I certainly liked to hear him speak that way. You know what I thought of my mother. Even now, as I interrupt my writing to look at her portrait on the wall, I think she had that quality written in her face. There is no other way of explaining Escobar’s opinion, when he had scarcely exchanged two or three words with her. One was enough to see into her innermost being; yes, yes, my mother was adorable. However much she might be forcing me into a career that I didn’t want, I could not but feel that she was adorable, like a saint.
In any case, was it really true that she was forcing me into an ecclesiastical career? Here I come to a point that I hoped would come later, so much so that I was already considering at what point I should dedicate a chapter to it. Really, I should not have said now what I only thought I discovered later; but since I have touched on the matter, it’s better to be finished with it. It is grave and complex, delicate and subtle, one of those chapters in which the author has to take heed of his child, and the child should listen to the author, so that they each tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. It should also be noted that it is exactly this point which makes the saint more adorable, with no disrespect (quite the contrary!) for the human and earthly part in her. Enough of writing the preface: on to the chapter itself.