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A monologue from the play by Gregorio Martinez Sierra
NOTE: This monologue is reprinted from The Plays of G. Martinez Sierra. G. Martinez Sierra. New York: E.P. Dutton, 1922.
I was jealous of every woman my first husband looked in the face … and he was a portrait painter, do you remember? My second husband suffered tortures from his own jealousy … of your grandfather.
That was premature, but prophetic, for your dear grandfather was our neighbor in those days and he used to stand and look at me from his balcony.
And then he in his turn tortured himself, poor man, with jealousy of my second husband, who was dead by that time to be sure … but that only seemed to make it worse.
When I think of the times I’ve walked into my first husband’s studio, shaking all over, to see what sort of woman he was painting this time … and how much of her, and of the times when I’d glance up at your grandfather on his balcony and let my dear second husband imagine …
God forgive me … that I was smiling at him; and then when your grandfather would catch me looking at my poor second husband’s portrait … my first husband had painted it while they were both alive … and if I wanted to drive him to fury, I’d only to give one sigh.
Well, now they’re in Heaven all three and I’m almost sorry I worried them so. [She kisses the three pictures.] But never forget that I was an obedient wife, gentle and loving, an angel of the fireside, an angel in crinoline.
No doubt it’s far nobler to “live your own life” (isn’t that what you call it?) but I fear you’ll never find it so amusing.