Le 6 mars 2017, 08:01 dans Humeurs • 0
The brotherhood continued their triumphal march, leaving deserters in every tavern and fallen all along the streets. When the sun rose it found them at the extreme opposite end of Seville from their own parish, and the image and its remaining supporters looked like a dissolute band returning from an orgy.
stood deserted, while all the procession took their morning draft in the adjacent taverns, substituting large glasses of Cazalla aguardiente for country wine.
Of the brilliant Jewish army nothing remained but miserable relics, as if they were straggling home after[Pg 265] a defeat. The Captain walked with a sad stagger, his feathery plumes hanging down limp over his livid face, and his sole idea seemed to be to preserve his magnificent costume from dirty handling. Respect the uniform!
Gallardo left the procession soon after sunrise. He thought he had done quite enough in accompanying the Virgin throughout the night, and assuredly she would lay it to his account. Besides, this last part of the fiesta was by far the most trying, till the Macarena returned to her church about mid-day. The people who got up fresh after a good night's sleep laughed at the hooded brothers, who looked ridiculous by daylight, and who moreover bore traces of the drunkenness and dirt of the night. It would not be prudent for a torero to be seen with this band of tipplers waiting for them at tavern doors.
Se?ora Angustias was waiting for her son in the patio to assist the Nazarene in removing his garments. He must rest now he had accomplished his duties towards the Virgin. On Easter Sunday there was a corrida, the first since his accident. Cursed profession! In which ease of mind was impossible. And the poor women, after a period of tranquillity, saw all their anguish and terrors revive.
Saturday and the morning of Sunday the torero spent in receiving visits of enthusiastic amateurs who had come to Seville for the Holy Week and the fair. They all smiled, confident in his future exploits.
"We shall see how you fight! The 'aficion' has its eyes on you! How are you with regard to strength?"
Gallardo did not distrust his vigour. Those winter months in the country had made him quite robust. He was now quite as strong as before his "cogida." The only thing that reminded him of his accident when he[Pg 266] was shooting at the farm was a slight weakness in the broken leg. But this was only noticeable after long walks.