He felt obliged as at other times to confide his troubles to the gardener's widow with that instinctive kindly feeling which often causes highly-placed people to confide in humble friends.
"You cannot imagine, Tomasa, what those men make me suffer.

I will subdue them because I am the master, because they owe me obedience by the rule of discipline without which there can be neither Church nor religion; but they oppose and disobey me.

My orders are carried out with grumbling, and when I assert myself even the last ordained priest stands on what he calls his rights, lays complaints against me and appeals either to the Rota[1] or to Rome.

Let us see, am I the master or am I not?
Ought the shepherd to argue with his sheep and consult how to guide them in the right way?
They sicken and weary me with their complaints and questions.

There is not half a man amongst them, they are all cowardly tale-bearers.