infant son, both weeping.
Doray, the gay and happy wife of Don Filipo, wandered about, with her tender little child in her arms. Both were crying. "Get out of the sun," they said to her. "Your son will catch a fever." "What is the use of his living if he has no father to educate him?" replied the dispirited woman. "Your husband is innocent. Perhaps he will return." "Yes, when we are in our graves."
He greeted his wife smilingly, but Doray broke out into bitter weeping and two guards had difficulty in preventing her from embracing her husband. Antonio, the son of Capitana Tinay, appeared crying like a baby, which only added to the lamentations of his family. The witless Andong broke out into tears at sight of his mother-in-law, the cause of his misfortune.
Each of the prisoners had there in the crowd his family praying for him, weeping for him, and calling him by the most affectionate names. Ibarra was the only exception. Even Ñor Juan himself and the school-teacher had disappeared. "What have you done to my husband and my son?" said Doray to Ibarra, crying. "See my poor boy! You have deprived him of a father!"
Doray broke into a bitter lamentation and two soldiers had to work hard to keep her from embracing her husband. Antonio, the son of Captain Tinay, next appeared, crying like a child a fact which made the family cry all the more. The imbecile, Andong, broke out in a wail when he saw his mother-in-law, the cause of his misfortune.
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