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Updated: May 31, 2025
She left off at length with the information that her only hope of relief was to make a pilgrimage to the "Virgen de los Remedios," and ordered the girl to prepare coffee. I paid my bill of two reales and gave the girl one for herself, evidently the largest sum she had ever possessed, if indeed she remained long in possession of it after I took my hobbling and shivering departure.
He relates that whenever the country was suffering from drought, the Virjen do Remedios was carried into Mexico in procession, to bring rain, till it came to be said, quite as a proverb, Hasta el agua nos debe venir de la Gachupina "We must get even our water from that Spanish creature."
Not only was her hated rival of Guadalupe elevated from her long obscurity to be the national saint, but the animosity against this dilapidated image of Remedies was carried to that extreme of cruelty that, when the Spaniards were expelled from Mexico, the passports of the "Lady of Remedios" were made out, and she was ordered to leave the country. Poor thing!
His daughter the now well-behaved, the now modest, Remedios, who was passing day after day at complicated needlework under the tutelage of doña Bernarda had grown up like a wild rabbit of the fields, repeating with shocking fidelity all the oaths and vile language she heard from the carters her father drank with.
The matter had to be kept secret; and that was what held doña Bernarda's rage within bounds during her rapid, heated exchanges with her son. Perhaps everything would come out all right in the end something unforeseen would turn up to undo the evil spell that had been cast over Rafael. And in this hope she used every effort to keep Remedios and her father from learning what had happened.
He thought of Remedios as a piece of green fruit sound, free of cut or stain, and with all the color of maturity, but lacking the taste that satisfies and the perfume that enthralls.
And she would never miss the chance to scream scandal. "Rafael, don't be crazy," his mother would say, threatening him indulgently with her withered forefinger. "Let Remedios work; if you carry on so I won't let you come into the parlor."
His life had been a muddy, monotonous stream, with neither brilliancy nor beauty in its waters, lazily meandering along, like the Júcar in winter. As he looked back over his career as a "personage," he could have summed it up in three words: he had married. Remedios was his wife. Don Matias was his father-in-law. He was wealthy.
When he was called to supper Dona Perfecta, who was already in the dining-room, went up to him and said, without preface: "Dear Pepe, don't distress yourself, I will pacify Senor Don Inocencio. I know every thing already. Maria Remedios, who has just left the house, has told me all about it." Dona Perfecta's countenance radiated such satisfaction as an artist, proud of his work, might feel.
In the month of June of this year six hundred and three, two vessels were despatched from Manila to Nueva Espana, under command of Don Diego de Mendoca who had been sent that year by the viceroy, Marques de Montesclaros, with the usual reenforcements for the islands. The flagship was "Nuestra Senora de los Remedios" and the almiranta "Sant Antonio."
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