Mayflower (Flor de mayo)

and good women of the village, their hair still down and in wrappers hastily thrown on, went out on the sidewalk in front of their doors to see what was going on. The bluish transparency

he most grotesque horribles were gathering in the squares. The young folks of the town were out in c

r cloth masks rolled up over their foreheads, their long black trains hung over their arms, and each with a baton painted black in one hand. Some of the paraders, to add a touch of ingenuity, had slipped white pettico

ch mottled with spangles, trimmings and lace fringes, like the tunic of the Apaches; helmets topped off with huge cock plumes, arms and legs "armored" with a rude fabric of cotton tufts to give a distant suggestion of mail. To cap the climax of caricature and anachronism, followin

e to make fun of an army ready to fight; and these "Jews" and "grenadiers" who were to guard the crucified Christ and his mother were carrying, unsheathed in their hands, all the var

s: "There he is, there! Do you see him? Reina y si?ora! How grand he looks!" The devout procession, like the parade that heralds the coming of a circus to town, seemed to recall to the sinful, backsliding po

An army seemed suddenly to have descended on the Caba?al. The various companies-collas, as they are called-had formed four abreast, and solemn, stiff, and as much admired as soldiers returning f

r the poor Rector was getting fatter and fatter and finding it a more and more serious task to stuff his corpulency into that tight-fitting "coat-of-mail." Dolores, in her nightgown and with her hair down, was making the tour of his spacious waist, pushing in the stomach here, and stretching the cloth there, to make

hat the poor man could hardly breathe. His helmet, far too small for his head, kept slipping forward and bumping on his nose. But this was a day for dignity, not for ease! And the Rector drew his saber, struck up a rub-a-dub-dub in his stentorian voice, and began to stride up and down the room, as though the baby there were a crown prince revie

welcome his army. The lurid company drew up in front of the house. The drum-beat softened in tone, but continued to give the rhythm for the privates who stood there marking time, keeping their heads and bodies and legs

hed him from the uncouthness and clumsiness of the others-of the other. His legs were straight, and his stockings had no wrinkles-everything in his make-up was stylish, well fitting, sleek. He belonged

er guard of funereal grenadiers; in the other, Jesus, in a showy purple mantle spangled with gold, his hair awry, his face stained with blood, collapsing under the burden of the Cross. The image had fallen on the rocks of painted cork that covered its pedestal. Around the Christ, to prevent his escape, crowded the ruthless "Jews,

en murmured sympathetically at sight of the bleedi

d some tall, well-built girls, with painted cheeks, and in costumes copied from the Turkish maidens of comic opera. They carried water jugs to show they were the Biblical women from Samaria. From their mothers they ha

carousals, had come down from Valencia to witness the famous popular festival. But if such people ventured a smile at any incongrui

ious ceremony of the coast, and as old as the Caba?al itself! You're no gentleman! Y

n had been placed to mark the stations of the march to Calvary, was drawing the bulk of the crowd. Rough, aggressive shore-w

licted on her that morning in the course of getting his costume out and on. But suddenly Rosario felt a rude shove which brushed her aside, while a compact, muscular female body crowded into the place she had been occupying. She looked around. Did any one ever hear of such brazen impudence! It was Dolores, lea

ut much warmth, and one could see from the looks in their eyes at the time that there would be trouble again soon. Rosario, taken aback by the violence of the push that had displaced her, rested content with a grimace. What nice manner

dging her, egging her on to stand her ground. Dolores, meanwhile, began to toss her gorgeous head like a lioness preparing to cuff at a ho

in rhythm with the footsteps of her bearers, dressed in a black velvet gown with widow's weeds, some big wax tears glistening on her face, and-to catch them, supposedly-a black-bordered mourning handkerchief in her stiff, lifeless hands. She it was who riveted the attention of all the mothers present. Many of them began to weep. Ay reina y soberana! How she must be suffering! A mother

cite in monotone some stanzas which told how very sad and mournful the whole scene was. Tio Grancha, an aged velvet-spinner, came down from Valencia every year to declaim those couplets, and his art was one of the attractions o

shut up ...

th, in symbolic pantomime of d

Rosario, but that did not prevent the latter from divining the object of her gaze. And did you see that? A married woman making eyes at a married man, and right in the pr

shoulders in front of her-a splendid pedestal for a beautiful head with luxuriant hair. Dolores turned around with a smirk of biting ridicule on her face. Beg pardon! Had all that been for her? W

uld keep her husband, for all she cared. What a jewel he was, besides! She had her own man and that was enough for her. Tonet might do for other women, if they were fool enough to ta

s death, had drawn herself up to her full height preparing to throw herself upon her enemy. Rosario, meanwh

ombatants. She would settle the row! She knew how to handle those hot-heads. "You, Dolores, home with you! And you, you groveling, lying sla

housandth time! And that's the way they bring up girls nowadays. And when the stern old woman saw that the younger ones were still shouting insult

ing him out of his uniform, and his flesh was gradually resuming its normal rotundity. He was sorry to say so, but that poor Rosario was crazy. Tonet might be all he might be-and it was true that brandy didn't do him any good! Just the same, it was a pity to see him tied to a woman about as easy to handle as a porcupine. But

celebration about town, and gamins were going from house to house beating upon front doors with sticks, la Garbosa, that leaky death-trap hardly able to keep afloat, with a complete outfit for fishing aboard to make her lo