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+} + +p.byline +{ +font-style: italic; +margin-bottom: 2em; +} + +.figureHead, .noteref, .pseudonoteref, span.leftnote, p.legend, .versenum, .stage +{ +color: #001FA4; +} + +.rightnote, .pagenum, .linenum, .pagenum a +{ +color: #AAAAAA; +} + +a.hidden:hover, a.noteref:hover +{ +color: red; +} + +p.dropcap:first-letter +{ +color: #001FA4; +font-weight: bold; +} + +sub, sup +{ +line-height: 0; +} + + + +</style></head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of An Eagle Flight, by José Rizal + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: An Eagle Flight + A Filipino Novel Adapted from Noli Me Tangere + +Author: José Rizal + +Release Date: December 22, 2008 [EBook #27594] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AN EAGLE FLIGHT *** + + + + +Produced by Jeroen Hellingman and the Distributed +Proofreaders Team at https://www.pgdp.net/ + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="front"> +<div class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>] +</span><p class="aligncenter">An Eagle Flight + +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e98" href="#xd0e98">3</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>] +</span><div class="
 poem
 "> +<p class="line" style=""><span>I have in this rough work shaped out a man</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>Whom this beneath-world doth embrace and hug</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>With amplest entertainment: my free drift</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>Halts not particularly, but moves itself</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>In a wide sea of wax; no levell’d malice</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>Infects one comma in the course I hold;</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>But flies an eagle flight, bold and forth on,</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>Leaving no track behind.</span></p> +</div> +<p class="alignright"><a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/etext/2262"><span class="smallcaps">Timon of Athens</span></a>—<i>Act 1, Scene 1.</i> + + + +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e125" href="#xd0e125">4</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div class="titlePage"> +<h1 class="docTitle">An Eagle Flight</h1> +<h2 class="docTitle">A Filipino Novel</h2> +<h2 class="docTitle">Adapted from</h2> +<h2 class="docTitle">“Noli Me Tangere”</h2> +<h2 class="byline">By +<br> +<span class="docAuthor">Dr. José Rizal</span></h2> +<h2 class="docImprint"><i>New York</i> +<br> +McClure, Phillips & Co. +<br> +MCMI +</h2> +</div><span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e154" href="#xd0e154">5</a>]</span><div class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>] +</span><p class="aligncenter"><span class="smallcaps">Copyright</span>, 1900,<br> +By McCLURE, PHILLIPS & CO. + + + + +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e162" href="#xd0e162">6</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div id="toc" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="normal">Contents.</h2> +<ol class="lsoff"> +<li>Chapter <span class="tocPagenum">Page</span></li> +<li>I.—<span class="smallcaps"><a href="#ch1">The House on the Pasig</a></span> <span class="tocPagenum">1</span></li> +<li>II.—<span class="smallcaps"><a href="#ch2">Crisóstomo Ibarra</a></span> <span class="tocPagenum">7</span></li> +<li>III.—<span class="smallcaps"><a href="#ch3">The Dinner</a></span> <span class="tocPagenum">9</span></li> +<li>IV.—<span class="smallcaps"><a href="#ch4">Heretic and Filibuster</a></span> <span class="tocPagenum">12</span></li> +<li>V.—<span class="smallcaps"><a href="#ch5">A Star in the Dark Night</a></span> <span class="tocPagenum">15</span></li> +<li>VI.—<span class="smallcaps"><a href="#ch6">Captain Tiago and Maria</a></span> <span class="tocPagenum">17</span></li> +<li>VII.—<span class="smallcaps"><a href="#ch7">Idylle</a></span> <span class="tocPagenum">20</span></li> +<li>VIII.—<span class="smallcaps"><a href="#ch8">Reminiscences</a></span> <span class="tocPagenum">23</span></li> +<li>IX.—<span class="smallcaps"><a href="#ch9">Affairs of the Country</a></span> <span class="tocPagenum">25</span></li> +<li>X.—<span class="smallcaps"><a href="#ch10">The Pueblo</a></span> <span class="tocPagenum">30</span></li> +<li>XI.—<span class="smallcaps"><a href="#ch11">The Sovereigns</a></span> <span class="tocPagenum">32</span></li> +<li>XII.—<span class="smallcaps"><a href="#ch12">All Saints’ Day</a></span> <span class="tocPagenum">35</span></li> +<li>XIII.—<span class="smallcaps"><a href="#ch13">The Little Sacristans</a></span> <span class="tocPagenum">40</span></li> +<li>XIV.—<span class="smallcaps"><a href="#ch14">Sisa</a></span> <span class="tocPagenum">44</span></li> +<li>XV.—<span class="smallcaps"><a href="#ch15">Basilio</a></span> <span class="tocPagenum">47</span></li> +<li>XVI.—<span class="smallcaps"><a href="#ch16">At the Manse</a></span> <span class="tocPagenum">50</span></li> +<li>XVII.—<span class="smallcaps"><a href="#ch17">Story of a Schoolmaster</a></span> <span class="tocPagenum">53</span></li> +<li>XVIII.—<span class="smallcaps"><a href="#ch18">The Story of a Mother</a></span> <span class="tocPagenum">57</span></li> +<li>XIX.—<span class="smallcaps"><a href="#ch19">The Fishing Party</a></span> <span class="tocPagenum">63</span></li> +<li>XX.—<span class="smallcaps"><a href="#ch20">In the Woods</a></span> <span class="tocPagenum">71</span></li> +<li>XXI.—<span class="smallcaps"><a href="#ch21">With the Philosopher</a></span> <span class="tocPagenum">79</span></li> +<li>XXII.—<span class="smallcaps"><a href="#ch22">The Meeting at the Town Hall</a></span> <span class="tocPagenum">87</span></li> +<li>XXIII.—<span class="smallcaps"><a href="#ch23">The Eve of the Féte</a></span> <span class="tocPagenum">94</span></li> +<li>XXIV.—<span class="smallcaps"><a href="#ch24">In the Church</a></span> <span class="tocPagenum">102</span></li> +<li>XXV.—<span class="smallcaps"><a href="#ch25">The Sermon</a></span> <span class="tocPagenum">105</span></li> +<li>XXVI.—<span class="smallcaps"><a href="#ch26">The Crane</a></span> <span class="tocPagenum">109</span></li> +<li>XXVII.—<span class="smallcaps"><a href="#ch27">Free Thought</a></span> <span class="tocPagenum">116</span></li> +<li>XXVIII.—<span class="smallcaps"><a href="#ch28">The Banquet</a></span> <span class="tocPagenum">119</span></li> +<li>XXIX.—<span class="smallcaps"><a href="#ch29">Opinions</a></span> <span class="tocPagenum">126</span></li> +<li>XXX.—<span class="smallcaps"><a href="#ch30">The First Cloud</a></span> <span class="tocPagenum">130</span></li> +<li>XXXI.—<span class="smallcaps"><a href="#ch31">His Excellency</a></span> <span class="tocPagenum">134</span></li> +<li>XXXII.—<span class="smallcaps"><a href="#ch32">The Procession</a></span> <span class="tocPagenum">142</span></li> +<li>XXXIII.—<span class="smallcaps"><a href="#ch33">Doña Consolacion</a></span> <span class="tocPagenum">145</span><span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e435" href="#xd0e435">7</a>]</span></li> +<li>XXXIV.—<span class="smallcaps"><a href="#ch34">Right and Might</a></span> <span class="tocPagenum">150</span></li> +<li>XXXV.—<span class="smallcaps"><a href="#ch35">Husband and Wife</a></span> <span class="tocPagenum">156</span></li> +<li>XXXVI.—<span class="smallcaps"><a href="#ch36">Projects</a></span> <span class="tocPagenum">163</span></li> +<li>XXXVII.—<span class="smallcaps"><a href="#ch37">Scrutiny and Conscience</a></span> <span class="tocPagenum">165</span></li> +<li>XXXVIII.—<span class="smallcaps"><a href="#ch38">The Two Women</a></span> <span class="tocPagenum">170</span></li> +<li>XXXIX.—<span class="smallcaps"><a href="#ch39">The Outlawed</a></span> <span class="tocPagenum">176</span></li> +<li>XL.—<span class="smallcaps"><a href="#ch40">The Enigma</a></span> <span class="tocPagenum">181</span></li> +<li>XLI.—<span class="smallcaps"><a href="#ch41">The Voice of the Persecuted</a></span> <span class="tocPagenum">183</span></li> +<li>XLII.—<span class="smallcaps"><a href="#ch42">The Family of Elias</a></span> <span class="tocPagenum">187</span></li> +<li>XLIII.—<span class="smallcaps"><a href="#ch43">Il Buon di si Conosce da Mattina</a></span> <span class="tocPagenum">193</span></li> +<li>XLIV.—<span class="smallcaps"><a href="#ch44">La Gallera</a></span> <span class="tocPagenum">196</span></li> +<li>XLV.—<span class="smallcaps"><a href="#ch45">A Call</a></span> <span class="tocPagenum">201</span></li> +<li>XLVI.—<span class="smallcaps"><a href="#ch46">A Conspiracy</a></span> <span class="tocPagenum">204</span></li> +<li>XLVII.—<span class="smallcaps"><a href="#ch47">The Catastrophe</a></span> <span class="tocPagenum">208</span></li> +<li>XLVIII.—<span class="smallcaps"><a href="#ch48">Gossip</a></span> <span class="tocPagenum">212</span></li> +<li>XLIX.—<span class="smallcaps"><a href="#ch49">Væ Victis</a></span> <span class="tocPagenum">217</span></li> +<li>L.—<span class="smallcaps"><a href="#ch50">Accurst</a></span> <span class="tocPagenum">221</span></li> +<li>LI.—<span class="smallcaps"><a href="#ch51">Patriotism and Interest</a></span> <span class="tocPagenum">224</span></li> +<li>LII.—<span class="smallcaps"><a href="#ch52">Marie Clara Marries</a></span> <span class="tocPagenum">232</span></li> +<li>LIII.—<span class="smallcaps"><a href="#ch53">The Chase on the Lake</a></span> <span class="tocPagenum">242</span></li> +<li>LIV.—<span class="smallcaps"><a href="#ch54">Father Dámaso Explains Himself</a></span> <span class="tocPagenum">247</span></li> +<li>LV.—<span class="smallcaps"><a href="#ch55">The Nochebuena</a></span> <span class="tocPagenum">251</span></li> +</ol><span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e612" href="#xd0e612">8</a>]</span></div> +<div class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="normal">Introduction</h2> +<h2 class="normal">José Rizal</h2> +<p>In that horrible drama, the Philippine revolution, one man of the purest and noblest character stands out pre-eminently—José +Rizal—poet, artist, philologue, novelist, above all, patriot; his influence might have changed the whole course of events +in the islands, had not a blind and stupid policy brought about the crime of his death. + +</p> +<p>This man, of almost pure Tagalo race, was born in 1861, at Calamba, in the island of Luzon, on the southern shore of the Laguna +de Bay, where he grew up in his father’s home, under the tutorage of a wise and learned native priest, Leontio. + +</p> +<p>The child’s fine nature, expanding in the troublous latter days of a long race bondage, was touched early with the fire of +genuine patriotism. He was eleven when the tragic consequences of the Cavité insurrection destroyed any lingering illusions +of his people, and stirred in them a spirit that has not yet been allayed. + +</p> +<p>The rising at Cavité, like many others in the islands, was a protest against the holding of benefices by friars—a thing forbidden +by a decree of the Council of Trent, but authorized in the Philippines, by papal bulls, until such time as there should be +a sufficiency of native priests. This time never came. As the friars held the best agricultural lands, and had a voice—and +that the most authoritative—in civil affairs, there developed in the rural districts a veritable feudal system, bringing in +its train the arrogance and <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e626" href="#xd0e626">9</a>]</span>tyranny that like conditions develop. It became impossible for the civil authorities to carry out measures in opposition to +the friars. “The Government is an arm, the head is the convent,” says the old philosopher of Rizal’s story. + +</p> +<p>The rising at Cavité miscarried, and vengeance fell. Dr. Joseph Burgos, a saintly old priest, was put to death, and three +other native priests with him, while many prominent native families were banished. Never had the better class of Filipinos +been so outraged and aroused, and from this time on their purpose was fixed, not to free themselves from Spain, not to secede +from the church they loved, but to agitate ceaselessly for reforms which none of them longer believed could be realized without +the expulsion of the friars. In the school of this purpose, and with the belief on the part of his father and Leontio that +he was destined to use his life and talents in its behalf, José was trained, until he left his home to study in Manila. At +the College of the Jesuits he carried off all the honors, with special distinction in literary work. He wrote a number of +odes; and a melodrama in verse, the work of his thirteenth year, was successfully played at Manila. But he had to wear his +honors as an Indian among white men, and they made life hard for him. He specially aroused the dislike of his Spanish college +mates by an ode in which he spoke of his patria. A Tagalo had no native land, they contended—only a country. + +</p> +<p>At twenty Rizal finished his course at Manila, and a few months later went to Madrid, where he speedily won the degrees of +Ph.D. and M.D.; then to Germany—taking here another degree, doing his work in the new language, which he mastered as he went +along; to Austria, where he gained great skill as an oculist; to France, Italy, England—absorbing the languages and literature +of these countries, doing some fine sculpture by way of diversion. But in all this he was single-minded; he never lost the +voice of his call; he felt more and more keenly the contrast between the hard lot of his country and the freedom of these +lands, and <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e632" href="#xd0e632">10</a>]</span>he bore it ill that no one of them even knew about her, and the cancer eating away her beauty and strength. At the end of +this period of study he settled in Berlin, and began his active work for his country. + +</p> +<p>Four years of the socialism and license of the universities had not distorted Rizal’s political vision; he remained, as he +had grown up, an opportunist. Not then, nor at any time, did he think his country ready for self-government. He saw as her +best present good her continued union to Spain, “through a stable policy based upon justice and community of interests.” He +asked only for the reforms promised again and again by the ministry, and as often frustrated. To plead for the lifting of +the hand of oppression from the necks of his people, he now wrote his first novel, “Noli Me Tangere.” + +</p> +<p>The next year he returned to the Philippines to find himself the idol of the natives and a thorn in the flesh of friars and +greedy officials. The reading of his book was proscribed. He stayed long enough to concern himself in a dispute of his townspeople +with the Dominicans over titles to lands; then finding his efforts vain and his safety doubtful, he left for Japan. Here he +pursued for some time his usual studies; came thence to America, and then crossed to England, where he made researches in +the British Museum, and edited in Spanish, “Sucesos de las Islas Filipinas,” by Dr. Antonio de Morga, an important work, neglected +by the Spaniards, but already edited in English by Dean Stanley. + +</p> +<p>After publishing this work, in Paris, Rizal returned to Spain, where, in 1890, he began a series of brilliant pleas for the +Philippines, in the <i>Solidaridad</i>, a liberal journal published at Barcelona and afterward at Madrid. But he roused little sympathy or interest in Spain, and +his articles, repeated in pamphlets in the Philippines, served to make his position more dangerous at home. + +</p> +<p>Disheartened but steadfast, he retired to Belgium, to write his second novel, “El Filibusterismo.” “Noli Me <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e645" href="#xd0e645">11</a>]</span>Tangere” is a poet’s story of his people’s loves, faults, aspirations, and wrongs; “El Filibusterismo” is the work of a student +of statecraft, pointing out the way to political justice and the development of national life. Inspired, it would seem, by +his own creation of a future for his country, he returned to the <i>Solidaridad</i>, where, in a series of remarkable articles, he forecast the ultimate downfall of Spain in the Philippines and the rise of +his people. This was his crime against the Government: for the spirit which in a Spanish boy would not permit a Tagalo to +have a patria, in a Spaniard grown could not brook the suggestion of colonial independence, even in the far future. + +</p> +<p>And now having poured out these passionate pleas and splendid forecasts, Rizal was homesick for this land of his. He went +to Hong-Kong. Calamba was in revolt. His many friends at the English port did everything to keep him; but the call was too +persistent. December 23d, 1891, he wrote to Despujols, then governor-general of the Philippines: “If Your Excellency thinks +my slight services could be of use in pointing out the evils of my country and helping heal the wounds reopened by the recent +injustices, you need but to say so, and trusting in your honor as a gentleman, I will immediately put myself at your disposal. +If you decline my offer, ... I shall at least be conscious of having done all in my power, while seeking the good of my country, +to preserve her union to Spain through a stable policy based upon justice and community of interests.” + +</p> +<p>The governor expressed his gratitude, promised protection, and Rizal sailed for Manila. But immediately after his landing +he was arrested on a charge of sedition, whose source made the governor’s promise impotent. Nothing could be proved against +Rizal; but it was not the purpose of his enemies to have him acquitted. A half-way sentence was imposed, and he was banished +to Dapidan, on the island of Mindanao. Despujols was recalled to Spain. + +</p> +<p>In this exile Rizal spent four years, beloved by the natives, <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e656" href="#xd0e656">12</a>]</span>teaching them agriculture, treating their sick (the poor without charge), improving their schools, and visited from time to +time by patients from abroad, drawn here by his fame as an oculist. Among these last came a Mr. Taufer, a resident of Hong-Kong, +and with him his foster-child, Josephine Bracken, the daughter of an Irish sergeant. The pretty and adventurous girl and the +banished patriot fell in love with each other. + +</p> +<p>These may well have been among the happiest years of Rizal’s life. He had always been an exile in fact: now that he was one +in name, strangely enough he was able for the first time to live in peace among his brothers under the skies he loved. He +sang, in his pathetic content: + + +</p> +<div class="
 poem
 "> +<p class="line" style=""><span>“Thou dear illusion with thy soothing cup! +</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>I taste, and think I am a child again.</span></p> +</div> +<div class="
 poem
 "> +<p class="line" style=""><span>Oh! kindly tempest, favoring winds of heaven, +</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>That knew the hour to check my shifting flight, +</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>And beat me down upon my native soil,...”</span></p> +</div> +<p>Always about his philological studies, he began here a work that should be of peculiar interest to us: a treatise on Tagalog +verbs, in the English language. Did his knowledge of America’s growing feeling toward Cuba lead him to foresee—as no one else +seems to have done—her appearance in the Philippines, or was he thinking of England? + +</p> +<p>At Hong-Kong, and in his brief stays at Manila, Rizal had established the Liga Filipina, a society of educated and progressive +islanders, whose ideas of needed reforms and methods of attaining them were at one with his own. His banishment was a warning +of danger and checked the society’s activity. + +</p> +<p>The Liga was succeeded, in the sense only of followed, by the Katipunan,—a native word also meaning league. The makers of +this “league,” though avowing the same <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e678" href="#xd0e678">13</a>]</span>purpose as the members of the other, were men of very different stamp. Their initiation was a blood-rite: they sought immediate +independence; they preached a campaign of force, if not of violence. That a recent reviewer should have connected Dr. Rizal’s +name with the Katipunan is difficult to understand. Not alone are his writings, acts, and character against such a possibility, +but so also is the testimony of the Spanish archives: for not only was it admitted at his final trial that he was not suspected +of any connection with the Katipunan, but his well-known disapproval of that society’s premature and violent action was even +made a point against him. He was so much the more dangerous to the state because he had the sagacity to know that the times +were not yet ripe for independence, and the honesty and purity of purpose to make only demands which the state herself well +knew to be just. + +</p> +<p>When the rebellion of 1896 broke out, Rizal, still at Dapidan, knew that his life would not long be worth a breath of his +beloved Philippine air. He asked, therefore, of the Government permission to go to Cuba as an army surgeon. It was granted, +and he was taken to Manila—ovations all along his route—and embarked on the <i>Isla de Panay</i> for Barcelona. He carried with him the following letter from General Blanco, then governor-general of the Philippines, to +the Minister of War at Madrid: + + +</p> +<div class="blockquote"> +<p><span class="smallcaps">Manila</span>, August 30th, 1896. + + +</p> +<p><span class="smallcaps">Esteemed General and Distinguished Friend:</span> + + + +</p> +<p>I recommend to you with genuine interest, Dr. José Rizal, who is leaving for the Peninsula, to place himself at the disposal +of the Government as volunteer army surgeon to Cuba. During the four years of his exile at Dapidan, he has conducted himself +in the most exemplary manner, and he is in my opinion the more worthy of pardon and consideration, in that he is in no way +connected with the extravagant attempts we are now deploring, neither those of conspirators nor of the secret societies that +have been formed. + +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e696" href="#xd0e696">14</a>]</span></p> +<p>I have the pleasure to reassure you of my high esteem, and remain, + + + +</p> +<p>Your affectionate friend and comrade, + + +</p> +<p><span class="smallcaps">Ramon Blanco.</span></p> +</div><p> + + +</p> +<p>But as soon as the <i>Isla</i> was on the seas, despatches began to pass between Manila and Madrid, and before she reached her port the promises, acceptances, +and recommendations of the Government officials were void. Upon landing, Rizal was immediately arrested and confined in the +infamous Montjuich prison. Despujols was now military governor of Barcelona. The interview of hours which he is said to have +had with his Filipino prisoner must have been dramatic. Rizal was at once re-embarked, on the <i>Colon,</i> and returned to Manila, a state prisoner. Blanco was recalled, and Poliavieja, a sworn friend of the clericals, was sent +out. + +</p> +<p>Rizal was tried by court-martial, on a charge of sedition and rebellion. His guilt was manifestly impossible. Except as a +prisoner of the state, he had spent only a few weeks in the Philippines since his boyhood. His life abroad had been perfectly +open, as were all his writings. The facts stated in General Blanco’s letter to the Minister of War were well known to all +Rizal’s accusers. The best they could do was to aver that he had written “depreciative words” against the Government and the +Church. Some testimony was given against him by men who, since the American occupation, have made affidavit that it was false +and forced from them by torture. Rizal made a splendid defence, but he was condemned, and sentenced to the death of a traitor. +On that day José Rizal y Mercado and Josephine Bracken were married. Then the sweetness and strength of his character and +his singleness of purpose made a beautiful showing. In the night, which his bride spent on her knees outside his prison, he +wrote a long poem of farewell to his patria adorado, fine in its abnegation and exquisite in the wanderings of its fancy. +He received the <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e715" href="#xd0e715">15</a>]</span>ministrations of a Jesuit priest. He was perfectly calm. “What is death to me?” he said; “I have sown, others are left to +reap.” At dawn he was shot. +</p> +<hr class="tb"><p> + +</p> +<p>The poem in which he left a record of his last thoughts was the following: + + + +</p> +<div class="
 poem
 "> +<h4 class="
 lghead
 ">My Last Thought.</h4> +<p class="line" style=""><span>Land I adore, farewell! thou land of the southern sun’s choosing! +</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>Pearl of the Orient seas! our forfeited Garden of Eden! +</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>Joyous I yield up for thee my sad life, and were it far brighter, +</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>Young, rose-strewn, for thee and thy happiness still would I give it. +</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>Far afield, in the din and rush of maddening battle, +</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>Others have laid down their lives, nor wavered nor paused in the giving. +</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>What matters way or place—the cyprus, the lily, the laurel, +</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>Gibbet or open field, the sword or inglorious torture, +</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>When ’tis the hearth and the country that call for the life’s immolation?</span></p> +</div> +<div class="
 poem
 "> +<p class="line" style=""><span>Dawn’s faint lights bar the east, she smiles through the cowl of the darkness, +</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>Just as I die. Hast thou need of purple to garnish her pathway? +</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>Here is my blood, on the hour! pour it out, and the sun in his rising +</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>Mayhap will touch it with gold, will lend it the sheen of his glory.</span></p> +</div> +<div class="
 poem
 "> +<p class="line" style=""><span>Dreams of my childhood and youth, and dreams of my strong young manhood, +</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>What were they all but to see, thou gem of the Orient ocean! +</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>Tearless thine eyes so deep, unbent, unmarred thy sweet forehead.</span></p> +</div> +<div class="
 poem
 "> +<p class="line" style=""><span>Vision I followed from far, desire that spurred on and consumed me! +</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>Greeting! my parting soul cries, and greeting again!... O my country! +</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>Beautiful is it to fall, that the vision may rise to fulfilment, +</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>Giving my life for thy life, and breathing thine air in the death-throe; +</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>Sweet to eternally sleep in thy lap, O land of enchantment!</span></p> +</div> +<div class="
 poem
 "> +<p class="line" style=""><span>If in the deep, rich grass that covers my rest in thy bosom, +</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>Some day thou seest upspring a lowly, tremulous blossom, +</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>Lay there thy lips, ’tis my soul; may I feel on my forehead descending, +</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>Deep in the chilly tomb, the soft, warm breath of thy kisses. +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e778" href="#xd0e778">16</a>]</span></span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>Let the calm light of the moon fall around me, and dawn’s fleeting splendor; +</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>Let the winds murmur and sigh, on my cross let some bird tell its message; +</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>Loosed from the rain by the brazen sun, let clouds of soft vapor +</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>Bear to the skies, as they mount again, the chant of my spirit. +</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>There may some friendly heart lament my parting untimely, +</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>And if at eventide a soul for my tranquil sleep prayeth, +</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>Pray thou too, O my fatherland! for my peaceful reposing. +</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>Pray for those who go down to death through unspeakable torments; +</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>Pray for those who remain to suffer such torture in prisons; +</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>Pray for the bitter grief of our mothers, our widows, our orphans; +</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>Oh, pray too for thyself, on the way to thy final redemption.</span></p> +</div> +<div class="
 poem
 "> +<p class="line" style=""><span>When our still dwelling-place wraps night’s dusky mantle about her, +</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>Leaving the dead alone with the dead, to watch till the morning, +</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>Break not our rest, and seek not to lay death’s mystery open. +</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>If now and then thou shouldst hear the string of a lute or a zithern, +</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>Mine is the hand, dear country, and mine is the voice that is singing.</span></p> +</div> +<div class="
 poem
 "> +<p class="line" style=""><span>When my tomb, that all have forgot, no cross nor stone marketh, +</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>There let the laborer guide his plough, there cleave the earth open. +</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>So shall my ashes at last be one with thy hills and thy valleys. +</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>Little ’twill matter then, my country, that thou shouldst forget me! +</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>I shall be air in thy streets, and I shall be space in thy meadows. +</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>I shall be vibrant speech in thine ears, shall be fragrance and color, +</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>Light and shout, and loved song forever repeating my message.</span></p> +</div> +<p>Rizal’s own explanation of the lofty purpose of his searching story of his Tagalog fatherland was in these words of his dedicatory +preface: + + +</p> +<div class="blockquote"> +<div class="body"> +<div class="div1"> +<h2 class="normal">To My Country</h2> +<p>The records of human suffering make known to us the existence of ailments of such nature that the slightest touch irritates +and causes tormenting pains. Whenever, in the midst of modern civilizations, I have tried to call up thy dear image, O my +country! either for the comradeship of remembrance or to compare thy life with that about me, I have seen thy fair face disfigured +and distorted by a hideous social cancer. +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e837" href="#xd0e837">17</a>]</span></p> +<p>Eager for thy health, which is our happiness, and seeking the best remedy for thy pain, I am about to do with thee what the +ancients did with their sick: they exposed them on the steps of their temples, that every one who came to adore the divinity +within might offer a remedy. + +</p> +<p>So I shall strive to describe faithfully thy state without extenuation; to lift a corner of the covering that hides thy sore; +sacrificing everything to truth, even the love of thy glory, while loving, as thy son, even thy frailties and sins. + +</p> +<p><span class="smallcaps">José Rizal.</span> +</p> +</div> +</div> +</div><p> + + + + +</p> +</div> +</div><span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e847" href="#xd0e847">18</a>]</span><div class="body"> +<div id="ch1" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="super">An Eagle Flight</h2> +<h2 class="label">I.</h2> +<h2 class="normal">The House on the Pasig.</h2> +<p>It was toward the end of October. Don Santiago de los Santos, better known as Captain Tiago, was giving a dinner; and though, +contrary to custom, he had not announced it until that very afternoon, it had become before evening the sole topic of conversation, +not only at Binondo, but in the other suburbs of Manila, and even in the city itself. Captain Tiago passed for the most lavish +of entertainers, and it was well known that the doors of his home, like those of his country, were closed to nobody and nothing +save commerce and all new or audacious ideas. The news spread, therefore, with lightning rapidity in the world of the sycophants, +the unemployed and idle, whom heaven has multiplied so generously at Manila. + +</p> +<p>The dinner was given in a house of the Calle de Anloague, which may yet be recognized, if an earthquake has not demolished +it. This house, rather large and of a style common to the country, stood near an arm of the Pasig, called the Boco de Binondo, +a rio which, like all others of Manila, washing along the multiple output of baths, sewers, and fishing grounds serves as +a means of transport, and even furnishes drinking-water, if such be the humor of the Chinese carrier. Scarcely at intervals +of a half-mile is <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e860" href="#xd0e860">19</a>]</span>this powerful artery of the quarter where the traffic is most important, the movement most active, dotted with bridges; and +these, in ruins at one end six months of the year and inapproachable the remaining six at the other, give horses a pretext +for plunging into the water, to the great surprise of preoccupied mortals in carriages dozing tranquilly or philosophizing +on the progress of the century. + +</p> +<p>The house of Captain Tiago was rather low and on lines sufficiently incorrect. A grand staircase with green balustrades, carpeted +at intervals, led from the vestibule, with its squares of colored faience, to the main floor, between Chinese pedestals ornamented +with fantastic designs, supporting vases and jardinières of flowers. + +</p> +<p>At the top of the staircase was a large apartment, called here <i>caida</i>, which for this night served at once as dining- and music-room. In the centre, a long table, luxuriously set, seemed to promise +to diners-out the most soothing satisfaction, at the same time threatening the timid girl—the dalaga—who for six mortal hours +must submit to the companionship of strange and diverse people. + +</p> +<p>In contrast to these mundane preparations, richly colored pictures of religious subjects hung about the walls, and at the +end of the apartment, imprisoned in ornate and splendid Renaissance carving, was a curious canvas of vast dimensions, bearing +the inscription, “Our Lady of Peace and of Safe Journeys, Venerated at Antipolo.” The ceiling was prettily decorated with +jewelled Chinese lamps, cages without birds, spheres of crystal faced with colored foil, faded air plants, <i>botetes</i>, etc. On the river side, through fantastic arches, half Chinese, half European, were glimpses of a terrace, with trellises +and arbors, illuminated by little colored lanterns. Brilliant chandeliers, reflected in great mirrors, lighted the apartment. +On a platform of pine was a superb grand piano. In a panel of the wall, a large portrait in oil <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e874" href="#xd0e874">20</a>]</span>represented a man of agreeable face, in frock coat, robust, straight, symmetrical as the gavel between his jewelled fingers. + +</p> +<p>The crowd of guests almost filled the room; the men separated from the women, as in Catholic churches and synagogues. An old +cousin of Captain Tiago’s was receiving alone. Her appearance was kindly, but her tongue not very flexible to the Castilian. +She filled her rôle by offering to the Spaniards trays of cigarettes and <i>buyos</i>, and giving the Filipinos her hand to kiss. The poor old lady, wearied at last, profited by the sound of breaking china to +go out hurriedly, grumbling at maladroits. She did not reappear. + +</p> +<p>Whether the pictures roused a spirit of devotion, whether the women of the Philippines are exceptional, the feminine part +of the assembly remained silent. Scarcely was heard even a yawn, stifled behind a fan. The men made more stir. The most interesting +and animated group was formed by two monks, two Spanish provincials, and an officer, seated round a little table, on which +were wine and English biscuits. + +</p> +<p>The officer, an old lieutenant, tall and morose, looked a Duke of Alba, retired into the Municipal Guard. He spoke little +and dryly. One of the monks was a young Dominican, handsome, brilliant, precociously grave; it was the curate of Binondo. +Consummate dialectician, he could escape from a <i>distinguo</i> like an eel from a fisherman’s nets. He spoke seldom, and seemed to weigh his words. + +</p> +<p>The other monk talked much and gestured more. Though his hair was turning gray, he seemed to have preserved all his vigor. +His carriage, his glance, his large jaws, his herculean frame, gave him the air of a Roman patrician in disguise. Yet he seemed +genial, and if the timbre of his voice was autocratic, his frank and merry laugh removed <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e890" href="#xd0e890">21</a>]</span>any disagreeable impression, so far even that one pardoned his appearing in the salon with unshod feet. + +</p> +<p>One of the provincials, a little man with a black beard, had nothing remarkable about him but his nose, which, to judge from +its size, ought not to have belonged to him entire. The other, young and blond, seemed newly arrived in the country. The Franciscan +was conversing with him somewhat warmly. + +</p> +<p>“You will see,” said he, “when you have been here several months; you will be convinced that to legislate at Madrid and to +execute in the Philippines is not one and the same thing.” + +</p> +<p>“But——” + +</p> +<p>“I, for example,” continued Brother Dámaso, raising his voice to cut off the words of his objector, “I, who count twenty-three +years of plane and palm, can speak with authority. I spent twenty years in one pueblo. In twenty years one gets acquainted +with a town. San Diego had six thousand souls. I knew each inhabitant as if I’d borne and reared him—with which foot this +one limped, how that one’s pot boiled—and I tell you the reforms proposed by the Ministers are absurd. The Indian is too indolent!” + +</p> +<p>“Ah, pardon me,” said the young man, speaking low and drawing nearer; “that word rouses all my interest. Does it really exist +from birth, this indolence of the native, or is it, as some travellers say, only an excuse of our own for the lack of advancement +in our colonial policy?” + +</p> +<p>“Bah! ask Señor Laruja, who also knows the country well; ask him if the ignorance and idleness of the Indians are not unparalleled?” + +</p> +<p>“In truth!” the little dark man made haste to affirm; “nowhere will you find men more careless.” + +</p> +<p>“Nor more corrupt, nor more ungrateful.” + +</p> +<p>“Nor more ill-bred.” +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e910" href="#xd0e910">22</a>]</span></p> +<p>The young man looked about uneasily. “Gentlemen,” said he, still speaking low, “it seems to me we are the guests of Indians, +and that these young ladies——” + +</p> +<p>“Bah, you are too timid: Santiago does not consider himself an Indian, besides, he isn’t here. These are the scruples of a +newcomer. Wait a little. When you have slept in our strapped beds, eaten the tinola, and seen our balls and fêtes, you’ll +change your tone. And more, you will find that the country is going to ruin; she is ruined already!” + +</p> +<p>“What does your reverence mean?” cried the lieutenant and Dominican together. + +</p> +<p>“The evil all comes from the fact that the Government sustains wrong-doers in the face of the ministers of God,” continued +the Franciscan, raising his voice and facing about. “When a curate rids his cemetery of a malefactor, no one, not even the +king, has the right to interfere; and a wretched general, a petty general from nowhere——” + +</p> +<p>“Father, His Excellency is viceroy,” said the officer, rising. “His Excellency represents His Majesty the king.” + +</p> +<p>“What Excellency?” retorted the Franciscan, rising in turn. “Who is this king? For us there is but one King, the legitimate——” + +</p> +<p>“If you do not retract that, Father, I shall make it known to the governor-general,” cried the lieutenant. + +</p> +<p>“Go to him now, go!” retorted Father Dámaso; “I’ll loan you my carriage.” + +</p> +<p>The Dominican interposed. + +</p> +<p>“Señores,” said he in a tone of authority, “you should not confuse things, nor seek offence where there is none intended. +We must distinguish in the words of Father Dámaso those of the man from those of the priest. The latter per se can never offend, +because they are infallible. In the words of the man, a sub-distinction must be made, <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e931" href="#xd0e931">23</a>]</span>into those said ab irato, those said ex ore, but not in corde, and those said in corde. It is these last only that can offend, +and even then everything depends. If they were not premeditated in mente, but simply arose per accidens in the heat of the +conversation——” + +</p> +<p>At this interesting point there joined the group an old Spaniard, gentle and inoffensive of aspect. He was lame, and leaned +on the arm of an old native woman, smothered in curls and frizzes, preposterously powdered, and in European dress. With relief +every one turned to salute them. It was Doctor de Espadaña and his wife, the Doctora Doña Victorina. The atmosphere cleared. + +</p> +<p>“Which, Señor Laruja, is the master of the house?” asked the young provincial. “I haven’t been presented.” + +</p> +<p>“They say he has gone out.” + +</p> +<p>“No presentations are necessary here,” said Brother Dámaso; “Santiago is a good fellow.” + +</p> +<p><i lang="de">Er hat das <span class="corr" id="xd0e944" title="Source: Pulfernicht">Pulfer nicht</span> erfunden</i>. “He didn’t invent gunpowder,” added Laruja. + +</p> +<p>“What, you too, Señor de Laruja?” said Doña Victorina over her fan. “How could the poor man have invented gunpowder when, +if what they say is true, the Chinese made it centuries ago?” + +</p> +<p>“The Chinese? ’Twas a Franciscan who invented it,” said Brother Dámaso. + +</p> +<p>“A Franciscan, no doubt; he must have been a missionary to China,” said the Señora, not disposed to abandon her idea. + +</p> +<p>“Who is this with Santiago?” asked the lieutenant. Every one looked toward the door, where two men had just entered. They +came up to the group around the table. + + + +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e956" href="#xd0e956">24</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div id="ch2" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">II.</h2> +<h2 class="normal"><span class="corr" id="xd0e961" title="Source: Crisostomo">Crisóstomo</span> Ibarra. +</h2> +<p>One was the original of the portrait in oil, and he led by the hand a young man in deep black. “Good evening, señores; good +evening, fathers,” said Captain Tiago, kissing the hands of the priests, “I have the honor of presenting to you Don <span class="corr" id="xd0e966" title="Source: Crisostomo">Crisóstomo</span> Ibarra.” + +</p> +<p>At the name of Ibarra there were smothered exclamations. The lieutenant, forgetting to salute the master of the house, surveyed +the young man from head to foot. Brother Dámaso seemed petrified. The arrival was evidently unexpected. Señor Ibarra exchanged +the usual phrases with members of the group. Nothing marked him from other guests save his black attire. His fine height, +his manner, his movements, denoted sane and vigorous youth. His face, frank and engaging, of a rich brown, and lightly furrowed—trace +of Spanish blood—was rosy from a sojourn in the north. + +</p> +<p>“Ah!” he cried, surprised and delighted, “my father’s old friend, Brother Dámaso!” + +</p> +<p>All eyes turned toward the Franciscan, who did not stir. + +</p> +<p>“Pardon,” said Ibarra, puzzled. “I am mistaken.” + +</p> +<p>“You are not mistaken,” said the priest at last, in an odd voice; “but your father was not my friend.” + +</p> +<p>Ibarra, astonished, drew slowly back the hand he had offered, and turned to find himself facing the lieutenant, whose eyes +had never left him. + +</p> +<p>“Young man, are you the son of Don Rafael Ibarra?” + +</p> +<p><span class="corr" id="xd0e984" title="Source: Crisostomo">Crisóstomo</span> bowed. +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e987" href="#xd0e987">25</a>]</span></p> +<p>“Then welcome to your country! I knew your father well, one of the most honorable men of the Philippines.” + +</p> +<p>“Señor,” replied Ibarra, “what you say dispels my doubts as to his fate, of which as yet I know nothing.” + +</p> +<p>The old man’s eyes filled with tears. He turned away to hide them, and moved off into the crowd. + +</p> +<p>The master of the house had disappeared. Ibarra was left alone in the middle of the room. No one presented him to the ladies. +He hesitated a moment, then went up to them and said: + +</p> +<p>“Permit me to forget formalities, and salute the first of my countrywomen I have seen for years.” + +</p> +<p>No one spoke, though many eyes regarded him with interest. Ibarra turned away, and a jovial man, in native dress, with studs +of brilliants down his shirt-front, almost ran up to say: + +</p> +<p>“Señor Ibarra, I wish to know you. I am Captain Tinong, and live near you at Tondo. Will you honor us at dinner to-morrow?” + +</p> +<p>“Thank you,” said Ibarra, pleased with the kindness, “but to-morrow I must leave for San Diego.” + +</p> +<p>“What a pity! Well then, on your return——” + +</p> +<p>“Dinner is served,” announced a waiter of the Café La Campana. + +</p> +<p>The guests began to move toward the table, not without much ceremony on the part of the ladies, especially the natives, who +required a great deal of polite urging. + + + +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1010" href="#xd0e1010">26</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div id="ch3" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">III.</h2> +<h2 class="normal">The Dinner.</h2> +<p>The two monks finding themselves near the head of the table, like two candidates for a vacant office, began politely resigning +in each other’s favor. + +</p> +<p>“This is your place, Brother Dámaso.” + +</p> +<p>“No, yours, Brother Sibyla.” + +</p> +<p>“You are so much the older friend of the family.” + +</p> +<p>“But you are the curate of the quarter.” + +</p> +<p>This polite contention settled, the guests sat down, no one but Ibarra seeming to think of the master of the house. + +</p> +<p>“What,” said he, “you’re not to be with us, Don Santiago?” + +</p> +<p>But there was no place: Lucullus was not dining with Lucullus. + +</p> +<p>“Don’t trouble yourself,” said Captain Tiago, laying his hand on the young man’s shoulder. “This feast is a thank-offering +for your safe return. Ho, there! bring the tinola! I’ve ordered the tinola expressly for you, <span class="corr" id="xd0e1034" title="Source: Crisostomo">Crisóstomo</span>.” + +</p> +<p>“When did you leave the country?” Laruja asked Ibarra. + +</p> +<p>“Seven years ago.” + +</p> +<p>“Then you must have almost forgotten it.” + +</p> +<p>“On the contrary, it has been always in my thoughts; but my country seems to have forgotten me.” + +</p> +<p>“Why do you say that?” asked the old lieutenant. + +</p> +<p>“Because for several months I have had no news, so that I do not even know how and when my father died.” + +</p> +<p>The lieutenant could not repress a groan. +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1051" href="#xd0e1051">27</a>]</span></p> +<p>“And where were you that they couldn’t telegraph you?” asked Doña Victorina. “When we were married, we sent despatches to +the peninsula.” + +</p> +<p>“Señora, I was in the far north,” said Ibarra. + +</p> +<p>“You have travelled much,” said the blond provincial; “which of the European countries pleased you most?” + +</p> +<p>“After Spain, my second country, the nations that are free.” + +</p> +<p>“And what struck you as most interesting, most surprising, in the general life of nations—the genius of each, so to put it?” +asked Laruja. + +</p> +<p>Ibarra reflected. + +</p> +<p>“Before visiting a country I carefully studied its history, and, except the different motives for national pride, there seems +to me nothing surprisingly characteristic in any nation. Given its history, everything appears natural; each people’s wealth +and misery seem in direct proportion to its freedom and its prejudices, and in consequence, in proportion to the self-sacrifice +or selfishness of its progenitors.” + +</p> +<p>“Did you discover nothing more startling than that?” demanded the Franciscan, with a mocking laugh. “It was hardly worth while +squandering money for so slight returns. Not a schoolboy but knows as much.” + +</p> +<p>The guests eyed one another, fearful of what might follow. Ibarra, astonished, remained silent a moment, then said quietly: + +</p> +<p>“Señores, do not wonder at these words of Brother Dámaso. He was my curate when I was a little boy, and with his reverence +the years don’t count. I thank him for thus recalling the time when he was often an honored guest at my father’s table.” + +</p> +<p>Brother Sibyla furtively observed the Franciscan, who was trembling slightly. At the first possible opportunity Ibarra rose. +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1074" href="#xd0e1074">28</a>]</span></p> +<p>“You will pardon me if I excuse myself,” he said. “I arrived only a few hours ago, and have matters of importance to attend +to. The dinner is over. I drink little wine, and scarcely taste liquors.” And raising a glass as yet untouched, “Señores,” +he said, “Spain and the Philippines forever!” + +</p> +<p>“You’re not going!” said Santiago in amazement. “Maria Clara and her friends will be with us in a moment. What shall I say +to her?” + +</p> +<p>“That I was obliged to go,” said Ibarra, “and that I’m coming early in the morning.” And he went out. + +</p> +<p>The Franciscan unburdened himself. + +</p> +<p>“You saw his arrogance,” he said to the blond provincial. “These young fellows won’t take reproof from a priest. That comes +of sending them to Europe. The Government ought to prohibit it.” + +</p> +<p>That night the young provincial added to his “Colonial Studies,” this paragraph: “In the Philippines, the least important +person at a feast is he who gives it. You begin by showing your host to the door, and all goes merrily.... In the present +state of affairs, it would be almost a kindness to prohibit young Filipinos from leaving their country, if not even from learning +to read.” + + + +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1087" href="#xd0e1087">29</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div id="ch4" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">IV.</h2> +<h2 class="normal">Heretic and Filibuster.</h2> +<p>Ibarra stood outside the house of Captain Tiago. The night wind, which at this season brings a bit of freshness to Manila, +seemed to blow away the cloud that had darkened his face. Carriages passed him like streaks of light, hired calashes rolled +slowly by, and foot-passengers of all nationalities jostled one another. With the rambling gait of the preoccupied or the +idle, he took his way toward the Plaza de Binondo. Nothing was changed. It was the same street, with the same blue and white +houses, the same white walls with their slate-colored fresco, poor imitations of granite. The church tower showed the same +clock with transparent face. The Chinese shop had the same soiled curtains, the same iron triangles. One day, long ago, imitating +the street urchins of Manila, he had twisted one of these triangles: nobody had ever straightened it. “How little progress!” +he murmured; and he followed the Calle de la Sacristia, pursued by the cry of sherbet venders. + +</p> +<p>“Marvellous!” he thought; “one would say my voyage was a dream. Santo Dios! the street is as bad as when I went away.” + +</p> +<p>While he contemplated this marvel of urban stability in an unstable country, a hand fell lightly on his shoulder. He looked +up and recognized the old lieutenant. His face had put off its expression of sternness, and he smiled kindly at <span class="corr" id="xd0e1099" title="Source: Crisostomo">Crisóstomo</span>. +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1102" href="#xd0e1102">30</a>]</span></p> +<p>“Young man,” he said, “I was your father’s friend: I wish you to consider me yours.” + +</p> +<p>“You seem to have known my father well,” said <span class="corr" id="xd0e1107" title="Source: Crisostomo">Crisóstomo</span>; “perhaps you can tell me something of his death.” + +</p> +<p>“You do not know about it?” + +</p> +<p>“Nothing at all, and Don Santiago would not talk with me till to-morrow.” + +</p> +<p>“You know, of course, where he died.” + +</p> +<p>“Not even that.” + +</p> +<p>Lieutenant Guevara hesitated. + +</p> +<p>“I am an old soldier,” he said at last, in a voice full of compassion, “and only know how to say bluntly what I have to tell. +Your father died in prison.” + +</p> +<p>Ibarra sprang back, his eyes fixed on the lieutenant’s. + +</p> +<p>“Died in prison? Who died in prison?” + +</p> +<p>“Your father,” said the lieutenant, his voice still gentler. + +</p> +<p>“My father—in prison? What are you saying? Do you know who my father was?” and he seized the old man’s arm. + +</p> +<p>“I think I’m not mistaken: Don Rafael Ibarra.” + +</p> +<p>“Yes, Don Rafael Ibarra,” <span class="corr" id="xd0e1134" title="Source: Crisostomo">Crisóstomo</span> repeated mechanically. + +</p> +<p>“You will soon learn that for an honest man to keep out of prison is a difficult matter in the Philippines.” + +</p> +<p>“You mock me! Why did he die in prison?” + +</p> +<p>“Come with me; we will talk on the way.” + +</p> +<p>They walked along in silence, the officer stroking his beard in search of inspiration. + +</p> +<p>“As you know,” he began, “your father was the richest man of the province, and if he had many friends he had also enemies. +We Spaniards who come to the Philippines are seldom what we should be. I say this as truthfully of some of your ancestors +as of others. Most of us come to make a fortune without regard to the means. Well, your <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1147" href="#xd0e1147">31</a>]</span>father was a man to make enemies among these adventurers, and he made enemies among the monks. I never knew exactly the ground +of the trouble with Brother Dámaso, but it came to a point where the priest almost denounced him from the pulpit. + +</p> +<p>“You remember the old ex-artilleryman who collected taxes? He became the laughing-stock of the pueblo, and grew brutal and +churlish accordingly. One day he chased some boys who were annoying him, and struck one down. Unfortunately your father interfered. +There was a struggle and the man fell. He died within a few hours. + +</p> +<p>“Naturally your father was arrested, and then his enemies unmasked. He was called heretic, filibustero, his papers were seized, +everything was made to accuse him. Any one else in his place would have been set at liberty, the physicians finding that the +man died of apoplexy; but your father’s fortune, his honesty, and his scorn of everything illegal undid him. When his advocate, +by the most brilliant pleading, had exposed these calumnies, new accusations arose. He had taken lands unjustly, owed men +for imaginary wrongs, had relations with the tulisanes, by which his plantations and herds were unmolested. The affair became +so complicated that no one could unravel it. Your father gave way under the strain, and died suddenly—alone—in prison.” + +</p> +<p>They had reached the quarters. + +</p> +<p>The lieutenant hesitated. Ibarra said nothing, but grasped the old man’s long, thin hand; then turned away, caught sight of +a coach, and signalled the driver. + +</p> +<p>“Fonda de Lala,” he said, and his words were scarcely audible. + + + +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1159" href="#xd0e1159">32</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div id="ch5" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">V.</h2> +<h2 class="normal">A Star in the Dark Night.</h2> +<p>Ibarra went up to his chamber, which faced the river, threw himself down, and looked out through the open window. Across the +river a brilliantly lighted house was ringing with joyous music. Had the young man been so minded, with the aid of a glass +he might have seen, in that radiant atmosphere, a vision. It was a young girl, of exceeding beauty, wearing the picturesque +costume of the Philippines. A semicircle of courtiers was round her. Spaniards, Chinese, natives, soldiers, curates, old and +young, intoxicated with the light and music, were talking, gesturing, disputing with animation. Even Brother Sibyla deigned +to address this queen, in whose splendid hair Doña Victorina was wreathing a diadem of pearls and brilliants. She was white, +too white perhaps, and her deep eyes, often lowered, when she raised them showed the purity of her soul. About her fair and +rounded neck, through the transparent tissue of the piña, winked, as say the Tagals, the joyous eyes of a necklace of brilliants. +One man alone seemed unreached by all this light and loveliness; it was a young Franciscan, slim, gaunt, pale, who watched +all from a distance, still as a statue. + +</p> +<p>But Ibarra sees none of this. Another spectacle appears to his fancy, commands his eyes. Four walls, bare and dank, enclose +a narrow cell, lighted by a single streak of day. On the moist and noisome floor is a mat; on the mat an old man dying. Beaten +down by fever, he lies and looks <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1169" href="#xd0e1169">33</a>]</span>about him, calling a name, in strangling voice, with tears. No one—a clanking chain, an echoed groan somewhere; that was all. +And away off in the bright world, laughing, singing, drenching flowers with wine, a young man.... One by one the lights go +out in the festal house: no more of noise, or song, or harp; but in Ibarra’s ears always the agonizing cry. + +</p> +<p>Silence has drawn her deep breath over Manila; all its life seems gone out, save that a cock’s crow alternates with the bells +of clock towers and the melancholy watch-cry of the guard. A quarter moon comes up, flooding with its pale light the universal +sleep. Even Ibarra, wearied more perhaps with his sad thoughts than his long voyage, sleeps too. Only the young Franciscan, +silent and motionless just now at the feast, awake still. His elbow on the window-place of his little cell, his chin sunk +in his palm, he watches a glittering star. The star pales, goes out, the slender moon loses her gentle light, but the monk +stays on; motionless, he looks toward the horizon, lost now behind the morning mists, over the field of Bagumbayan, over the +sleeping sea. + + + +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1173" href="#xd0e1173">34</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div id="ch6" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">VI.</h2> +<h2 class="normal">Captain Tiago and Maria.</h2> +<p>While our friends are still asleep or breakfasting, we will sketch the portrait of Captain Tiago. We have no reason to ignore +him, never having been among his guests. Short, less dark than most of his compatriots, of full face and slightly corpulent, +Captain Tiago seemed younger than his age. His rounded cranium, very small and elongated behind, was covered with hair black +as ebony. His eyes, small and straight set, kept always the same expression. His nose was straight and finely cut, and if +his mouth had not been deformed by the use of tobacco and buyo, he had not been wrong in thinking himself a handsome man. + +</p> +<p>He was reputed the richest resident of Binondo, and had large estates in La Pampanga, on the Laguna de Bay, and at San Diego. +From its baths, its famous gallera, and his recollections of the place, San Diego was his favorite pueblo, and here he passed +two months every year. He had also properties at Santo Cristo, in the Calle de Anloague, and in the Calle Rosario; the exploitation +of the opium traffic was shared between him and a Chinese, and, needless to say, brought him great gains. He was purveyor +to the prisoners at Bilibid, and furnished zacate to many Manila houses. On good terms with all authority, shrewd, pliant, +daring in speculation, he was the sole rival of a certain Perez in the awards of divers contracts which the Philippine Government +always places in privileged hands. From all of which it resulted that Captain Tiago was as happy <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1183" href="#xd0e1183">35</a>]</span>as can be a man whose small head announces his native origin. He was rich, and at peace with God, with the Government, and +with men. + +</p> +<p>That he was at peace with God could not be doubted. One has no motive for being at enmity with Him when one is well in the +land, and has never had to ask Him for anything. From the grand salon of the Manila home, a little door, hid behind a silken +curtain, led to a chapel—something obligatory in a Filipino house. There were Santiago’s Lares, and if we use this word, it +is because the master of the house was rather a poly- than a monotheist. Here, in sculpture and oils, were saints, martyrdoms, +and miracles; a chapter could scarcely enumerate them all. Before these images Santiago burned his candles and made his requests +known. + +</p> +<p>That he was at peace with the Government, however difficult the problem, could not be doubted either. Incapable of a new idea, +and contented with his lot, he was disposed to obey even to the lowest functionary, and to offer him capons, hams, and Chinese +fruits at all seasons. If he heard the natives maligned, not considering himself one, he chimed in and said worse: one criticised +the Chinese merchants or the Spaniards, he, who thought himself pure Iberian, did it too. He was for two years gobernadorcillo +of the rich association of half-breeds, in the face of protestations from many who considered him a native. The impious called +him fool; the poor, pitiless and cruel; his inferiors, a tyrant. + +</p> +<p>As to his past, he was the only son of a rich sugar merchant, who died when Santiago was still at school. He had then to quit +his studies and give himself to business. He married a young girl of Santa Cruz, who brought him social rank and helped his +fortunes. + +</p> +<p>The absence of an heir in the first six years of marriage <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1193" href="#xd0e1193">36</a>]</span>made Captain Tiago’s thirst for riches almost blameworthy. In vain all this time did Doña Pia make novenas and pilgrimages +and scatter alms. But at length she was to become a mother. Alas! like Shakespeare’s fisherman who lost his songs when he +found a treasure, she never smiled again, and died, leaving a beautiful baby girl, whom Brother Dámaso presented at the font. +The child was called Maria Clara. + +</p> +<p>Maria Clara grew, thanks to the care of good Aunt Isabel. Her eyes, like her mother’s, were large, black, and shaded by long +lashes; sparkling and mirthful when she laughed; when she did not, thoughtful and profound, even sad. Her curly hair was almost +blond, her nose perfect; and her mouth, small and sweet like her mother’s, was flanked by charming dimples. The little thing, +idol of every one, lived amid smiles and love. The monks fêted her. They dressed her in white for their processions, mingled +jasmine and lilies in her hair, gave her little silver wings, and in her hands blue ribbons, the reins of fluttering white +doves. She was so joyous, had such a candid baby speech, that Captain Tiago, enraptured with her, passed his time in blessing +the saints. + +</p> +<p>In the lands of the sun, at thirteen or fourteen, the child becomes a woman. At this age full of mysteries, Maria Clara entered +the convent of Santa Catalina, to remain several years. With tears she parted from the sole companion of her childish games, +<span class="corr" id="xd0e1199" title="Source: Crisostomo">Crisóstomo</span> Ibarra, who in turn was soon to leave his home. Some years after his departure, Don Rafael and Captain Tiago, knowing the +inclinations of their children, agreed upon their marriage. This arrangement was received with eager joy by two hearts beating +at two extremities of the world. + + + +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1202" href="#xd0e1202">37</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div id="ch7" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">VII.</h2> +<h2 class="normal">Idylle.</h2> +<p>The sky was blue. A fresh breeze stirred the leaves and shook the nodding “angels’ heads,” the aerial plants, and the many +other adornments of the terrace. Maria and <span class="corr" id="xd0e1210" title="Source: Crisostomo">Crisóstomo</span> were there, alone together for the first time since his return. They began with charming futilities, so sweet to those who +understand, so meaningless to others. She is sister to Cain, a little jealous; she says to her lover: “Did you never forget +me among the many beautiful women you have seen?” + +</p> +<p>He too, he is brother to Cain, a bit subtle. + +</p> +<p>“Could I ever forget you!” he answered, gazing into the dark eyes. “Your remembrance made powerless that lotus flower, Europe, +which steeps out of the memory of many of my countrymen the hopes and wrongs of our land. It seemed as if the spirit, the +poetic incarnation of my country was you, frank and lovely daughter of the Philippines! My love for you and that for her fused +in one.” + +</p> +<p>“I know only your pueblo, Manila and Antipolo,” replied the young girl, radiant; “but I have always thought of you, and though +my confessor commanded it, I was never able to forget you. I used to think over all our childish plays and quarrels. Do you +remember the day you were really angry? Your mother had taken us to wade in the brook, behind the reeds. You put a crown of +orange flowers on my head and called me Chloe. But your mother took the flowers and ground them with a stone, to mix with +<i>gogo</i>, for <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1222" href="#xd0e1222">38</a>]</span>washing our hair. You cried. ‘Stupid,’ said she, ‘you shall see how good your hair smells!’ I laughed; at that you were angry +and wouldn’t speak to me, while I wanted to cry. On the way home, when the sun was very hot, I picked some sage leaves for +your head. You smiled your thanks, and we were friends again.” + +</p> +<p>Ibarra opened his pocketbook and took out a paper in which were some leaves, blackened and dry, but fragrant still. + +</p> +<p>“Your sage leaves,” he replied to her questioning look. + +</p> +<p>In her turn, she drew out a little white satin purse. + +</p> +<p>“Hands off!” as he reached out for it, “there’s a letter in it!” + +</p> +<p>“My letter of good-by?” + +</p> +<p>“Have you written me any others, señor mio?” + +</p> +<p>“What is in it?” + +</p> +<p>“Lots of fibs, excuses of a bad debtor,” she laughed. “If you’re good I will read it to you, suppressing the gallantries, +though, so you won’t suffer too much.” And lifting the paper to hide her face, she began: + +</p> +<p>“‘My——’ I’ll not read what follows, because it’s a fib”; and she ran her eyes over several lines. “In spite of my prayers, +I must go. ‘You are no longer a boy,’ my father said, ‘you must think of the future. You have to learn things your own country +cannot teach you, if you would be useful to her some day. What, almost a man and I see you in tears?’ Upon that I confessed +my love for you. He was silent, then placing his hand on my shoulder he said in a voice full of emotion: ‘Do you think you +alone know how to love; that it costs your father nothing to let you go away from him? It is not long since we lost your mother, +and I am growing old, yet I accept my solitude and run the risk of never seeing you again. For you the future opens, for me +it shuts; the fire of youth is yours, frost touches <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1242" href="#xd0e1242">39</a>]</span>me, and it is you who weep, you who do not know how to sacrifice the present to a to-morrow good for you and for your country.” + +</p> +<p>Ibarra’s agitation stopped the reading; he had become very pale and was walking back and forth. + +</p> +<p>“What is it? You are ill!” cried Maria, going toward him. + +</p> +<p>“With you I have forgotten my duty; I should be on my way to the pueblo. To-morrow is the Feast of the Dead.” + +</p> +<p>Maria was silent. She fixed on him her great, thoughtful eyes, then turned to pick some flowers. + +</p> +<p>“Go,” she said, and her voice was deep and sweet; “I keep you no longer. In a few days we shall see each other again. Put +these flowers on your father’s grave.” + +</p> +<p>A little later, Captain Tiago found Maria in the chapel, at the foot of a statue of the Virgin, weeping. “Come, come,” said +he, to console her; “burn some candles to St. Roch and St. Michael, patrons of travellers, for the tulisanes are numerous: +better spend four réales for wax than pay a ransom.” + + + +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1256" href="#xd0e1256">40</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div id="ch8" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">VIII.</h2> +<h2 class="normal">Reminiscences.</h2> +<p>Ibarra’s carriage was crossing one of the most animated quarters of Manila. The street life that had saddened him the night +before, now, in spite of his sorrow, made him smile. Everything awakened a world of sleeping recollections. + +</p> +<p>These streets were not yet paved, so if the sun shone two days continuously, they turned to powder which covered everything. +But let it rain a day, you had a mire, reflecting at night the shifting lamps of the carriages and bespattering the foot-passengers +on the narrow walks. How many women had lost their embroidered slippers in these muddy waves! + +</p> +<p>The good and honorable pontoon bridge, so characteristically Filipino, doing its best to be useful in spite of natural faults, +and rising or falling with the caprices of the Pasig,—that brave bridge was no more. The new Spanish bridge drew Ibarra’s +attention. Carriages passed continuously, drawn by groups of dwarf horses, in splendid harness. In these sat at ease government +clerks going to their bureaus, officers, Chinese, self-satisfied and ridiculously grave monks, canons. In an elegant victoria, +Ibarra thought he recognized Father Dámaso, deep in thought. From an open carriage, where his wife and two daughters accompanied +him, Captain Tinong waved a friendly greeting. + +</p> +<p>Then came the Botanical Gardens, then old Manila, still enclosed in its ditches and walls; beyond that the sea; beyond <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1270" href="#xd0e1270">41</a>]</span>that, Europe, thought Ibarra. But the little hill of Bagumbayan drove away all fancies. He remembered the man who had opened +the eyes of his intelligence, taught him to find out the true and the just. It was an old priest, and the holy man had died +there, on that field of execution! + +</p> +<p>To these thoughts he replied by murmuring: “No, after all, first the country, first the Philippines, daughters of Spain, first +the Spanish home-land!” + +</p> +<p>His carriage rolled on. It passed a cart drawn by two horses whose hempen harness told of the back country. Sometimes there +sounded the slow and heavy tread of a pensive carabao, drawing a great tumbrel; its conductor, on his buffalo skin, accompanying, +with a monotonous and melancholy chant, the strident creaking of the wheels. Sometimes there was the dull sound of a native +sledge’s worn runners. In the fields grazed the herds, and among them white herons gravely promenaded, or sat tranquil on +the backs of sleepy oxen beatifically chewing their cuds of prairie grass. Let us leave the young man, wholly occupied now +with his thoughts. The sun which makes the tree-tops burn, and sends the peasants running, when they feel the hot ground through +their thick shoes; the sun which halts the countrywoman under a clump of great reeds, and makes her think of things vague +and strange—that sun has no enchantment for him. + +</p> +<p>While the carriage, staggering like a drunken man over the uneven ground, passes a bamboo bridge, mounts a rough hillside +or descends its steep slope, let us return to Manila. + + + +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1278" href="#xd0e1278">42</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div id="ch9" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">IX.</h2> +<h2 class="normal">Affairs of the Country.</h2> +<p>Ibarra had not been mistaken. It was indeed Father Dámaso he had seen, on his way to the house which he himself had just left. + +</p> +<p>Maria Clara and Aunt Isabel were entering their carriage when the monk arrived. “Where are you going?” he asked, and in his +preoccupation he gently tapped the young girl’s cheek. + +</p> +<p>“To the convent to get my things,” said she. + +</p> +<p>“Ah! ah! well, well! we shall see who is the stronger, we shall see!” he murmured, as he left the two women somewhat surprised +and went up the steps. + +</p> +<p>“He’s probably committing his sermon,” said Aunt Isabel. “Come, we are late!” + +</p> +<p>We cannot say whether Father Dámaso was committing a sermon, but he must have been absorbed in important things, for he did +not offer his hand to Captain Tiago. + +</p> +<p>“Santiago,” he said, “we must have a serious talk. Come into your office.” + +</p> +<p>Captain Tiago felt uneasy. He answered nothing, but followed the gigantic priest, who closed the door behind them. + +</p> +<p>While they talk, let us see what has become of Father Sibyla. + +</p> +<p>The learned Dominican, his mass once said, had set out for the convent of his order, which stands at the entrance <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1304" href="#xd0e1304">43</a>]</span>to the city, near the gate bearing alternately, according to the family reigning at Madrid, the name of Magellan or Isabella +II. + +</p> +<p>Brother Sibyla entered, crossed several halls, and knocked at a door. + +</p> +<p>“Come in,” said a faint voice. + +</p> +<p>“God give health to your reverence,” said the young Dominican, entering. Seated in a great armchair was an old priest, meagre, +jaundiced, like Rivera’s saints. His eyes, deep-sunken in their orbits, were arched with heavy brows, intensifying the flashes +of their dying light. + +</p> +<p>Brother Sibyla was moved. He inclined his head, and seemed to wait. + +</p> +<p>“Ah!” gasped the sick man, “they recommend an operation! An operation at my age! Oh, this country, this terrible country! +You see what it does for all of us, Hernando!” + +</p> +<p>“And what has your reverence decided?” + +</p> +<p>“To die! Could I do otherwise? I suffer too much, but—I’ve made others suffer. I’m paying my debt. And you? How are you? What +do you bring me?” + +</p> +<p>“I came to talk of the mission you gave me.” + +</p> +<p>“Ah! and what is there to say?” + +</p> +<p>“They’ve told us fairy tales,” answered Brother Sibyla wearily. “Young Ibarra seems a sensible fellow. He is not stupid at +all, and thoroughly manly.” + +</p> +<p>“Is it so!” + +</p> +<p>“Hostilities began yesterday.” + +</p> +<p>“Ah! and how?” + +</p> +<p>Brother Sibyla briefly recounted what had passed between Brother Dámaso and <span class="corr" id="xd0e1334" title="Source: Crisostomo">Crisóstomo</span>. + +</p> +<p>“Besides,” he said in conclusion, “the young man is going to marry the daughter of Captain Tiago, who was educated at the +convent of our sisters. He is rich; he would <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1339" href="#xd0e1339">44</a>]</span>not go about making himself enemies and compromise at once his happiness and his fortune.” + +</p> +<p>The sick man moved his hand in sign of assent. + +</p> +<p>“Yes, you are right. He should be ours, body and soul. But if he declare himself our enemy, so much the better!” + +</p> +<p>Brother Sibyla looked at the old man in surprise. + +</p> +<p>“For the good of our sacred order, you understand,” he added, breathing with difficulty; “I prefer attack to the flatteries +and adulations of friends; besides, those are bought.” + +</p> +<p>“Your reverence believes that?” + +</p> +<p>The old man looked at him sadly. + +</p> +<p>“Remember this well,” he went on, catching his breath; “our power lasts as long as it’s believed in. If we’re attacked, the +Government reasons: ‘They are assailed because in them is seen an obstacle to liberty: therefore we must support them!’” + +</p> +<p>“But if the Government should listen to our enemies, if it should come to covet what we have amassed—if there should be a +man hardy enough——” + +</p> +<p>“Ah! then beware!” + +</p> +<p>Both were silent. + +</p> +<p>“And too,” the sick man continued, “we have need of attack to show us our faults and make us better them. Too much flattery +deceives us; we sleep; and more, it makes us ridiculous, and the day we become ridiculous we fall as we have fallen in Europe. +Money will no longer come to our churches. No one will buy scapulary, penitential cords, anything; and when we cease to be +rich, we can no longer convince the conscience. And the worst is, that we’re working our own destruction. For one thing, this +immoderate thirst for gain, which I’ve combated in vain in all our chapters, this thirst will be our ruin. I fear we are already +declining. God blinds whom He will destroy.” +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1363" href="#xd0e1363">45</a>]</span></p> +<p>“We shall always have our lands.” + +</p> +<p>“But every year we raise their price, and force the Indian to buy of others. The people are beginning to murmur. We ought +not to increase the burdens we’ve already laid on their shoulders.” + +</p> +<p>“So your reverence believes that the revenues——” + +</p> +<p>“Talk no more of money,” interrupted the old man with aversion. “You say the lieutenant threatened Father Dámaso?” + +</p> +<p>“Yes, Father,” replied Sibyla, half smiling; “but this morning he told me the sherry had mounted to his head, and he thought +it must have been the same with Brother Dámaso. ‘And your threat?’ I asked jestingly. ‘Father,’ said he, ‘I know how to keep +my word when it doesn’t smirch my honor; I was never an informer—and that’s why I am only a lieutenant.’” +</p> +<hr class="tb"><p> + +</p> +<p>Though the lieutenant had not carried out his threat to go to <span class="corr" id="xd0e1378" title="Source: Malacanan">Malacañang</span>, the captain-general none the less knew what had happened. A young officer told the story. + +</p> +<p>“From whom do you have it?” demanded His Excellency, smiling. + +</p> +<p>“From De Laruja.” + +</p> +<p>The captain-general smiled again, and added: + +</p> +<p>“Woman’s tongue, monk’s tongue doesn’t wound. I don’t wish to get entangled with these men in skirts. Besides, the provincial +made light of my orders; to punish this priest I demanded that his parish be changed. Well, they gave him a better. Monkishness! +as we say in Spain.” + +</p> +<p>Alone, His Excellency ceased to smile. + +</p> +<p>“Oh! if the people were not so dense, how easy to bridle their reverences! But every nation merits its lot!” + +</p> +<p>Meanwhile Captain Tiago finished his conference with Father Dámaso. +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1395" href="#xd0e1395">46</a>]</span></p> +<p>“And now you are warned,” said the Franciscan upon leaving. “This would have been avoided if you hadn’t equivocated when I +asked you how the matter stood. Don’t make any more false moves, and trust her godfather.” + +</p> +<p>Captain Tiago took two or three turns about the room, reflecting and sighing. Then suddenly, as if a happy thought had struck +him, running to the oratory, he extinguished the two candles lighted for the safeguard of Ibarra. + + + +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1400" href="#xd0e1400">47</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div id="ch10" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">X.</h2> +<h2 class="normal">The Pueblo.</h2> +<p>Almost on the banks of the lake, in the midst of meadows and streams, is the pueblo of San Diego. It exports sugar, rice, +coffee, and fruits, or sells these articles of merchandise at low prices to Chinese traders. + +</p> +<p>When, on a clear day, the children climb to the top stage of the moss-grown and vine-clad church tower, there are joyous exclamations. +Each picks out his own little roof of <i>nipa</i>, tile, zinc, or palm. Beyond they see the rio, a monstrous crystal serpent asleep on a carpet of green. Trunks of palm trees, +dipping and swaying, join the two banks, and if, as bridges, they leave much to be desired for trembling old men and poor +women who must cross with heavy baskets on their heads, on the other hand they make fine gymnastic apparatus for the young. + +</p> +<p>But what besides the rio the children never fail to talk about is a certain wooded peninsula in this sea of cultivated land. +Its ancient trees never die, unless the lightning strikes their high tops. Dust gathers layer on layer in their hollow trunks, +the rain makes soil of it, the birds bring seeds, a tropical vegetation grows there in wild freedom: bushes, briers, curtains +of netted bind-weed, spring from the roots, reach from tree to tree, hang swaying from the branches, and Flora, as if yet +unsatisfied, sows on the trees themselves; mosses and fungi live on the creased bark, and graceful aerial guests pierce with +their tendrils the hospitable branches. +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1415" href="#xd0e1415">48</a>]</span></p> +<p>This wood is the subject of a legend. + +</p> +<p>When the pueblo was but a group of poor cabins, there arrived one day a strange old Spaniard with marvellous eyes, who scarcely +spoke the Tagal. He wished to buy lands having thermal springs, and did so, paying in money, dress, and jewelry. Suddenly +he disappeared, leaving no trace. The people of the pueblo had begun to think of him as a magician, when one day his body +was found hanging high to the branch of a giant fig tree. After it had been buried at the foot of the tree, no one cared much +to venture in that quarter. + +</p> +<p>A few months later there arrived a young Spanish halfbreed, who claimed to be the old man’s son. He settled, and gave himself +to agriculture. Don Saturnino was taciturn and of violent temper, but very industrious. Late in life he married a woman of +Manila, who bore him Don Rafael, the father of <span class="corr" id="xd0e1422" title="Source: Crisostomo">Crisóstomo</span>. + +</p> +<p>Don Rafael, from his youth, was much beloved. He rapidly developed his father’s lands, the population multiplied, the Chinese +came, the hamlet grew to a pueblo, the native curate died and was replaced by Father Dámaso. And all this time the people +respected the sepulchre of the old Spaniard, and held it in superstitious awe. Sometimes, armed with sticks and stones, the +children dared run near it to gather wild fruits; but while they were busy at this, or stood gazing at the bit of rope still +dangling from the limb, a stone or two would fall from no one knew where. Then with cries of “The old man! the old man!” they +threw down sticks and fruit, ran in all directions, between the rocks and bushes, and did not stop till they were out of the +woods, all pale and breathless, some crying, few daring to laugh. + + + +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1427" href="#xd0e1427">49</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div id="ch11" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">XI.</h2> +<h2 class="normal">The Sovereigns.</h2> +<p>Who was the ruler of the pueblo? Not Don Rafael during his lifetime, though he possessed the most land, and nearly every one +owed him. As he was modest, and gave little value to his deeds, no party formed around him, and we have seen how he was deserted +and attacked when his fortunes fell. + +</p> +<p>Was it Captain Tiago? It is true his arrival was always heralded with music, he was given banquets by his debtors, and loaded +with presents; but he was laughed at in secret, and called Sacristan Tiago. + +</p> +<p>Was it by chance the town mayor, the gobernadorcillo? Alas! he was an unfortunate, who governed not, but obeyed; did not dispose, +but was disposed of. And yet he had to answer to the alcalde for all these dispositions, as if they emanated from his own +brain. Be it said in his favor that he had neither stolen nor usurped his honors, but that they cost him five thousand pesos +and much humiliation. + +</p> +<p>Perhaps then it was God? But to most of these good people, God seemed one of those poor kings surrounded by favorites to whom +their subjects always take their supplications, never to them. + +</p> +<p>No, San Diego was a sort of modern Rome. The curate was the pope at the Vatican; the alférez of the civil guard, the King +in the Quirinal. Here as there, difficulties arose from the situation. + +</p> +<p>The present curate, Brother Bernardo Salvi, was the <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1445" href="#xd0e1445">50</a>]</span>young and silent Franciscan we have already seen. In mode of life and in appearance he was very unlike his predecessor, Brother +Dámaso. He seemed ill, was always thoughtful, accomplished strictly his religious duties, and was careful of his reputation. +Through his zeal, almost all his parishioners had speedily become members of the Third Order of St. Francis, to the great +dismay of the rival order, that of the Holy Rosary. Four or five scapularies were suspended around every neck, knotted cords +encircled all the waists, and the innumerable processions of the order were a joy to see. The head sacristan took in a small +fortune, selling—or giving as alms, to put it more correctly—all the paraphernalia necessary to save the soul and combat the +devil. It is well known that this evil spirit, who once dared attack God face to face, and accuse His divine word, as the +book of Job tells us, is now so cowardly and feeble that he flees at sight of a bit of painted cloth, and fears a knotted +cord. + +</p> +<p>Brother Salvi again greatly differed from Brother Dámaso—who set everything right with fists or ferrule, believing it the +only way to reach the Indian—in that he punished with fines the faults of his subordinates, rarely striking them. + +</p> +<p>From his struggles with the curate, the alférez had a bad reputation among the devout, which he deserved, and shared with +his wife, a hideous and vile old Filipino woman named Doña Consolacion. The husband avenged his conjugal woes on himself by +drinking like a fish; on his subordinates, by making them exercise in the sun; and most frequently on his wife, by kicks and +drubbings. The two fought famously between themselves, but were of one mind when it was a question of the curate. Inspired +by his wife, the officer ordered that no one be abroad in the streets after nine at night. The priest, who did not like this +restriction, retorted in lengthy sermons, whenever the <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1451" href="#xd0e1451">51</a>]</span>alférez went to church. Like all impenitents, the alférez did not mend his ways for that, but went out swearing under his +breath, arrested the first sacristan he met, and made him clean the yard of the barracks. So the war went on. All this, however, +did not prevent the alférez and the curate chatting courteously enough when they met. + +</p> +<p>And they were the rulers of the pueblo of San Diego. + + + +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1455" href="#xd0e1455">52</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div id="ch12" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">XII.</h2> +<h2 class="normal">All Saints’ Day.</h2> +<p>The cemetery of San Diego is in the midst of rice-fields. It is approached by a narrow path, powdery on sunny days, navigable +on rainy. A wooden gate and a wall half stone, half bamboo stalks, succeed in keeping out men, but not the curate’s goats, +nor the pigs of his neighbors. In the middle of the enclosure is a stone pedestal supporting a great wooden cross. Storms +have bent the strip of tin on which were the I. N. R. I., and the rain has washed off the letters. At the foot of the cross +is a confused heap of bones and skulls thrown out by the grave-digger. Everywhere grow in all their vigor the bitter-sweet +and rose-bay. Some tiny flowerets, too, tint the ground—blossoms which, like the mounded bones, are known to their Creator +only. They are like little pale smiles, and their odor scents of the tomb. Grass and climbing plants fill the corners, cover +the walls, adorning this otherwise bare ugliness; they even penetrate the tombs, through earthquake fissures, and fill their +yawning gaps. + +</p> +<p>At this hour two men are digging near the crumbling wall. One, the grave-digger, works with the utmost indifference, throwing +aside a skull as a gardener would a stone. The other is preoccupied; he perspires, he breathes hard. + +</p> +<p>“Oh!” he says at length in Tagalo. “Hadn’t we better dig in some other place? This grave is too recent.” + +</p> +<p>“All the graves are the same, one is as recent as another.” +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1469" href="#xd0e1469">53</a>]</span></p> +<p>“I can’t endure this!” + +</p> +<p>“What a woman! You should go and be a clerk! If you had dug up, as I did, a boy of twenty days, at night, in the rain——” + +</p> +<p>“Uh-h-h! And why did you do that?” + +</p> +<p>The grave-digger seemed surprised. + +</p> +<p>“Why? How do I know, I was ordered to.” + +</p> +<p>“Who ordered you?” + +</p> +<p>At this question the grave-digger straightened himself, and examined the rash young man from head to foot. + +</p> +<p>“Come! come! You’re curious as a Spaniard. A Spaniard asked me the same question, but in secret. I’m going to say to you what +I said to him: the curate ordered it.” + +</p> +<p>“Oh! and what did you do with the body?” + +</p> +<p>“The devil! if I didn’t know you, I should take you for the police. The curate told me to bury it in the Chinese cemetery, +but it’s a long way there, and the body was heavy. ‘Better be drowned,’ I said to myself, ‘than lie with the Chinese,’ and +I threw it into the lake.” + +</p> +<p>“No, no, stop digging!” interrupted the younger man, with a cry of horror, and throwing down his spade he sprang out of the +grave. + +</p> +<p>The grave-digger watched him run off signing himself, laughed, and went to work again. + +</p> +<p>The cemetery began to fill with men and women in mourning. Some of them came for a moment to the open grave, discussed some +matter, seemed not to be agreed, and separated, kneeling here and there. Others were lighting candles; all began to pray devoutly. +One heard sighing and sobs, and over all a confused murmur of “<i lang="la">requiem æternam</i>.” + +</p> +<p>A little old man, with piercing eyes, entered uncovered. At sight of him some laughed, others frowned. The old <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1501" href="#xd0e1501">54</a>]</span>man seemed to take no account of this. He went to the heap of skulls, knelt, and searched with his eyes. Then with the greatest +care he lifted the skulls one by one, wrinkling his brows, shaking his head, and looking on all sides. At length he rose and +approached the grave-digger. + +</p> +<p>“Ho!” said he. + +</p> +<p>The other raised his eyes. + +</p> +<p>“Did you see a beautiful skull, white as the inside of a cocoanut?” + +</p> +<p>The grave-digger shrugged his shoulders. + +</p> +<p>“Look,” said the old man, showing a piece of money; “it’s all I have, but I’ll give it to you if you find it.” + +</p> +<p>The gleam of silver made the man reflect. He looked toward the heap and said: + +</p> +<p>“It isn’t there? No? Then I don’t know where it is.” + +</p> +<p>“You don’t know? When those who owe me pay, I’ll give you more. ’Twas the skull of my wife, and if you find it——” + +</p> +<p>“It isn’t there? Then I know nothing about it, but I can give you another.” + +</p> +<p>“You are like the grave you dig,” cried the old man, furious. “You know not the value of what you destroy! For whom is this +<span class="corr" id="xd0e1523" title="Source: gave">grave</span>?” + +</p> +<p>“How do I know? For a dead man!” replied the other with temper. + +</p> +<p>“Like the grave, like the grave,” the old man repeated with a dry laugh. “You know neither what you cast out nor what you +keep. Dig! dig!” And he went toward the gate. + +</p> +<p>Meanwhile the grave-digger had finished his task, and two mounds of fresh, reddish earth rose beside the grave. Drawing from +his pocket some buyo, he regarded dully what was going on around him, sat down, and began to chew. + +</p> +<p>At that moment a carriage, which had apparently made <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1534" href="#xd0e1534">55</a>]</span>a long journey, stopped at the entrance to the cemetery. Ibarra got out, followed by an old servant, and silently made his +way along the path. + +</p> +<p>“It is there, behind the great cross, señor,” said the servant, as they approached the spot where the grave-digger was sitting. + +</p> +<p>Arrived at the cross, the old servant looked on all sides, and became greatly confused. “It was there,” he muttered; “no, +there, but the ground has been broken.” + +</p> +<p>Ibarra looked at him in anguish. + +</p> +<p>The servant appealed to the grave-digger. + +</p> +<p>“Where is the grave that was marked with a cross like this?” he demanded; and stooping, he traced a Byzantine cross on the +ground. + +</p> +<p>“Were there flowers growing on it?” + +</p> +<p>“Yes, jasmine and pansies.” + +</p> +<p>The grave-digger scratched his ear and said with a yawn: + +</p> +<p>“Well, the cross I burned.” + +</p> +<p>“Burned! and why?” + +</p> +<p>“Because the curate ordered it.” + +</p> +<p>Ibarra drew his hand across his forehead. + +</p> +<p>“But at least you can show us the grave.” + +</p> +<p>“The body’s no longer there,” said the grave-digger calmly. + +</p> +<p>“What are you saying!” + +</p> +<p>“Yes,” the man went on, with a smile, “I put a woman in its place, eight days ago.” + +</p> +<p>“Are you mad?” cried the servant; “it isn’t a year since he was buried.” + +</p> +<p>“Father Dámaso ordered it; he told me to take the body to the Chinese cemetery; I——” + +</p> +<p>He got no farther, and started back in terror at sight of <span class="corr" id="xd0e1574" title="Source: Crisostomo’s">Crisóstomo’s</span> face. <span class="corr" id="xd0e1577" title="Source: Crisostomo">Crisóstomo</span> seized his arm. “And you did it?” he demanded, in a terrible voice. +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1580" href="#xd0e1580">56</a>]</span></p> +<p>“Don’t be angry, señor,” replied the grave-digger, pale and trembling. “I didn’t bury him with the Chinese. Better be drowned +than that, I thought to myself, and I threw him into the water.” + +</p> +<p>Ibarra stared at him like a madman. “You’re only a poor fool!” he said at length, and pushing him away, he rushed headlong +for the gate, stumbling over graves and bones, and painfully followed by the old servant. + +</p> +<p>“That’s what the dead bring us,” grumbled the gravedigger. “The curate orders me to dig the man up, and this fellow breaks +my arm for doing it. That’s the way with the Spaniards. I shall lose my place!” + + + +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1587" href="#xd0e1587">57</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div id="ch13" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">XIII.</h2> +<h2 class="normal">The Little Sacristans.</h2> +<p>The little old man of the cemetery wandered absent-minded along the streets. + +</p> +<p>He was a character of the pueblo. He had once been a student in philosophy, but abandoned his course at the demands of his +mother. The good woman, finding that her son had talent, feared lest he become a savant and forget God; she let him choose, +therefore, between studying for the priesthood and leaving the college of San José. He was in love, took the latter course, +and married. Widowed and orphaned within a year, he found in books a deliverance from sadness, idleness, and the <i>gallera</i>. Unhappily he studied too much, bought too many books, neglected to care for his fortune, and came to financial ruin. Some +people called him Don Astasio, or Tasio the philosopher; others, and by far the greater number, Tasio the fool. + +</p> +<p>The afternoon threatened a tempest. Pale flashes of lightning illumined the leaden sky; the atmosphere was heavy and close. + +</p> +<p>Arrived at the church door, Tasio entered and spoke to two little boys, one ten years old perhaps, the other seven. + +</p> +<p>“Coming with me?” he asked. “Your mother has ready a dinner fit for curates.” + +</p> +<p>“The head sacristan won’t let us leave yet,” said the elder. “We’re going into the tower to ring the bells.” + +</p> +<p>“Take care! don’t go too near the bells in the storm,” <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1610" href="#xd0e1610">58</a>]</span>said Tasio, and, head down, he went off, thinking, toward the outskirts of the town. + +</p> +<p>Soon the rain came down in torrents, the thunder echoed clap on clap, each detonation preceded by an awful zig-zag of fire. +The tempest grew in fury, and, scarce able to ride on the shifting wind, the plaintive voices of the bells rang out a lamentation. + +</p> +<p>The boys were in the tower, the younger, timid, in spite of his great black eyes, hugging close to his brother. They resembled +one another, but the elder had the stronger and more thoughtful face. Their dress was poor, patched, and darned. The wind +beat in the rain a little, where they were, and set the flame of their candle dancing. + +</p> +<p>“Pull your rope, Crispin,” said the elder to his little brother. + +</p> +<p>Crispin pulled, and heard a feeble plaint, quickly silenced by a thunder crash. “If we were only home with mama,” he mourned, +“I shouldn’t be afraid.” + +</p> +<p>The other did not answer. He watched the candle melt, and seemed thoughtful. + +</p> +<p>“At least, no one there would call me a thief; mama would not have it. If she knew they had beaten me——” The elder gave the +great cord a sharp pull; a deep, sonorous tone trembled out. + +</p> +<p>“Pay what they say I stole! Pay it, brother!” + +</p> +<p>“Are you mad, Crispin? Mama would have nothing to eat; they say you stole two onces, and two onces make thirty-two pesos.” + +</p> +<p>The little fellow counted thirty-two on his fingers. + +</p> +<p>“Six hands and two fingers. And each finger makes a peso, and each peso how many cuartos?” + +</p> +<p>“A hundred sixty.” + +</p> +<p>“And how much is a hundred sixty?” + +</p> +<p>“Thirty-two hands.” +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1638" href="#xd0e1638">59</a>]</span></p> +<p>Crispin regarded his little paws. + +</p> +<p>“Thirty-two hands,” he said, <span class="corr" id="xd0e1643" title="Not in source">“</span>and each finger a cuarto! O mama! how many cuartos! and with them one could buy shoes, and a hat for the sun, and an umbrella +for the rain, and clothes for mama.” + +</p> +<p>Crispin became pensive. + +</p> +<p>“What I’m afraid of is that mama will be angry with you when she hears about it.” + +</p> +<p>“You think so?” said Crispin, surprised. “But I’ve never had a cuarto except the one they gave me at Easter. Mama won’t believe +I stole; she won’t believe it!” + +</p> +<p>“But if the curate says so——” + +</p> +<p>Crispin began to cry, and said through his sobs: + +</p> +<p>“Then go alone, I won’t go. Tell mama I’m sick.” + +</p> +<p>“Crispin, don’t cry,” said his brother. “If mama seems to believe what they say, you’ll tell her that the sacristan lies, +that the curate believes him, that they say we are thieves because our father——” + +</p> +<p>A head came out of the shadows in the little stairway, and as if it had been Medusa’s, it froze the words on the children’s +lips. + +</p> +<p>The head was long and lean, with a shock of black hair. Blue glasses concealed one sightless eye. It was the chief sacristan +who had thus stolen upon the children. + +</p> +<p>“You, Basilio, are fined two réales for not ringing regularly. And you, Crispin, stay to-night till you find what you’ve stolen.” + +</p> +<p>“We have permission,” began Basilio; “our mother expects us at nine.” + +</p> +<p>“You won’t go at nine o’clock either; you shall stay till ten.” + +</p> +<p>“But, señor, after nine one can’t pass through the streets——” +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1672" href="#xd0e1672">60</a>]</span></p> +<p>“Are you trying to dictate to me?” demanded the sacristan, and he seized Crispin’s arm. + +</p> +<p>“Señor, we have not seen our mother for a week,” entreated Basilio, taking hold of his brother as if to protect him. + +</p> +<p>With a stroke on the cheek the sacristan made him let go, and dragged off Crispin, who commenced to cry, let himself fall, +tried to cling to the floor, and besought Basilio to keep him. But the sacristan, dragging the child, disappeared in the shadows. + +</p> +<p>Basilio stood mute. He heard his little brother’s body strike against the stairs; he heard a cry, blows, heart-rending words, +growing fainter and fainter, lost at last in the distance. + +</p> +<p>“When shall I be strong enough?” he murmured, and dashed down the stairs. + +</p> +<p>He reached the choir and listened. He could still hear his little brother’s voice; then over the cry, “Mama!—Brother!” a door +shut. Trembling, damp with sweat, holding his mouth with his hand to stifle a cry, he stood a moment looking about in the +dim church. The doors were closed, the windows barred. He went back to the tower, did not stop at the second stage, where +the bells were rung, but climbed to the third, loosed the ropes that held the tongues of the bells, then went down again, +pale, his eyes gleaming, but without tears. + +</p> +<p>The rain commenced to slacken and the sky to clear. Basilio knotted the ropes, fastened an end to a beam of the balcony, and, +forgetting to blow out the candle, glided down into the darkness. + +</p> +<p>Some minutes later voices were heard in a street of the pueblo, and two rifle shots rang out; but it raised no alarm, and +all again became silent. + + + +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1689" href="#xd0e1689">61</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div id="ch14" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">XIV.</h2> +<h2 class="normal">Sisa.</h2> +<p>Nearly an hour’s walk from the pueblo lived the mother of Basilio and Crispin, wife of a man who passed his time in lounging +or watching cock-fights while she struggled to bring up their children. The husband and wife saw each other rarely, and their +interviews were painful. To feed his vices, he had robbed her of her few trinkets, and when the unhappy Sisa had nothing more +with which to satisfy his caprices he began to abuse her. Without much strength of will, dowered with more heart than reason, +she only knew how to love and to weep. Her husband was a god, her children were angels. He, who knew how much he was adored +and feared, like other false gods, grew more and more arbitrary and cruel. + +</p> +<p>The stars were glittering in the sky cleared by the tempest. Sisa sat on the wooden bench, her chin in her hand, watching +some branches smoulder on her hearth of uncut stones. On these stones was a little pan where rice was cooking, and among the +cinders were three dry sardines. + +</p> +<p>She was still young, and one saw she had been beautiful. Her eyes, which, with her soul, she had given to her sons, were fine, +deep, and fringed with dark lashes; her face was regular; her skin pure olive. In spite of her youth, suffering, hunger sometimes, +had begun to hollow her cheeks. Her abundant hair, once her glory, was still carefully dressed—but from habit, not coquetry. + +</p> +<p>All day Sisa had been thinking of the pleasure coming at <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1703" href="#xd0e1703">62</a>]</span>night. She picked the finest tomatoes in her garden—favorite dish of little Crispin; from her neighbor, Tasio, she got a fillet +of wild boar and a wild duck’s thigh for Basilio, and she chose and cooked the whitest rice on the threshing-floor. + +</p> +<p>Alas! the father arrived. Good-by to the dinner! He ate the rice, the filet of wild boar, the duck’s thigh, and the tomatoes. +Sisa said nothing, happy to see her husband satisfied, and so much happier that, having eaten, he remembered he had children +and asked where they were. The poor mother smiled. She had promised herself to eat nothing—there was not enough left for three; +but the father had thought of his sons, that was better than food. + +</p> +<p>Sisa, left alone, wept a little; but she thought of her children, and dried her tears. She cooked the little rice she had +left, and the three sardines. + +</p> +<p>Attentive to every sound, she now sat listening: a footfall strong and regular, it was Basilio’s; light and unsteady, Crispin’s. + +</p> +<p>But the children did not come. + +</p> +<p>To pass the time, she hummed a song. Her voice was beautiful, and when her children heard her sing “Kundiman” they cried, +without knowing why. To-night her voice trembled, and the notes came tardily. + +</p> +<p>She went to the door and scanned the road. A black dog was there, searching about. It frightened Sisa, and she threw a stone, +sending the dog off howling. + +</p> +<p>Sisa was not superstitious, but she had so often heard of black dogs and presentiments that terror seized her. She shut the +door in haste and sat down by the light. She prayed to the Virgin, to God Himself, to take care of her boys, and most for +the little Crispin. Then, drawn away from prayer by her sole preoccupation, she thought no longer of aught but her children, +of all their ways, which seemed <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1719" href="#xd0e1719">63</a>]</span>to her so pleasing. Then the terror returned. Vision or reality, Crispin stood by the hearth, where he often sat to chatter +to her. He said nothing, but looked at her with great, pensive eyes, and smiled. + +</p> +<p>“Mother, open! Open the door, mother!” said Basilio’s voice outside. + +</p> +<p>Sisa shuddered, and the vision disappeared. + + + +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1725" href="#xd0e1725">64</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div id="ch15" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">XV.</h2> +<h2 class="normal">Basilio.</h2> +<div class="epigraph"> +<p>Life is a Dream.</p> +</div> +<p>Basilio had scarcely strength to enter and fall into his mother’s arms. A strange cold enveloped Sisa when she saw him come +alone. She wished to speak, but found no words; to caress her son, but found no force. Yet at the sight of blood on his forehead, +her voice came, and she cried in a tone which seemed to tell of a breaking heartstring: + +</p> +<p>“My children!” + +</p> +<p>“Don’t be frightened, mama; Crispin stayed at the convent.” + +</p> +<p>“At the convent? He stayed at the convent? Living?” + +</p> +<p>The child raised his eyes to hers. + +</p> +<p>“Ah!” she cried, passing from the greatest anguish to the utmost joy. She wept, embraced her child, covered with kisses his +wounded forehead. + +</p> +<p>“And why are you hurt, my son? Did you fall?” + +</p> +<p>Basilio told her he had been challenged by the guard, ran, was shot at, and a ball had grazed his forehead. + +</p> +<p>“O God! I thank Thee that Thou didst save him!” murmured the mother. + +</p> +<p>She went for lint and vinegar water, and while she bandaged his wound: + +</p> +<p>“Why,” she asked, “did Crispin stay at the convent?” + +</p> +<p>Basilio looked at her, kissed her, then little by little told the story of the lost money; he said nothing of the <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1758" href="#xd0e1758">65</a>]</span>torture of his little brother. Mother and child mingled their tears. + +</p> +<p>“Accuse my good Crispin! It’s because we are poor, and the poor must bear everything,” murmured Sisa. Both were silent a moment. + +</p> +<p>“But you have not eaten,” said the mother. “Here are sardines and rice.” + +</p> +<p>“I’m not hungry, mama; I only want some water.” + +</p> +<p>“Yes, eat,” said the mother. “I know you don’t like dry sardines, and I had something else for you; but your father came, +my poor child.” + +</p> +<p>“My father came?” and Basilio instinctively examined his mother’s face and hands. + +</p> +<p>The question pained the mother; she sighed. + +</p> +<p>“You won’t eat? Then we must go to bed; it is late.” + +</p> +<p>Sisa barred the door and covered the fire. Basilio murmured his prayers, and crept on the mat near his mother, who was still +on her knees. She was warm, he was cold. He thought of his little brother, who had hoped to sleep this night close to his +mother’s side, trembling with fear in some dark corner of the convent. He heard his cries as he had heard them in the tower; +but Nature soon confused his ideas and he slept. + +</p> +<p>In the middle of the night Sisa wakened him. + +</p> +<p>“What is it, Basilio? Why are you crying?” + +</p> +<p>“I was dreaming. O mama! it was a dream, wasn’t it? Say it was nothing but a dream!” + +</p> +<p>“What were you dreaming?” + +</p> +<p>He did not answer, but sat up to dry his tears. + +</p> +<p>“Tell me the dream,” said Sisa, when he had lain down again. “I cannot sleep.” + +</p> +<p>“It is gone now, mama; I don’t remember it all.” + +</p> +<p>Sisa did not insist: she attached no importance to dreams. + +</p> +<p>“Mama,” said Basilio after a moment of silence, “I’m <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1794" href="#xd0e1794">66</a>]</span>not sleepy either. I had a project last evening. I don’t want to be a sacristan.” + +</p> +<p>“What?” + +</p> +<p>“Listen, mama. The son of Don Rafael came home from Spain to-day; he should be as kind as his father. Well, to-morrow I find +Crispin, get my pay, and say I’m not going to be a sacristan. Then I’ll go see Don Crisóstomo and ask him to make me a buffalo-keeper. +Crispin could go on studying with old Tasio. Tasio’s better than the curate thinks; I’ve often seen him praying in the church +when no one else was there. What shall I lose in not being a sacristan? One earns little and loses it all in fines. I’ll be +a herdsman, mama, and take good care of the cows and <i>carabaos</i>, and make my master love me; then perhaps he’ll let us have a cow to milk: Crispin loves milk. And I could fish in the rivers +and go hunting when I get big. And by and by perhaps I could have a little land and sow sugar-cane. We could all live together, +then. And old Tasio says Crispin is very bright. By and by we would send him to study at Manila, and I would work for him. +Shall we, mama? He might be a doctor; what do you say?” + +</p> +<p>“What can I say, except that you are right,” answered Sisa, kissing her son. + +</p> +<p>Basilio went on with his projects, talking with the confidence of a child. Sisa said yes to everything. But little by little +sleep came back to the child’s lids, and this time he did not cry in his dreams: that Ole-Luk-Oie, of whom Andersen tells +us, unfurled over his head the umbrella with its lining of gay pictures. But the mother, past the age of careless slumbers, +did not sleep. + + + +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1807" href="#xd0e1807">67</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div id="ch16" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">XVI.</h2> +<h2 class="normal">At the Manse.</h2> +<p>It was seven o’clock when Brother Salvi finished his last mass. He took off his priestly robes without a word to any one. + +</p> +<p>“Look out!” whispered the sacristans; “it is going to rain fines! And all for the fault of those children!” + +</p> +<p>The father came out of the sacristy and crossed to the manse. On the porch six or seven women sat waiting for him, and a man +was walking to and fro. The woman rose, and one bent to kiss his hand, but the priest made such a gesture of impatience that +she stopped short. + +</p> +<p>“He must have lost a real miser,” she cried mockingly, when he had passed. “This is something unheard of: refuse his hand +to the zealous Sister Rufa?” + +</p> +<p>“He was not in the confessional this morning,” said a toothless old woman, Sister Sipa. “I wanted to confess, so as to get +some indulgences.” + +</p> +<p>“I have gained three plenary indulgences,” said a young woman of pleasing face, “and applied them all to the soul of my husband.” + +</p> +<p>“You have done wrong,” said Sister Rufa, “one plenary is enough; you should not squander the holy indulgences. Do as I do.” + +</p> +<p>“I said to myself, the more there are the better,” replied young sister Juana, smiling; “but what do you do?” + +</p> +<p>Sister Rufa did not respond at once; she chewed her <i>buyo</i>, <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1834" href="#xd0e1834">68</a>]</span>and scanned her audience attentively; at length she decided to speak. + +</p> +<p>“Well, this is what I do. Suppose I gain a year of indulgences; I say: Blessed Señor Saint Dominic, have the kindness to see +if there is some one in purgatory who has need of precisely a year. Then I play heads or tails. If it falls heads, no; if +tails, yes. If it falls heads, I keep the indulgence, and so I make groups of a hundred years, for which there is always use. +It’s a pity one can’t loan indulgences at interest. But do as I do, it’s the best plan.” + +</p> +<p>At this point Sisa appeared. She said good morning to the women, and entered the manse. + +</p> +<p>“She’s gone in, let us go too,” said the sisters, and they followed her. + +</p> +<p>Sisa felt her heart beat violently. She did not know what to say to the curate in defence of her child. She had risen at daybreak, +picked all the fine vegetables left in her garden, and arranged them in a basket with platane leaves and flowers, and had +been to the river to get a fresh salad of <i>pakô</i>. Then, dressed in the best she had, the basket on her head, without waking her son, she had set out for the pueblo. + +</p> +<p>She went slowly through the manse, listening if by chance she might hear a well-known voice, fresh and childish. But she met +no one, heard nothing, and went on to the kitchen. + +</p> +<p>The servants and sacristans received her coldly, scarcely answering her greetings. + +</p> +<p>“Where may I put these vegetables?” she asked, without showing offence. + +</p> +<p>“There—wherever you want to,” replied the cook curtly. + +</p> +<p>Sisa, half-smiling, placed all in order on the table, and laid on top the flowers and the tender shoots of the <i>pakô</i>; then she asked a servant who seemed more friendly than the cook: +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1860" href="#xd0e1860">69</a>]</span></p> +<p>“Do you know if Crispin is in the sacristy?” + +</p> +<p>The servant looked at her in surprise. + +</p> +<p>“Crispin?” said he, wrinkling his brows; “isn’t he at home?” + +</p> +<p>“Basilio is, but Crispin stayed here.” + +</p> +<p>“Oh, yes, he stayed, but he ran off afterward with all sorts of things he’d stolen. The curate sent me to report it at the +quarters. The guards must be on their way to your house by this time.” + +</p> +<p>Sisa could not believe it; she opened her mouth, but her lips moved in vain. + +</p> +<p>“Go find your children,” said the cook. “Everybody sees you’re a faithful woman; the children are like their father!” + +</p> +<p>Sisa stifled a sob, and, at the end of her strength, sat down. + +</p> +<p>“Don’t cry here,” said the cook still more roughly, “the curate is ill; don’t bother him! Go cry in the street!” + +</p> +<p>The poor woman got up, almost by force, and went down the steps with the sisters, who were still gossiping of the curate’s +illness. Once on the street she looked about uncertain; then, as if from a sudden resolution, moved rapidly away. + + + +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1881" href="#xd0e1881">70</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div id="ch17" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">XVII.</h2> +<h2 class="normal">Story of a Schoolmaster.</h2> +<p>The lake, girt with hills, lies tranquil, as if it had not been shaken by yesterday’s tempest. At the first gleam of light +which wakes the phosphorescent spirits of the water, almost on the bounds of the horizon, gray silhouettes slowly take shape. +These are the barks of fishermen drawing in their nets; <i>cascos</i> and <i>paraos</i> shaking out their sails. + +</p> +<p>From a height, two men in black are silently surveying the lake. One is Ibarra, the other a young man of humble dress and +melancholy face. + +</p> +<p>“This is the place,” said the stranger, “where the gravedigger brought us, Lieutenant Guevara and me.” + +</p> +<p>Ibarra uncovered, and stood a long time as if in prayer. + +</p> +<p>When the first horror at the story of his father’s desecrated grave had passed, he had bravely accepted what could not be +undone. Private wrongs must go unavenged, if one would not add to the wrongs of the country: Ibarra had been trained to live +for these islands, daughters of Spain. In his country, too, a charge against a monk was a charge against the Church, and Crisóstomo +was a loyal Catholic; if he knew how in his mind to separate the Church from her unworthy sons, most of his fellow-countrymen +did not. And, again, his intimate life was all here. The last of his race, his home was his family; he loved ideally, and +he loved the goddaughter of the malevolent priest. He was rich, and <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1903" href="#xd0e1903">71</a>]</span>therefore powerful still—and he was young. Ibarra had taken up his life again as he had found it. + +</p> +<p>His prayer finished, he warmly grasped the young man’s hand. + +</p> +<p>“Do not thank me,” said the other; “I owe everything to your father. I came here unknown; your father protected me, encouraged +my work, furnished the poor children with books. How far away that good time seems!” + +</p> +<p>“And now?” + +</p> +<p>“Ah! now we get along as best we can.” + +</p> +<p>Ibarra was silent. + +</p> +<p>“How many pupils have you?” + +</p> +<p>“More than two hundred on the list—in the classes, fifty-five.” + +</p> +<p>“And how is that?” + +</p> +<p>The schoolmaster smiled sadly. + +</p> +<p>“It is a long story.” + +</p> +<p>“Don’t think I ask from curiosity,” said Ibarra. “I have thought much about it, and it seems to me better to try to carry +out my father’s ideas than to weep or to avenge his death. I wish to inspire myself with his spirit. That is why I ask this +question.” + +</p> +<p>“The country will bless your memory, señor, if you carry out the splendid projects of your father. You wish to know the obstacles +I meet? In a word, the plan of instruction is hopeless. The children read, write, learn by heart passages, sometimes whole +books, in Castilian, without understanding a single word. Of what use is such a school to the children of our peasants!” + +</p> +<p>“You see the evil, what remedy do you propose?” + +</p> +<p>“I have none,” said the young man; “one cannot struggle alone against so many needs and against certain influences. I tried +to remedy the evil of which I just spoke; I tried to carry out the order of the Government, and began <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1933" href="#xd0e1933">72</a>]</span>to teach the children Spanish. The beginning was excellent, but one day Brother Dámaso sent for me. I went up immediately, +and I said good-day to him in Castilian. Without replying, he burst into laughter. At length he said, with a sidelong glance: +‘What <i lang="es">buenos dias! buenos dias!</i> It’s very pretty. You know Spanish?’ and he began to laugh again.<span class="corr" id="xd0e1938" title="Not in source">”</span> + +</p> +<p>Ibarra could not repress a smile. + +</p> +<p>“You laugh,” said the teacher, “and I, too, now; but I assure you I had no desire to then. I started to reply, I don’t know +what, but Brother Dámaso interrupted: + +</p> +<p>“‘Don’t wear clothes that are not your own,’ he said in Tagal; ‘be content to speak your own language. Do you know about Ciruela? +Well, Ciruela was a master who could neither read nor write, yet he kept school.’ And he left the room, slamming the door +behind him. What was I to do? What could I, against him, the highest authority of the pueblo, moral, political, and civil; +backed by his order, feared by the Government, rich, powerful, always obeyed and believed. To withstand him was to lose my +place, and break off my career without hope of another. Every one would have sided with the priest. I should have been called +proud, insolent, no Christian, perhaps even anti-Spanish and <i>filibustero</i>. Heaven forgive me if I denied my conscience and my reason, but I was born here, must live here, I have a mother, and I abandoned +myself to my fate, as a cadaver to the wave that rolls it.” + +</p> +<p>“And you lost all hope? You have tried nothing since?” + +</p> +<p>“I was rash enough to try two more experiments, one after our change of curates; but both proved offensive to the same authority. +Since then I have done my best to convert the poor babies into parrots.” + +</p> +<p>“Well, I have cheerful news for you,” said Ibarra. “I <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1956" href="#xd0e1956">73</a>]</span>am soon to present to the Government a project that will help you out of your difficulties, if it is approved.” + +</p> +<p>The school-teacher shook his head. + +</p> +<p>“You will see, Señor Ibarra, that your projects—I’ve heard something of them—will no more be realized than were mine!” + + + +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1962" href="#xd0e1962">74</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div id="ch18" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">XVIII.</h2> +<h2 class="normal">The Story of a Mother.</h2> +<p>Sisa was running toward her poor little home. She had experienced one of those convulsions of being which we know at the hour +of a great misfortune, when we see no possible refuge and all our hopes take flight. If then a ray of light illumine some +little corner, we fly toward it without stopping to question. + +</p> +<p>Sisa ran swiftly, pursued by many fears and dark presentiments. Had they already taken her Basilio? Where had her Crispin +hidden? + +</p> +<p>As she neared her home, she saw two soldiers coming out of the little garden. She lifted her eyes to heaven; heaven was smiling +in its ineffable light; little white clouds swam in the transparent blue. + +</p> +<p>The soldiers had left her house; they were coming away without her children. Sisa breathed once more; her senses came back. + +</p> +<p>She looked again, this time with grateful eyes, at the sky, furrowed now by a band of <i>garzas</i>, those clouds of airy gray peculiar to the Philippines; confidence sprang again in her heart; she walked on. Once past those +dreadful men, she would have run, but prudence checked her. She had not gone far, when she heard herself called imperiously. +She turned, pale and trembling in spite of herself. One of the guards beckoned her. + +</p> +<p>Mechanically she obeyed: she felt her tongue grow paralyzed, her throat parch. +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1983" href="#xd0e1983">75</a>]</span></p> +<p>“Speak the truth, or we’ll tie you to this tree and shoot you,” said one of the guards. + +</p> +<p>Sisa could do nothing but look at the tree. + +</p> +<p>“You are the mother of the thieves?” + +</p> +<p>“The mother of the thieves?” repeated Sisa, without comprehending. + +</p> +<p>“Where is the money your sons brought home last night?” + +</p> +<p>“Ah! the money——” + +</p> +<p>“Give us the money, and we’ll let you alone.” + +</p> +<p>“Señores,” said the unhappy woman, gathering her senses again, “my boys do not steal, even when they’re hungry; we are used +to suffering. I have not seen my Crispin for a week, and Basilio did not bring home a cuarto. Search the house, and if you +find a réal, do what you will with us; the poor are not all thieves.” + +</p> +<p>“Well then,” said one of the soldiers, fixing his eyes on Sisa’s, “follow us!” + +</p> +<p>“I—follow you?” And she drew back in terror, her eyes on the uniforms of the guards. “Oh, have pity on me! I’m very poor, +I’ve nothing to give you, neither gold nor jewelry. Take everything you find in my miserable cabin, but let me—let me—die +here in peace!” + +</p> +<p>“March! do you hear? and if you don’t go without making trouble, we’ll tie your hands.” + +</p> +<p>“Let me walk a little way in front of you, at least,” she cried, as they laid hold of her. + +</p> +<p>The soldiers spoke together apart. + +</p> +<p>“Very well,” said one, “when we get to the pueblo, you may. March on now, and quick!” + +</p> +<p>Poor Sisa thought she must die of shame. There was no one on the road, it is true; but the air? and the light? She covered +her face, in her humiliation, and wept silently. She was indeed very miserable; every one, even her husband, <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e2014" href="#xd0e2014">76</a>]</span>had abandoned her; but until now she had always felt herself respected. + +</p> +<p>As they neared the pueblo, fear seized her. In her agony she looked on all sides, seeking some succor in nature—death in the +river would be so sweet. But no! She thought of her children; here was a light in the darkness of her soul. + +</p> +<p>“Afterward,” she said to herself,—“afterward, we will go to live in the heart of the forest.” + +</p> +<p>She dried her eyes, and turning to the guards: + +</p> +<p>“We are at the pueblo,” she said. Her tone was indescribable; at once a complaint, an argument, and a prayer. + +</p> +<p>The soldiers took pity on her; they replied with a gesture. Sisa went rapidly forward, then forced herself to walk tranquilly. + +</p> +<p>A tolling of bells announced the end of the high mass. Sisa hastened, in the hope of avoiding the crowd from the church, but +in vain. Two women she knew passed, looked at her questioningly; she bowed with an anguished smile, then, to avoid new mortifications, +she fixed her eyes on the ground. + +</p> +<p>At sight of her people turned, whispered, followed with their eyes, and though her eyes were turned away, she divined, she +felt, she saw it all. A woman who by her bare head, her dress, and her manners showed what she was, cried boldly to the soldiers: + +</p> +<p>“Where did you find her? Did you get the money?” + +</p> +<p>Sisa seemed to have taken a blow in the face. The ground gave way under her feet. + +</p> +<p>“This way!” cried a guard. + +</p> +<p>Like an automaton whose mechanism is broken she turned quickly, and, seeing nothing, feeling nothing but instinct, tried to +hide herself. A gate was before her; she would have entered but a voice still more imperious checked her. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e2038" href="#xd0e2038">77</a>]</span>While she sought to find whence the voice came, she felt herself pushed along by the shoulders. She closed her eyes, took +two steps, then her strength left her and she fell. + +</p> +<p>It was the barracks. In the yard were soldiers, women, pigs, and chickens. Some of the women were helping the men mend their +clothes or clean their arms, and humming ribald songs. + +</p> +<p>“Where is the sergeant?” demanded one of the guards angrily. “Has the alférez been informed?” + +</p> +<p>A shrug of the shoulders was the sole response; no one would take any trouble for the poor woman. + +</p> +<p>Two long hours she stayed there, half mad, crouched in a corner, her face hidden in her hands, her hair undone. At noon the +alférez arrived. He refused to believe the curate’s accusations. + +</p> +<p>“Bah! monks’ tricks!” said he; and ordered that the woman be released and the affair dropped. + +</p> +<p>“If he wants to find what he’s lost,” he added, “let him complain to the nuncio! That’s all I have to say.” + +</p> +<p>Sisa, who could scarcely move, was almost carried out of the barracks. When she found herself in the street, she set out as +fast as she could for her home, her head bare, her hair loose, her eyes fixed. The sun, then in the zenith, burned with all +his fire: not a cloud veiled his resplendent disc. The wind just moved the leaves of the trees; not a bird dared venture from +the shade of the branches. + +</p> +<p>At length Sisa arrived. Troubled, silent, she entered her poor cabin, ran all about it, went out, came in, went out again. +Then she ran to old Tasio’s, knocked at the door. Tasio was not there. The poor thing went back and commenced to call, “Basilio! +Crispin!” standing still, listening attentively. An echo repeating her calls, the sweet murmur of water from the river, the +music of the reeds stirred by the breeze, were the sole voices of the solitude. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e2056" href="#xd0e2056">78</a>]</span>She called anew, mounted a hill, went down into a ravine; her wandering eyes took a sinister expression; from time to time +sharp lights flashed in them, then they were obscured, like the sky in a tempest. One might have said the light of reason, +ready to go out, revived and died down in turn. + +</p> +<p>She went back, and sat down on the mat where they had slept the night before—she and Basilio—and raised her eyes. Caught in +the bamboo fence on the edge of the precipice, she saw a piece of Basilio’s blouse. She got up, took it, and examined it in +the sunlight. There were blood spots on it, but Sisa did not seem to see them. She bent over and continued to look at this +rag from her child’s clothing, raised it in the air, bathing it in the brazen rays. Then, as if the last gleam of light within +her had finally gone out, she looked straight at the sun, with wide-staring eyes. + +</p> +<p>At length she began to wander about, crying out strange sounds. One hearing her would have been frightened; her voice had +a quality the human larynx would hardly know how to produce. + +</p> +<p>The sun went down; night surprised her. Perhaps Heaven gave her sleep, and an angel’s wing, brushing her pale forehead, took +away that memory which no longer recalled anything but griefs. The next day Sisa roamed about, smiling, singing, and conversing +with all the beings of great Nature. +</p> +<hr class="tb"><p> + +</p> +<p>Three days passed, and the inhabitants of San Diego had ceased to talk or think of unhappy Sisa and her boys. Maria Clara, +who, accompanied by Aunt Isabel, had just arrived from Manila, was the chief subject of conversation. Every one rejoiced to +see her, for every one loved her. They marvelled at her beauty, and speculated about her marriage with Ibarra. On this evening, +Crisóstomo presented himself at the home of his fiancée; the curate arrived at the <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e2068" href="#xd0e2068">79</a>]</span>same moment. The house was a delicious little nest among orange-trees and ylang-ylang. They found Maria by an open window, +overlooking the lake, surrounded by the fresh foliage and delicate perfume of vines and flowers. + +</p> +<p>“The winds blow fresh,” said the curate; “aren’t you afraid of taking cold?” + +</p> +<p>“I don’t feel the wind, father,” said Maria. + +</p> +<p>“We Filipinos,” said Crisóstomo, “find this season of autumn and spring together delicious. Falling leaves and budding trees +in February, and ripe fruit in March, with no cold winter between, is very agreeable. And when the hot months come we know +where to go.” + +</p> +<p>The priest smiled, and the conversation turned to the pueblo and the festival of its patron saint, which was near. + +</p> +<p>“Speaking of fêtes,” said Crisóstomo to the curate, “we hope you will join us in a picnic to-morrow, near the great fig-tree +in the wood. The arrangements are all made as you wished, Maria. A small party is to start for the fishing-ground before sunrise,” +he went on to the curate, “and later we hope to be joined by all our friends of the pueblo.” + +</p> +<p>The curate said he should be happy to come after his services were said. They chatted a few moments longer, and then Ibarra +excused himself to finish giving his invitations and make his final arrangements. + +</p> +<p>As he left the house a man saluted him respectfully. + +</p> +<p>“Who are you?” asked Crisóstomo. + +</p> +<p>“You would not know my name, señor; I have been trying to see you for three days.” + +</p> +<p>“And what do you want?” + +</p> +<p>“Señor, my wife has gone mad, my children are lost, and no one will help me find them. I want your aid.” + +</p> +<p>“Come with me,” said Ibarra. + +</p> +<p>The man thanked him, and they disappeared together in the darkness of the unlighted streets. + + + +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e2096" href="#xd0e2096">80</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div id="ch19" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">XIX.</h2> +<h2 class="normal">The Fishing Party.</h2> +<p>The stars were yet brilliant in the sapphire vault, and in the branches the birds were still asleep when a merry party went +through the streets of the pueblo, toward the lake, lighted by the glimmer of the pitch torches here called huepes. + +</p> +<p>There were five young girls, walking rapidly, holding each other by the hand or waist, followed by several elderly ladies, +and servants bearing gracefully on their heads baskets of provisions. To see these girls’ faces, laughing with youth, to judge +by their abundant black hair flying free in the wind, and the ample folds of their garments, we might take them for divinities +of the night fleeing at the approach of day; but they were Maria Clara and her four friends, the merry Sinang, her cousin, +the calm Victoria, beautiful Iday, and pensive Neneng. They talked with animation, pinched each other, whispered in each other’s +ears, and pealed out merry rounds of laughter. + +</p> +<p>After a while there came to meet the party a group of young men, carrying torches of reeds. They were walking, silent, to +the sound of a guitar. + +</p> +<p>When the two groups met, the girls became serious and grave. The men, on the contrary, talked, laughed, and asked six questions +to get half a reply. + +</p> +<p>“Is the lake smooth? Do you think we shall have a fine day?” demanded the mamas. + +</p> +<p>“Don’t be disturbed, señoras, I’m a splendid swimmer,” <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e2114" href="#xd0e2114">81</a>]</span>said a tall, slim fellow, a merry-looking rascal with an air of mock gravity. + +</p> +<p>But they were already at the borders of the lake, and cries of delight escaped the lips of the women. They saw two great barks, +bound together, picturesquely decked with garlands of flowers and various-colored festoons of fluffy drapery. Little paper +lanterns hung alternating with roses, pinks, pineapples, bananas, and guavas. Rudders and oars were decorated too, and there +were mats, rugs, and cushions to make comfortable seats for the ladies. In the boat, most beautifully trimmed, were a harp, +guitars, accordeons, and a carabao’s horn; in the other burned a ship’s fire; and tea, coffee and salabat—a tea of ginger +sweetened with honey—were making for the first breakfast. + +</p> +<p>“The women here, the men there,” said the mamas, embarking; “move carefully, don’t stir the boat or we shall capsize!” + +</p> +<p>“And we’re to be in here all alone?” pouted Sinang. + +</p> +<p>Slowly the boats left the beach, reflecting in the mirror of the lake the many lights of their lanterns. In the east were +the first streaks of dawn. + +</p> +<p>Comparative silence reigned. The separation established by the ladies seemed to have dedicated youth to meditation. The water +was perfectly tranquil, the fishing-grounds were near; it was soon decided to abandon the oars, and breakfast. Day had come, +and the lanterns were put out. + +</p> +<p>It was a beautiful morning. The light falling from the sky and reflected from the water made radiant the surface of the lake, +and bathed everything in an atmosphere of clearness saturated with color, such as some marines suggest. Everybody, even the +mamas, laughed and grew merry. “Do you remember, when we were girls—” they began to each other; and Maria and her young companions +exchanged smiling glances. +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e2128" href="#xd0e2128">82</a>]</span></p> +<p>One man alone remained a stranger to this gayety—it was the helmsman. Young, of athletic build, his melancholy eyes and the +severe lines of his lips gave an interest to his face, and this was heightened by his long black hair falling naturally about +his muscular neck. His wrists of steel managed like a feather the large and heavy oar which served as rudder to guide the +two barks. + +</p> +<p>Maria Clara had several times met his eyes, but he quickly turned them away to the shores or the mountains. Pitying his solitude, +she offered him some cakes. With a certain surprise he took one, refusing the others, and thanked her in a voice scarcely +audible. No one else seemed to think of him. + +</p> +<p>The early breakfast done, the party moved off toward the fishing enclosures. There were two, a little distance apart, both +the property of Captain Tiago. In advance, a flock of white herons could be seen, some moving among the reeds, some flying +here and there, skimming the water with their wings, and filling the air with their strident cries. Maria Clara followed them +with her eyes, as, at the approach of the two barks, they flew away from the shore. + +</p> +<p>“Do these birds have their nests in the mountains?” she asked the helmsman, less perhaps from the wish to know than to make +the silent fellow talk. + +</p> +<p>“Probably, señora,” he replied, “but no one has ever yet seen them.” + +</p> +<p>“They have no nests, then?” + +</p> +<p>“I suppose they must have; if not, they are unhappy indeed.” + +</p> +<p>Maria Clara did not catch the note of sadness in his voice. + +</p> +<p>“Well?” + +</p> +<p>“They say, señora, that the nests of these birds are invisible, <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e2149" href="#xd0e2149">83</a>]</span>and have the power to render invisible whoever holds them; that as the soul can be seen only in the mirror of the eyes, so +these nests can be seen only in the mirror of the water.” + +</p> +<p>Maria Clara became pensive. But they had come to the first baklad, as the enclosures are called. The old sailor in charge +attached the boats to the reeds, while his son prepared to mount with lines and nets. + +</p> +<p>“Wait a moment,” cried Aunt Isabel, “the fish must come directly out of the water into the pan.” + +</p> +<p>“What, good Aunt Isabel!” said Albino reproachfully, “won’t you give the poor things a moment in the air?” + +</p> +<p>Andeng, Maria’s foster-sister, was a famous cook. She began to prepare rice water, the tomatoes, and the camias; the young +men, perhaps to win her good graces, aided her, while the other girls arranged the melons, and cut paayap into cigarette-like +strips. + +</p> +<p>To while away the time Iday took up the harp, the instrument most often played in this part of the islands. She played well, +and was much applauded. Maria thanked her with a kiss. + +</p> +<p>“Sing, Victoria, sing the ‘Marriage Song,’” demanded the ladies. This is a beautiful Tagal elegy of married life, but sad, +painting its miseries rather than its joys. The men clamored for it too, and Victoria had a lovely voice; but she was hoarse. +So Maria Clara was begged to sing. + +</p> +<p>“All my songs are sad,” she said. + +</p> +<p>“Never mind,” said her companions, and without more urging she took the harp and sang in a rich and vibrant voice, full of +feeling. + +</p> +<p>The chant ceased, the harp became mute; yet no one applauded; they seemed listening still. The young girls felt <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e2169" href="#xd0e2169">84</a>]</span>their eyes fill with tears; Ibarra seemed disturbed; the helmsman, motionless, was gazing far away. + +</p> +<p>Suddenly there came a crash like thunder. The women cried out and stopped their ears. It was Albino, filling with all the +force of his lungs the carabao’s horn. There needed nothing more to bring back laughter, and dry tears. + +</p> +<p>“Do you wish to make us deaf, pagan?” cried Aunt Isabel. + +</p> +<p>“Señora,” he replied, “I’ve heard of a poor trumpeter who, from simply playing on his instrument, became the husband of a +rich and noble lady.” + +</p> +<p>“So he did—the Trumpeter of Säckingen!” laughed Ibarra. + +</p> +<p>“Well,” said Albino, “we shall see if I am as happy!” and he began to blow again with still more force. There was a panic: +the mamas attacked him hand and foot. + +</p> +<p>“Ouch! ouch!” he cried, rubbing his hurts; “the Philippines are far from the borders of the Rhine! For the same deed one is +knighted, another put in the san-benito!” + +</p> +<p>At last Andeng announced the kettle ready for the fish. + +</p> +<p>The fisherman’s son now climbed the weir or “purse” of the enclosure. It was almost circular, a yard across, so arranged that +a man could stand on top to draw out the fish with a little net or with a line. + +</p> +<p>All watched him, some thinking they saw already the quiver of the little fishes and the shimmer of their silver scales. + +</p> +<p>The net was drawn up; nothing in it; the line, no fish adorned it. The water fell back in a shower of drops, and laughed a +silvery laugh. A cry of disappointment escaped from every mouth. + +</p> +<p>“You don’t understand your business,” said Albino, <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e2193" href="#xd0e2193">85</a>]</span>climbing up by the young man; and he took the net. “Look now! Ready, Andeng!” + +</p> +<p>But Albino was no better fisherman. Everybody laughed. + +</p> +<p>“Don’t make a noise, you’ll drive away the fish. The net must be broken.” But every mesh was intact. + +</p> +<p>“Let me try,” said Léon, the fiancée of Iday. “Are you sure no one has been here for five days?” + +</p> +<p>“Absolutely sure.” + +</p> +<p>“Then either the lake is enchanted or I draw out something.” + +</p> +<p>He cast the line, looked annoyed, dragged the hook along in the water and murmured: + +</p> +<p>“A crocodile!” + +</p> +<p>“A crocodile!” + +</p> +<p>The word passed from mouth to mouth amid general stupefaction. + +</p> +<p>“What’s to be done?” + +</p> +<p>“Capture him!” + +</p> +<p>But nobody offered to go down. The water was deep. + +</p> +<p>“We ought to drag him in triumph at our stern,” said Sinang; “he has eaten our fish!” + +</p> +<p>“I’ve never seen a crocodile alive,” mused Maria Clara. + +</p> +<p>The helmsman got up, took a rope, lithely climbed the little platform, and in spite of warning cries dived into the weir. +The water, troubled an instant, became smooth; the abyss closed mysteriously. + +</p> +<p>“Heaven!” cried the women, “we are going to have a catastrophe!” + +</p> +<p>The water was agitated: a combat seemed to be going on below. Above, there was absolute silence. Ibarra held his blade in +a convulsive grasp. Then the struggle seemed to end, and the young man’s head appeared. He was saluted with joyous cries. +He climbed the platform, holding in one hand an end of the rope. Then he pulled with <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e2229" href="#xd0e2229">86</a>]</span>all his strength, and the monster came in view. The rope was round its neck and the fore part of its body; it was large, and +on its back could be seen green moss—to a crocodile what white hair is to man. It bellowed like an ox, beat the reeds with +its tail, crouched, and opened its jaws, black and terrifying, showing its long and saw-like teeth. No one thought of aiding +the helmsman. When he had drawn the reptile out of the water he put his foot on it, closed with his robust hand the redoubtable +jaws, and tried to tie the muzzle. The creature made a last effort, arched its body, beat about with its powerful tail, and +escaping, plunged outside the enclosure into the lake, dragging its vanquisher after it. The helmsman was a dead man. A cry +of horror escaped from every mouth. + +</p> +<p>Like a flash, another body disappeared in the water. There scarce was time to see it was Ibarra’s. If Maria Clara did not +faint, it was that the natives of the Philippines do not yet know how. + +</p> +<p>The waters grew red. Then the young fisherman leaped in, his father followed him. But they had scarcely disappeared, when +Ibarra and the helmsman came to the surface, clinging to the crocodile’s body. Its white belly was lacerated, Ibarra’s knife +was in the gorge. + +</p> +<p>Many arms stretched out to help the two young men from the water. The mamas, hysterical, wept, laughed, and prayed. Ibarra +was unharmed. The helmsman had a slight scratch on the arm. + +</p> +<p>“I owe you my life,” said he to Ibarra, who was being wrapped in mantles and rugs. + +</p> +<p>“You are too intrepid,” said Ibarra. “Another time do not tempt God.” + +</p> +<p>“If you had not come back!” murmured Maria Clara, pale and trembling. + +</p> +<p>The ladies did not approve of going to the second baklad; <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e2245" href="#xd0e2245">87</a>]</span>to their minds the day had begun ill; there could not fail to be other misfortunes; it were better to go home. + +</p> +<p>“But what misfortune have we had?” said Ibarra. “The crocodile alone has the right to complain.” + +</p> +<p>At length the mamas were persuaded, and the barks took their course toward the second baklad. + + + +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e2251" href="#xd0e2251">88</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div id="ch20" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">XX.</h2> +<h2 class="normal">In the Woods.</h2> +<p>There had not been much hope in this second baklad. Every one expected to find there the crocodile’s mate; but the net always +came up full. The fishing ended, the boats were turned toward the shore. There was the party of the townspeople whom Ibarra +had invited to meet his guests of the morning, and lunch with them under improvised tents beside a brook, in the shade of +the ancient trees of the wooded peninsula. Music was resounding in the place, and water sang in the kettles. The body of the +crocodile, in tow of the boats, turned from side to side; sometimes presenting its belly, white and torn, sometimes its spotted +back and mossy shoulders. Man, the favorite of nature, is little disturbed by his many fratricides. + +</p> +<p>The party dispersed, some going to the baths, some wandering among the trees. The silent young helmsman disappeared. A path +with many windings crossed the thicket of the wood and led to the upper course of the warm brook, formed from some of the +many thermal springs on the flanks of the Makiling. Along the banks of the stream grew wood flowers, many of which have no +Latin names, but are none the less known to golden bugs, to butterflies, shaded, jewelled, and bronzed, and to thousands of +coleopters powdered with gold and gleaming with facets of steel. The hum of these insects, the song of birds, or the dry sound +of dead branches catching in their fall, alone broke the mysterious silence. Suddenly the tones of fresh, young voices <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e2261" href="#xd0e2261">89</a>]</span>were added to the wood notes. They seemed to come down the brook. + +</p> +<p>“We shall see if I find a nest!” said a sweet and resonant voice. “I should like to see him without his seeing me. I should +like to follow him everywhere.” + +</p> +<p>“I don’t believe in heron’s nests,” said another voice; “but if I were in love, I should know how at once to see and to be +invisible.” + +</p> +<p>It was Maria Clara, Victoria, and Sinang walking in the brook. Their eyes were on the water, where they were searching for +the mysterious nest. In blouses striped with dainty colors, their full bath skirts wet to the knees, outlining the graceful +curves of their bodies, they moved along, seeking the impossible, meanwhile picking flowers along the banks. Soon the little +stream bent its course, and the tall reeds hid the charming trio and cut off the sound of their voices. + +</p> +<p>A little farther on, in the middle of the stream, was a sort of bath, well enclosed, its roof of leafy bamboo; palm leaves, +flowers, and streamers decked its sides. From here, too, came girls’ voices. Farther on was a bamboo bridge, and beyond that +the men were bathing, while a multitude of servants were busy plucking fowls, washing rice, roasting pigs. In the clearing +on the opposite bank a group of men and women had formed under a great canvas roof, attached in part to the branches of the +ancient trees, in part to pickets. There chatted the curate, the alférez, the vicar, the gobernadorcillo, the lieutenant, +all the chief men of the town, including the famous orator, Captain Basilio, father of Sinang and opponent of Don Rafael Ibarra +in a lawsuit not yet ended. + +</p> +<p>“We dispute a point at law,” Crisóstomo had said in inviting him, “but to dispute is not to be enemies,” and the famous orator +had accepted the invitation. +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e2273" href="#xd0e2273">90</a>]</span></p> +<p>Bottles of lemonade were opened and green cocoanut shells were broken, so that those who came from the baths might drink the +fresh water; the girls were given wreaths of ylang-ylang and roses to perfume their unbound hair. + +</p> +<p>The lunch hour came. The curate, the alférez, the gobernadorcillo, some captains, and the lieutenant sat at a table with Ibarra. +The mamas allowed no men at the table with the girls. + +</p> +<p>“Have you learned anything, señor alférez, about the criminal who attacked Brother Dámaso?” said Brother Salvi. + +</p> +<p>“Of what criminal are you speaking?” asked the alférez, looking at the father over his glass of wine. + +</p> +<p>“What? Why, the one who attacked Brother Dámaso on the highway day before yesterday.” + +</p> +<p>“Father Dámaso has been attacked?” asked several voices. + +</p> +<p>“Yes; he is in bed yet. It is thought the maker of the assault is Elias, the one who threw you into the swamp some time ago, +señor alférez.” + +</p> +<p>The alférez reddened with shame, if it were not from emptying his glass of wine. + +</p> +<p>“But I supposed you were informed,” the curate went on; “I said to myself that the alférez of the Municipal Guard——” + +</p> +<p>The officer bit his lip. + +</p> +<p>At that moment a woman, pale, thin, miserably dressed, appeared, like a phantom, in the midst of the feast. + +</p> +<p>“Give the poor woman something to eat,” said the ladies. + +</p> +<p>She kept on toward the table where the curate was seated. He turned, recognized her, and the knife fell from his hand. + +</p> +<p>“Give the woman something to eat,” ordered Ibarra. + +</p> +<p>“The night is dark and the children are gone,” murmured the poor woman. But at sight of the alférez she <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e2304" href="#xd0e2304">91</a>]</span>became frightened and ran, disappearing among the trees. + +</p> +<p>“Who is it?” demanded several voices. + +</p> +<p>“Isn’t her name Sisa?” asked Ibarra with interest. + +</p> +<p>“Your soldiers arrested her,” said the lieutenant to the alférez, with some bitterness; “they brought her all the way across +the pueblo for some story about her sons that nobody could clear up.” + +</p> +<p>“What!” demanded the alférez, turning to the curate. “It is perhaps the mother of your sacristans?” + +</p> +<p>The curate nodded assent. + +</p> +<p>“They have disappeared, and there hasn’t been the slightest effort to find them,” said Don Filipo severely, looking at the +gobernadorcillo, who lowered his eyes. + +</p> +<p>“Bring back the woman,” Crisóstomo ordered his servants. + +</p> +<p>“They have disappeared, did you say?” demanded the alférez. “Your sacristans have disappeared, Father Salvi?” + +</p> +<p>The curate emptied his glass and made another affirmative sign. + +</p> +<p>“Ho, ho! father,” cried the alférez with a mocking laugh, rejoiced at the prospect of revenge. “Your reverence loses a few +pesos, and my sergeant is routed out to find them; your two sacristans disappear, your reverence says nothing; and you also, +señor gobernadorcillo, you also——” + +</p> +<p>He did not finish, but broke off laughing, and buried his spoon in the red flesh of a papaw. + +</p> +<p>The curate began with some confusion: + +</p> +<p>“I was responsible for the money.” + +</p> +<p>“Excellent reply, reverend pastor of souls!” interrupted the alférez, his mouth full. “Excellent reply, holy man!” + +</p> +<p>Ibarra was on the point of interfering, but the priest recovered himself. +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e2336" href="#xd0e2336">92</a>]</span></p> +<p>“Do you know, señor alférez,” he asked, “what is said about the disappearance of these children? No? Then ask your soldiers.” + +</p> +<p>“What!” cried the alférez, thus challenged, abandoning his mocking tone. + +</p> +<p>“They say that on the night when they disappeared shots were heard in the pueblo.” + +</p> +<p>“Shots?” repeated the alférez, looking at the faces around him. There were several signs of assent. + +</p> +<p>Brother Salvi went on with a sarcastic smile: + +</p> +<p>“Come! I see that you do not know how to arrest criminals, that you are unaware of what your soldiers do, but that you are +ready to turn yourself into a preacher and teach others their duty.” + +</p> +<p>“Señores,” interrupted Ibarra, seeing the alférez grow pale, “I wish to know what you think of a project I’ve formed. I should +like to give the mother into the care of a good physician. I’ve promised the father to try to find his children.” + +</p> +<p>The return of the servants without Sisa gave a new turn to the conversation. The luncheon was finished. While the tea and +coffee were being served the guests separated into groups, the elders to play cards or chess, while the girls, curious to +learn their destiny, posed questions to the “Wheel of Fortune.” + +</p> +<p>“Come, Señor Ibarra!” cried Captain Basilio, a little gayer than usual; “we’ve had a case in court for fifteen years and no +judge is able to solve it; let’s see if we cannot end it at chess.” + +</p> +<p>“In a moment, with great pleasure,” said Ibarra; “the alférez is leaving us.” + +</p> +<p>As soon as the officer had gone the men grouped around the two players. It was to be an interesting game. The elder ladies +meanwhile had surrounded the curate, to talk <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e2359" href="#xd0e2359">93</a>]</span>with him of the things of religion; but Brother Salvi seemed to judge the time unfitting and made but vague replies, his rather +irritated glance being directed almost everywhere except toward his questioners. + +</p> +<p>The chess players began with much solemnity. + +</p> +<p>“If the game is a tie, the affair is forgotten!” said Ibarra. + +</p> +<p>In the midst of the play he received a despatch. His eyes shone and he became pale, but he put the message in his pocket without +opening it. + +</p> +<p>“Check!” he cried. Captain Basilio had no recourse but to hide his king behind the queen. + +</p> +<p>“Check!” said Ibarra, threatening with his castle. + +</p> +<p>Captain Basilio asked a moment to reflect. + +</p> +<p>“Willingly,” said Ibarra; “I, too, should like a moment,” and excusing himself he went toward the group round the “Wheel of +Fortune.” + +</p> +<p>Iday had the disc on which were the forty-eight questions, Albino the book of replies. + +</p> +<p>“Ask something,” they all cried to Ibarra, as he came up. “The one who has the best answer is to receive a present from the +others.” + +</p> +<p>“And who has had the best so far?” + +</p> +<p>“Maria Clara!” cried Sinang. “We made her ask whether her lover is constant and true, and the book said——” + +</p> +<p>But Maria, all blushes, put her hand over Sinang’s mouth. + +</p> +<p>“Give me the ‘Wheel’ then,” said Crisóstomo, smiling. And he asked: + +</p> +<p>“Shall I succeed in my present undertaking?” + +</p> +<p>“What a stupid question!” pouted Sinang. + +</p> +<p>The corresponding answer was found in the book. “‘Dreams are dreams,’” read Albino. +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e2393" href="#xd0e2393">94</a>]</span></p> +<p>Ibarra brought out his telegram and opened it, trembling. + +</p> +<p>“This time your wheel lies!” he cried. “Read!” + +</p> +<p>“‘Project for school approved.’ What does that mean?” they asked. + +</p> +<p>“This is my present,” said he, giving the despatch to Maria Clara. “I’m to build a school in the pueblo; the school is my +offering.” And the young fellow ran back to his game of chess. + +</p> +<p>After making this present to his fiancée, Ibarra was so happy that he played without reflection, and, thanks to his many false +moves, the captain re-established himself, and the game was a draw. The two men shook hands with effusion. + +</p> +<p>While they were thus making an end of the long and tedious suit, the sudden appearance of a sergeant and four armed guards, +bayonets fixed, broke rudely in upon the merry-makers. + +</p> +<p>“Whoever stirs is a dead man!” cried the sergeant. + +</p> +<p>In spite of this bluster, Ibarra went up to him and asked what he wanted. + +</p> +<p>“We want a criminal named Elias, who was your helmsman this morning,” replied the officer, still threatening. + +</p> +<p>“A criminal? The helmsman? You must be mistaken.” + +</p> +<p>“No, señor, this Elias is accused of having raised his hand against a priest. You admit questionable people to your fêtes.” + +</p> +<p>Ibarra looked him over from head to foot and replied with great coldness. + +</p> +<p>“I am in no way accountable to you for my actions. Every one is welcome at my fêtes.” And he turned away. + +</p> +<p>The sergeant, finding he was making no headway, ordered his men to search on all sides. They had the helmsman’s description +on paper. + +</p> +<p>“Notice that this description answers well for nine-tenths <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e2424" href="#xd0e2424">95</a>]</span>of the natives,” said Don Filipo; “see that you make no mistakes!” + +</p> +<p>Quiet came back little by little. There were no end of questions. + +</p> +<p>“So this is the Elias who threw the alférez into the swamp,” said Léon. + +</p> +<p>“He’s a tulisane then?” asked Victoria, trembling. + +</p> +<p>“I think not, for I know that he once fought against the tulisanes.” + +</p> +<p>“He hasn’t the face of a criminal,” said Sinang. + +</p> +<p>“No; but his face is very sad,” said Maria. “I did not see him smile all the morning.” + +</p> +<p>The day was ending, and in the last rays of the setting sun everybody left the wood, passing in silence the tomb of Ibarra’s +ancestor. Farther on conversation again became animated, gay, full of warmth, under these branches little used to merry-making. +But the trees appeared sad, and the swaying bindweed seemed to say: “Adieu, youth! Adieu, dream of a day!” + + + +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e2440" href="#xd0e2440">96</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div id="ch21" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">XXI.</h2> +<h2 class="normal">With the Philosopher.</h2> +<p>The next morning, Juan Crisóstomo Ibarra, after visiting his land, turned his horse toward old Tasio’s. + +</p> +<p>Complete quiet reigned in the old man’s garden; scarcely did the swallows make a sound as they flew round the roof. The old +walls of the house were mossy, and ivy framed the windows. It seemed the abode of silence. + +</p> +<p>Ibarra tied his horse, crossed the neat garden, almost on tiptoe, and entered the open door. He found the old man in his study, +surrounded by his collections of insects and leaves, his maps, manuscript, and books. He was writing, and so absorbed in his +work that he did not notice the entrance of Ibarra until the young man, loath to disturb him, was leaving as quietly as he +had come. + +</p> +<p>“What! you were there?” he cried, looking at Crisóstomo with a certain astonishment. + +</p> +<p>“Don’t disturb yourself; I see you are busy——” + +</p> +<p>“I was writing a little, but it is not at all pressing. Can I be of service to you?” + +</p> +<p>“Of great service,” said Ibarra, approaching; “but—you are deciphering hieroglyphics!” he exclaimed in surprise, catching +sight of the old man’s work. + +</p> +<p>“No, I’m writing in hieroglyphics.” + +</p> +<p>“Writing in hieroglyphics? And why?” demanded the young man, doubting his senses. + +</p> +<p>“So that no one can read me.” + +</p> +<p>Ibarra looked at him attentively, wondering if he were not a little mad after all. +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e2468" href="#xd0e2468">97</a>]</span></p> +<p>“And why do you write if you do not wish to be read?” + +</p> +<p>“I write not for this generation, but for future ages. If the men of to-day could read my books, they would burn them; the +generation that deciphers these characters will understand, and will say: ‘Our ancestors did not all sleep.’ But you have +something to ask of me, and we are talking of other things.” + +</p> +<p>Ibarra drew out some papers. + +</p> +<p>“I know,” he said, “that my father greatly valued your advice, and I have come to ask it for myself.” + +</p> +<p>And he briefly explained his project for the school, unrolling before the stupefied philosopher plans sent from Manila. “Whom +shall I consult first, in the pueblo, whose support will avail me most? You know them all, I am almost a stranger.” + +</p> +<p>Old Tasio examined with tearful eyes the drawings before him. + +</p> +<p>“You are going to realize my dream,” he said, greatly moved; “the dream of a poor fool. And now the first advice I give you +is never to ask advice of me.” + +</p> +<p>Ibarra looked at him in surprise. + +</p> +<p>“Because, if you do,” he continued with bitter irony, “all sensible people will take you for a fool, too. For all sensible +people think those who differ with them fools; they think me one, and I am grateful for it, because the day they see in me +a reasonable being woe is me! That day I shall lose the little liberty I now enjoy at the expense of my reputation. The gobernadorcillo +passes with them for a wise man because having learned nothing but to serve chocolate and to suffer the caprices of Brother +Dámaso, he is now rich and has the right to trouble the life of his fellow-citizens. ‘There is a man of talent!’ says the +crowd. ‘He has sprung from nothing to greatness.’ But perhaps <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e2487" href="#xd0e2487">98</a>]</span>I am really the fool and they are the wise men. Who can say?” + +</p> +<p>And the old man shook his head as though to dismiss an unwelcome thought. + +</p> +<p>“The second thing I advise is to consult the curate, the gobernadorcillo, all the people of position in the pueblo. They will +give you bad advice, unintelligible, useless. But to ask advice is not to follow it. All you need is to make it understood +that you are working in accordance with their ideas.” + +</p> +<p>Ibarra reflected, then replied: + +</p> +<p>“No doubt your counsel is good, but it is very hard to take. May I not offer my own ideas to the light of day? Cannot the +good make its way anywhere? Has truth need of the dross of error?” + +</p> +<p>“No one likes the naked truth,” replied the old man. “It is good in theory, easy in the ideal world of which youth dreams. +You say you are a stranger to your country; I believe it. The day that you arrived here, you began by wounding the self-esteem +of a priest. God grant this seemingly small thing has not decided your future. If it has, all your efforts will break against +the convent walls, without disturbing the monk, swaying his girdle, or making his robe tremble. The alcalde, under one pretext +or another, will deny you to-morrow what he grants you to-day; not a mother will let her child go to your school, and the +result of all your efforts will be simply negative.” + +</p> +<p>“I cannot help feeling your fears exaggerated,” said Ibarra. “In spite of all you say, I cannot believe in this power; but +even admitting it to be so great, the most intelligent of the people would be on my side, and also the Government, which is +animated by the best intentions, and wishes the veritable good of the Philippines.” + +</p> +<p>“The Government! the Government!” murmured the <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e2503" href="#xd0e2503">99</a>]</span>philosopher, raising his eyes. “However great its desire to better the country, however generous may have been the spirit +of the Catholic kings, the Government sees, hears, judges nothing more than the curate or the provincial gives it to see, +hear, or judge. The Government is convinced that its tranquillity comes through the monks; that if it is upheld, it is because +they uphold it; that if it live, is it because they consent to let it, and that the day when they fail it, it will fall like +a manikin that has lost its base. The monks hold the Government in hand by threatening a revolt of the people they control; +the people, by displaying the power of the Government. So long as the Government has not an understanding with the country, +it will not free itself from this tutelage. The Government looks to no vigorous future; it’s an arm, the head is the convent. +Through its inertia, it allows itself to be dragged from abyss to abyss; its existence is no more than a shadow. Compare our +system of government with the systems of countries you have visited——” + +</p> +<p>“Oh!” interrupted Ibarra, “that is going far. Let us be satisfied that, thanks to religion and the humanity of our rulers, +our people do not complain, do not suffer like those of other countries.” + +</p> +<p>“The people do not complain because they have no voice; if they don’t revolt, it is because they are lethargic; if you say +they do not suffer, it is because you have not seen their heart’s blood. But the day will come when you will see and hear. +Then woe to those who base their strength on ignorance and fanaticism; woe to those who govern through falsehood, and work +in the night, thinking that all sleep! When the sun’s light shows the sham of all these phantoms, there will be a frightful +reaction; all this strength conserved for centuries, all this poison distilled drop by drop, all these sighs strangled, will +find the light and the <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e2509" href="#xd0e2509">100</a>]</span>air. Who pay these accounts which the people from time to time present, and which History preserves for us in its bloody pages?” + +</p> +<p>“God will never permit such a day to come!” replied Ibarra, impressed in spite of himself. “The Filipinos are religious, and +they love Spain. There are abuses, yes, but Spain is preparing reforms to correct them; her projects are now ripening.” + +</p> +<p>“I know; but the reforms which come from the head are annulled lower down, thanks to the greedy desire of officials to enrich +themselves in a short time, and to the ignorance of the people, who accept everything. Abuses are not to be corrected by royal +decrees, not where the liberty of speech, which permits the denunciation of petty tyrants, does not exist. Projects remain +projects; abuses, abuses. Moreover, if by chance some one coming to occupy an office begins to show high and generous ideas, +immediately he hears on all sides—while to his back he is held a fool: ‘Your Excellency does not know the country, Your Excellency +does not know the character of the Indians, Your Excellency will ruin them, Your Excellency will do well to consult this one +and that one,’ and so forth, and so on. And as in truth His Excellency does not know the country, which hitherto he had supposed +to be in America, and since, like all men, he has his faults and weaknesses, he allows himself to be convinced. Don’t ask +for miracles; don’t ask that he who comes here a stranger to make his fortune should interest himself in the welfare of the +country. What does it mean to him, the gratitude or the execration of a people he does not know, among whom he has neither +attachments nor hopes? To make glory sweet to us, its plaudits must resound in the ears of those we love, in the atmosphere +of our home, of the country that is to preserve our ashes; we wish this glory seated on our tomb, to warm a little with <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e2515" href="#xd0e2515">101</a>]</span>its rays the cold of death, to keep us from being reduced to nothingness quite. But we wander from the question.” + +</p> +<p>“It is true I did not come to argue this point; I came to ask advice, and you tell me to bow before grotesque idols.” + +</p> +<p>“Yes, and I repeat it; you must either lower your head or lose it.” + +</p> +<p>“‘Lower my head or lose it!’” repeated Ibarra, thoughtful. “The dilemma is hard. Is it impossible to reconcile love of my +country and love of Spain? Must one abase himself to be a good Christian; prostitute his conscience to achieve a good work? +I love my country; I love Spain; I am a Catholic, and keep pure the faith of my fathers; but I see in all this no reason for +delivering myself into the hands of my enemies.” + +</p> +<p>“But the field where you would sow is in the keeping of your enemies. You must begin by kissing the hand which——” + +</p> +<p>Ibarra did not let him finish. + +</p> +<p>“Kiss their hands! You forget that among them are those who killed my father and tore his body from the grave; but I, his +son, do not forget, and if I do not avenge, it is because of my allegiance to religion!” + +</p> +<p>The old philosopher lowered his eyes. + +</p> +<p>“Señor Ibarra,” he said slowly, “if you are going to keep the remembrance of these things, things I cannot counsel you to +forget, abandon this enterprise and find some other means of benefiting your compatriots. This work demands another man.” + +</p> +<p>Ibarra saw the force of these words, but he could not give up his project. The remembrance of Maria Clara was in his heart; +he must make good his offering to her. + +</p> +<p>“If I go on, does your experience suggest nothing but this hard road?” he asked in a low voice. + +</p> +<p>Old Tasio took his arm and led him to the window. A <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e2539" href="#xd0e2539">102</a>]</span>fresh breeze was blowing, courier of the north wind. Below lay the garden. + +</p> +<p>“Why must we do as does that slender stalk, charged with buds and blossoms?” said the philosopher, pointing out a superb rose-tree. +“The wind makes it tremble, and it bends, as if to hide its precious charge. If the stalk stood rigid, it would break, the +wind would scatter the flowers, and the buds would die without opening. The gust of wind passed, the stalk rises again, proudly +wearing her treasure. Who accuses her for having bowed to necessity? To lower the head when a ball whistles is not cowardice. +What is reprehensible is defying the shot, to fall and rise no more.” + +</p> +<p>“And will this sacrifice bear the fruit I seek? Will they have faith in me? Can the priest forget his own offence? Will they +sincerely aid me to spread that instruction which is sure to dispute with the convents the wealth of the country? Might they +not feign friendship, simulate protection, and, underneath, wound my enterprise in the heel, that it fall more promptly than +if attacked face to face? Admitting your views, one might expect anything.” + +</p> +<p>The old man reflected, then he said: + +</p> +<p>“If this happens, if the enterprise fails, you will have the consolation of having done what you could. Something will have +been gained. Your example will embolden others, who fear only to commence.” + +</p> +<p>Ibarra weighed these reasonings, examined the situation, and saw that with all his pessimism the old man was right. + +</p> +<p>“I believe you,” he said, grasping his hand. “It was not in vain that I came to you for counsel. I will go straight to the +curate, who, after all, may be a fair-minded man. They are not all like the persecutor of my father. I go with faith in God +and man.” + +</p> +<p>He took leave of Tasio, mounted, and rode away, followed <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e2555" href="#xd0e2555">103</a>]</span>by the regard of the pessimistic old philosopher, who stood muttering to himself: + +</p> +<p>“We shall see, we shall see how the fates unroll the drama begun in the cemetery!” + +</p> +<p>This time the wise Tasio was wrong; the drama had begun long before. + + + +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e2561" href="#xd0e2561">104</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div id="ch22" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">XXII.</h2> +<h2 class="normal">The Meeting at the Town Hall.</h2> +<p>It was a room of twelve or fifteen by eight or ten yards. The whitewashed walls were covered with charcoal drawings, more +or less ugly, more or less decent. In the corner were a dozen old shot-guns and some rusty swords, the arms of the cuadrilleros. + +</p> +<p>At one end, draped with soiled red curtains, was a portrait of His Majesty the King, and on the platform underneath an old +fauteuil opened its worn arms; before this was a great table, daubed with ink, carved and cut with inscriptions and monograms, +like the tables of a German students’ inn. Lame chairs and tottering benches completed the furniture. + +</p> +<p>In this hall meetings were held, courts sat, tortures were inflicted. At the moment the authorities of the pueblo and its +vicinity were met there. The party of the old did not mingle with the party of the young; the two represented the Conservatives +and Liberals. + +</p> +<p>“My friends,” Don Filipo, the chief of the Liberals, was saying to a little group, “we shall vanquish the old men this time; +I’m going to present their plan myself, with exaggerations, you may imagine.” + +</p> +<p>“What are you saying?” demanded his surprised auditors. + +</p> +<p>“Listen,” said Don Filipo. “This morning I ran across old Tasio. He said to me: ‘Your enemies are more opposed to your person +than to your ideas. Is there something you <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e2579" href="#xd0e2579">105</a>]</span>don’t want to have go through? Propose it yourself. If it’s as desirable as a mitre, they will reject it. Then let the most +modest young fellow among you present what you really want. To humiliate you, your enemies will help to carry it.’ Hush! Keep +the secret.” + +</p> +<p>The gobernadorcillo had come in. Conversation ceased, all took places, and silence reigned. + +</p> +<p>The captain, as the gobernadorcillo is called, sat down in the chair under the king’s portrait. His look was harried. He coughed, +passed his hand over his cranium, coughed again, and at length began in a failing voice: + +</p> +<p>“Señores, I’ve taken the risk of convening you all—hem, hem!—because we are to celebrate, the twelfth of this month, the feast +of our patron, San Diego—hem, hem!” + +</p> +<p>At this point of his discourse a cough, dry and regular, reduced him to silence. + +</p> +<p>Then from among the elders arose Captain Basilio: + +</p> +<p>“Will your honors permit me,” said he, “to speak a word under these interesting circumstances? I speak first, though many +of those present have more right than I, but the things I have to say are of such importance that they should neither be left +aside nor said last, and for that reason I wish to speak first, to give them the place they merit. Your honors will, then, +permit me to speak first in this assembly, where I see very distinguished people, like the señor, the present gobernadorcillo; +his predecessor, my distinguished friend, Don Valentine; his other predecessor, Don Julio; our renowned captain of the cuadrilleros, +Don Melchior, and so many others, whom, for brevity, I will not mention, and whom you see here present. I entreat your honors +to give me the floor before any one else speaks. Am I happy enough to have the assembly accede to my humble request?” And +the speaker bowed respectfully, half smiling. + +</p> +<p>“You may speak, we shall hear you with pleasure!” cried <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e2595" href="#xd0e2595">106</a>]</span>his flattering friends, who held him a great orator. The old men hemmed with satisfaction and rubbed their hands. + +</p> +<p>Captain Basilio wiped the sweat from his brow and continued: + +</p> +<p>“Since your honors have been so kind and complaisant toward my humble self as to grant me the right of speech before all others +here present, I shall profit by this permission, so generously accorded, and I shall speak. I imagine in my imagination that +I find myself in the midst of the very venerable Roman senate—senatus populusque Romanus, as we said in those good old times +which, unhappily for humanity, will never come back,—and I will ask the patres conscripti—as the sage Cicero would say if +he were in my place—I would ask them, since time presses, and time is golden as Solomon says, that in this important matter +each one give his opinion clearly, briefly, and simply. I have done.” + +</p> +<p>And satisfied with himself and with the attention of the house the orator sat down, not without directing toward his friends +a look which plainly said: “Ha! Did I speak well? Ha!” + +</p> +<p>“Now the floor belongs to any one who—hem!” said the gobernadorcillo, without being able to finish his sentence. + +</p> +<p>To judge by the general silence, no one wished to be one of the patres conscripti. Don Filipo profited thereby and rose. + +</p> +<p>The Conservatives looked at one another with significant nods and gestures. + +</p> +<p>“Señores, I will present my project for the fête,” he began. + +</p> +<p>“We cannot accept it!” said an uncompromising Conservative. + +</p> +<p>“We vote against it!” cried another adversary. + +</p> +<p>Don Filipo could not repress a smile. +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e2617" href="#xd0e2617">107</a>]</span></p> +<p>“We have a budget of 3,500 pesos. With this sum we can assure a fête that will surpass any we have yet seen in our own province +or in others.” + +</p> +<p>There were cries of “Impossible!” Such a pueblo spent 4,000 pesos; another, 5,000! + +</p> +<p>“Listen, señores, and you will be convinced,” continued Don Filipo, unshaken. “I propose that in the middle of the plaza we +erect a grand theatre, costing 150 pesos.” + +</p> +<p>“Not enough! Say 160!” + +</p> +<p>“Observe, gentlemen, 200 pesos for the theatre. I propose that arrangements be made with the Comedy Company of Tondo for seven +representations, seven consecutive evenings, at 200 pesos an evening. Seven representations, at 200 pesos each, makes 1,400 +pesos. Observe, señor director, 1,400 pesos.” + +</p> +<p>Old and young looked at one another in surprise. Only those in the secret remained unmoved. + +</p> +<p>“I further propose magnificent fireworks; not those little rockets and crackers that amuse nobody but children and old maids, +but great bombs, colossal rockets. I propose, then, 200 bombs at two pesos each, and 200 rockets at the same price. Observe, +señores, 1,000 pesos for bombs and——” + +</p> +<p>The Conservatives could not contain themselves. They got up and conferred with one another. + +</p> +<p>“And further, to show our neighbors that we are not people who must count their expenditures, I propose, first, four great +preachers for the two feast days; second, that each day we throw into the lake 200 roasted fowls, 100 stuffed capons, and +50 sucking pigs, as did Sylla, contemporary of Cicero, to whom Captain Basilio alluded.” + +</p> +<p>“That’s it! Like Sylla!” repeated Captain Basilio, flattered. + +</p> +<p>The astonishment grew. +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e2640" href="#xd0e2640">108</a>]</span></p> +<p>“As many rich people will come to the fêtes, each bringing thousands of pesos and his best cocks, I propose fifteen days of +the gallera, the liberty of open gaming houses——” + +</p> +<p>Cries rising from all sides drowned his voice; there was a veritable tumult. The gobernadorcillo, more crushed than ever, +did nothing to quell it; he waited for order to establish itself. + +</p> +<p>Happily Captain Valentine, most moderate of the Conservatives, rose and said: + +</p> +<p>“What the lieutenant proposes seems to us extravagant. So many bombs and so much comedy could only be proposed by a young +man, like the lieutenant, who could pass all his evenings at the theatre and hear countless detonations without becoming deaf. +And what of these fowls thrown into the lake? Why should we imitate Sylla and the Romans? Did they ever invite us to their +fêtes? I’m an old man, and I’ve never received any summons from them!” + +</p> +<p>“The Romans live at Rome with the Pope,” Captain Basilio whispered. + +</p> +<p>This did not disconcert Don Valentine. + +</p> +<p>“At all events,” he went on, “the project is inadmissible, impossible; it’s a folly!” + +</p> +<p>Don Filipo must needs retire his project. + +</p> +<p>Satisfied with the defeat of their enemy, the Conservatives were not displeased to see another young man rise, the municipal +head of a group of fifty or sixty families, known as a balangay. + +</p> +<p>He modestly excused himself for speaking. With delicate blandishments he referred to the “ideas so elegantly expressed by +Captain Basilio,” upon which the delighted captain made signs to show him how to gesture and to change position: then he unfolded +his project: to have something absolutely new, and to spend the 3,500 pesos in such a way as to benefit their own province. +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e2661" href="#xd0e2661">109</a>]</span></p> +<p>“That’s it!” interrupted the young men; “that’s what we want!” + +</p> +<p>What did they care about seeing the King of Bohemia cut off the heads of his daughters! They were neither kings nor barbarians, +and if they did such things themselves, would be hung high on the field of Bagumbayan. He proposed that two native plays be +given which dealt with the manners of the times. There were two he had in mind, works of their best writers. They demanded +only native costumes, and could be played by amateurs of talent, of whom the province had no lack. + +</p> +<p>“A good idea!” some of the Conservatives began to murmur. + +</p> +<p>“I’ll pay for the theatre!” cried Captain Basilio, with enthusiasm. + +</p> +<p>“Accepted! Accepted!” cried numerous voices. The young man went on: + +</p> +<p>“A part of the money taken at the theatre might be distributed in prizes: to the best pupil in the school, the best shepherd, +the best fisherman. We might have boat races, and games, and fireworks, of course.” + +</p> +<p>Almost all were agreed, though some talked about “innovations.” + +</p> +<p>When silence was established, only the decision of the gobernadorcillo was wanting. + +</p> +<p>The poor man passed his hand across his forehead, he fidgeted, he perspired; finally he stammered, lowering his eyes: + +</p> +<p>“I also; I approve; but, hem!” + +</p> +<p>The assembly listened in silence. + +</p> +<p>“But——” demanded Captain Basilio. + +</p> +<p>“I approve entirely,” repeated the functionary, “that is to say, I do not approve; I say yes, but——” + +</p> +<p>He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e2690" href="#xd0e2690">110</a>]</span></p> +<p>“But,” continued the unhappy man, coming to the point at last, “the curate wants something else.” + +</p> +<p>“Is the curate to pay for the festival? Has he given even a cuarto?” cried a penetrating voice. + +</p> +<p>Every one turned. It was Tasio. The lieutenant remained immovable, his eyes on the gobernadorcillo. + +</p> +<p>“And what does the curate want?” demanded Don Basilio. + +</p> +<p>“The curate wants six processions, three sermons, three solemn masses, and if any money is left, a comedy with songs between +the acts.” + +</p> +<p>“But we don’t want it!” cried the young men and some of their elders. + +</p> +<p>“The curate wishes it,” repeated the gobernadorcillo, “and I’ve promised that his wishes shall be carried out.” + +</p> +<p>“Then why did you call us together?” asked one, impatient. + +</p> +<p>“Why didn’t you say so in the beginning?” demanded another. + +</p> +<p>“I wished to, señores, but, Captain Basilio, I did not have a chance. We must obey the curate!” + +</p> +<p>“We must obey!” repeated some of the Conservatives. + +</p> +<p>Don Filipo approached the gobernadorcillo and said bitterly: + +</p> +<p>“I <span class="corr" id="xd0e2717" title="Source: sacrified">sacrificed</span> my pride in a good cause; you sacrifice your manliness in a bad one; you spoil every good thing that might be done!” + +</p> +<p>Ibarra said to the schoolmaster: + +</p> +<p>“Have you any commission for the capital? I leave immediately.” + +</p> +<p>On the way home the old philosopher said to Don Filipo, who was cursing his fate: + +</p> +<p>“The fault is ours. You didn’t protest when they gave you a slave for mayor, and I, fool that I am, forgot about him!” + + + + +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e2728" href="#xd0e2728">111</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div id="ch23" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">XXIII.</h2> +<h2 class="normal">The Eve of the Fête.</h2> +<p>It is the 10th of November, the eve of the fête. The pueblo of San Diego is stirred by an incredible activity; in the houses, +the streets, the church, the gallera, all is unwonted movement. From windows flags and rugs are hanging; the air, resounding +with bombs and music, seems saturated with gayety. Inside on little tables covered with bordered cloths the dalaga arranges +in jars of tinted crystal the confitures made from the native fruits. Servants come and go; orders, whispers, comments, conjectures +are everywhere. And all this activity and labor are for guests as often unknown as known; the stranger, the friend, the Filipino, +the Spaniard, the rich man, the poor man, will be equally fortunate; and no one will ask his gratitude, nor even demand that +he speak well of his host till the end of his dinner. + +</p> +<p>The red covers which all the year protect the lamps are taken off, and the swinging prisms and crystal pendants strike out +harmonies from one another and throw dancing rainbow colors on the white walls. The glass globes, precious heirlooms, are +rubbed and polished; the dainty handiwork of the young girls of the house is brought out. Floors shine like mirrors, curtains +of piña or silk jusi ornament the doors, and in the windows hang lanterns of crystal or of colored paper. The vases on the +Chinese pedestals are heaped with flowers, the saints themselves in their reliquaries are dusted and wreathed with blossoms. +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e2738" href="#xd0e2738">112</a>]</span></p> +<p>At intervals along the streets rise graceful arches of reed; around the parvis of the church is the costly covered passageway, +supported by trunks of bamboos, under which the procession is to pass, and in the centre of the plaza rises the platform of +the theatre, with its stage of reed, of nipa, or of wood. The native pyrotechnician, who learns his art from no one knows +what master, is getting ready his castles, balloons, and fiery wheels; all the bells of the pueblo are ringing gaily. There +are sounds of music in the distance, and the gamins run to meet the bands and give them escort. In comes the fanfare with +spirited marches, followed by the ragged and half-naked urchins, who, the moment a number is ended, know it by heart, hum +it, whistle it with wonderful accuracy, and are ready to pass judgment on it. + +</p> +<p>Meanwhile the people of the mountains, the kasamà, in gala dress, bring down to the rich of the pueblo wild game and fruits, +and the rarest plants of the woods, the biga, with its great leaves, and the tikas-tikas, whose flaming flowers will ornament +the doorways of the houses. And from all sides, in all sorts of vehicles, arrive the guests, known and unknown, many bringing +with them their best cocks and sacks of gold to risk in the gallera, or on the green cloth. + +</p> +<p>“The alférez has fifty pesos a night,” a little plump man is murmuring in the ears of his guests. “Captain Tiago will hold +the bank; Captain Joaquin brings eighteen thousand. There will be liam-pô; the Chinese Carlo puts up the game, with a capital +of ten thousand. Sporting men are coming from Lipa and Batanzos and Santa Cruz. There will be big play! big play!—but will +you take chocolate?—Captain Tiago won’t fleece us this year as he did last; and how is your family?” + +</p> +<p>“Very well, very well, thank you! And Father Dámaso?” + +</p> +<p>“The father will preach in the morning and be with us at the games in the evening.” +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e2749" href="#xd0e2749">113</a>]</span></p> +<p>“He’s out of danger now?” + +</p> +<p>“Without question! Ah, it’s the Chinese who will let their hands go!” And in dumb show the little man counted money with his +hands. + +</p> +<p>But the greatest animation of all was at the outskirts of the crowd, around a sort of platform a few paces from the home of +Ibarra. Pulleys creaked, cries went up, one heard the metallic ring of stone-cutting, of nail-driving; a band of workmen were +opening a long, deep trench; others were placing in line great stones from the quarries of the pueblo, emptying carts, dumping +sand, placing capstans. + +</p> +<p>“This way! That’s it! Quick about it!” a little old man of intelligent and animated face was crying. It was the foreman, Señor +Juan, architect, mason, carpenter, metalworker, stonecutter, and on occasions sculptor. To each stranger he repeated what +he had already said a thousand times. + +</p> +<p>“Do you know what we are going to build? A model school, like those of Germany, and even better. The plans were traced by +Señor R——. I direct the work. Yes, señor, you see it is to be a palace with two wings, one for the boys, the other for the +girls. Here in the centre will be a great garden with three fountains, and at the sides little gardens for the children to +cultivate plants. That great space you see there is for playgrounds. It will be magnificent!” And the Señor Juan rubbed his +hands, thinking of his fame to come. Soothed by its contemplation, he went back and forth, passing everything in review. + +</p> +<p>“That’s too much wood for a crane,” he said to a Mongol, who was directing a part of the work. “The three beams that make +the tripod and the three joining them would be enough for me.” + +</p> +<p>“But not for me,” replied the Mongol, with a peculiar smile, “the more ornament, the more imposing the effect. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e2764" href="#xd0e2764">114</a>]</span>You will see! I shall trim it, too, with wreaths and streamers. You will say in the end that you were right to give the work +into my hands, and Señor Ibarra will have nothing left to desire.” + +</p> +<p>The man smiled still, and Señor Juan laughed and threw back his head. + +</p> +<p>In truth, Ibarra’s project had found an echo almost everywhere. The curate had asked to be a patron and to bless the cornerstone, +a ceremony that was to take place the last day of the fête, and to be one of its chief solemnities. One of the most conservative +papers of Manila had dedicated to Ibarra on its first page an article entitled, “Imitate Him!” He was therein called “the +young and rich capitalist, already a marked man,” “the distinguished philanthropist,” “the Spanish Filipino,” and so forth. +The students who had come from Manila for the fête were full of admiration for Ibarra, and ready to take him for their model. +But, as almost always when we try to imitate a man who towers above the crowd, we ape his weaknesses, if not his faults, many +of these admirers of Crisóstomo’s held rigorously to the tie of his cravat, or the shape of his collar; almost all to the +number of buttons on his vest. Even Captain Tiago burned with generous emulation, and asked himself if he ought not to build +a convent. + +</p> +<p>The dark presentiments of old Tasio seemed dissipated. When Ibarra said so to him, the old pessimist replied: “<span lang="la">Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes</span>.” + +</p> +<p>Toward evening Captain Tiago arrived from Manila, bringing Maria Clara, in honor of the fête, a beautiful reliquary of gold, +set with emeralds and diamonds, enshrining a splinter from the fishing-boat of St. Peter. Scarcely had he come when a party +of Maria’s friends came to take her out to see the streets. + +</p> +<p>“Go,” said Captain Tiago, “but come back soon. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e2779" href="#xd0e2779">115</a>]</span>Father Dámaso, you know, is to dine with us. You, too, Crisóstomo, must join us.” + +</p> +<p>“With the greatest pleasure,” stammered Ibarra, avoiding Maria Clara’s eyes, “if I did not feel that I must be at home to +receive whoever may come.” + +</p> +<p>“Bring your friends here; there is always room at my table,” said Captain Tiago, somewhat coldly. “I wish Father Dámaso and +you to come to an understanding.” + +</p> +<p>“There is yet time,” said Ibarra, forcing a smile. + +</p> +<p>As they descended to the street, Aunt Isabel following, people moved aside to let them pass. Maria Clara was a vision of loveliness: +her pallor had disappeared, and if her eyes remained pensive, her mouth seemed to know only smiles. With the amiability characteristic +of happy young womanhood she saluted the people she had known as a child, and they smiled back their admiration. In these +few days of freedom she had regained the frank friendliness, the gracious speech, which seemed to have slumbered inside the +narrow walls of her convent. She felt a new, intense life within her, and everything without seemed good and beautiful. She +showed her love for Ibarra with that maiden sweetness which comes from pure thoughts and knows no reason for false blushes. + +</p> +<p>At regular intervals in the streets were kindled great clustered lights with bamboo supports, like candelabra. People were +beginning to illuminate their houses, and through the open windows one could see the guests moving about in the radiance among +the flowers to the music of harp, piano, or orchestra. Outside, in gala costume, native or European, Chinese, Spaniards, and +Filipinos were moving in all directions, escaping with difficulty the crush of carriages and calashes. + +</p> +<p>When the party reached Captain Basilio’s house, Sinang saw them, and ran down the steps. +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e2793" href="#xd0e2793">116</a>]</span></p> +<p>“Come up till I’m ready to go out with you,” she said. “I’m weary of all these strangers who talk of nothing but cocks and +cards.” + +</p> +<p>The house was full of people. Many came up to greet Crisóstomo, and all admired Maria Clara. “Beautiful as the Virgin!” the +old dames whispered, chewing their buyo. + +</p> +<p>Here they must take chocolate. As they were leaving, Captain Basilio said in Ibarra’s ear: + +</p> +<p>“Won’t you join us this evening? Father Dámaso is going to make up a little purse.” + +</p> +<p>Ibarra smiled and answered by a movement of the head, which might have meant anything. + +</p> +<p>Chatting and laughing, the merry party went on past the brilliantly illuminated houses. At length they came to one fast closed +and dark. It was the home of the alférez. Maria was astonished. + +</p> +<p>“It’s that old sorceress. The Muse of the Municipal Guard, as Tasio calls her,” said Sinang. “Her house is in mourning because +the people are gay.” + +</p> +<p>At a corner of the plaza, where a blind man was singing, an uncommon sight offered itself. A man stood there, miserably dressed, +his head covered by a great salakot of palm leaves, which completely hid his face, though from its shadow two lights gleamed +and went out fitfully. He was tall, and, from his figure, young. He pushed forward a basket, and after speaking some unintelligible +words drew back and stood completely isolated. Women passing put fruit and rice into his basket, and at this he came forward +a little, speaking what seemed to be his thanks. + +</p> +<p>Maria Clara felt the presence of some great suffering. “Who is it?” she asked Iday. + +</p> +<p>“It’s a leper. He lives outside the pueblo, near the Chinese cemetery; every one fears to go near him. If you <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e2814" href="#xd0e2814">117</a>]</span>could see his cabin! The wind, the rain, and the sun must visit him as they like.” + +</p> +<p>“Poor man!” murmured Maria Clara, and hardly knowing what she did, she went up and put into the basket the reliquary her father +had just given her. + +</p> +<p>“Maria!” exclaimed her friends. + +</p> +<p>“I had nothing else,” she said, forcing back the tears. + +</p> +<p>“What will he do with the reliquary? He can’t sell it! Nobody will touch it now! If only it could be eaten!” said Sinang. + +</p> +<p>But the leper went to the basket, took the glittering thing in his hands, fell on his knees, kissed it, and bent his head +to the ground, uncovering humbly. Maria Clara turned her face to hide the tears. + +</p> +<p>As the leper knelt, a woman crept up and knelt beside him. By her long, loose hair and emaciated face the people recognized +Sisa. The leper, feeling her touch, sprang up with a cry; but, to the horror of the crowd, she clung to his arm. + +</p> +<p>“Pray! Pray!” said she. “It is the Feast of the Dead! These lights are the souls of men. Pray for my sons!” + +</p> +<p>“Separate them! Separate them!” cried the crowd; but no one dared do it. + +</p> +<p>“Do you see the light in the tower? That is my son Basilio, ringing the bells. Do you see that other in the manse? That is +my son Crispin; but I cannot go to them, because the curate is ill, and his money is lost. I carried the curate fruit from +my garden. My garden was full of flowers, and I had two sons. I had a garden, I tended my flowers, and I had two sons.” + +</p> +<p>And leaving the leper she moved away, singing: + +</p> +<p>“I had a garden and flowers. I had two sons, a garden and flowers.” +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e2838" href="#xd0e2838">118</a>]</span></p> +<p>“What have you done for that poor woman?” Maria asked Ibarra. + +</p> +<p>“Nothing yet,” he replied, somewhat confused. “But don’t be troubled; the curate has promised to aid me.” + +</p> +<p>As they spoke, a soldier came dragging Sisa back, rather than leading her. She was resisting. + +</p> +<p>“Where are you taking her? What has she done?” asked Ibarra. + +</p> +<p>“What has she done? Didn’t you hear the noise she made?” said the guardian of public tranquillity. + +</p> +<p>The leper took up his basket and vanished. Maria Clara asked to go home. She had lost all her gayety. Her sadness increased +when, arrived at her door, her fiancé refused to go in. + +</p> +<p>“It must be so to-night,” he said as he bade her good-by. + +</p> +<p>Maria, mounting the steps, thought how tiresome were fête days, when one must receive so many strangers. + +</p> +<p>The next evening a little perfumed note came to Ibarra by the hand of Andeng, Maria’s foster sister. + + +</p> +<div class="blockquote"> +<p>“Crisóstomo, for a whole day I have not seen you. They tell me you are ill. I have lighted two candles and prayed for you. +I’m so tired of being asked to play and dance. I did not know there were so many tiresome people in the world. If Father Dámaso +had not tried to amuse me with stories, I should have left them all and gone away to sleep. Write me how you are, and if I +shall send papa to see you. I send you Andeng now to make your tea; she will do it better than your servants. If you don’t +come to-morrow, I shall not go to the ceremony. + + +</p> +<p class="alignright"><span class="smallcaps">Maria Clara</span>.” +</p> +</div><p> + + + +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e2865" href="#xd0e2865">119</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div id="ch24" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">XXIV.</h2> +<h2 class="normal">In the Church.</h2> +<p>The orchestras sounded the reveille at the first rays of the sun, waking with joyous airs the tired inhabitants of the pueblo. + +</p> +<p>It was the last day of the fête—indeed, the fête itself. Every one expected much more than on the eve, when the Brothers of +the Sacred Rosary had had their sermon and procession; for the Brothers of the Third Order were more numerous, and counted +on humiliating their rivals. The Chinese candle merchants had reaped a rich harvest. + +</p> +<p>Everybody put on his gala dress; all the jewels came out of their coffers; the fops and sporting men wore rows of diamond +buttons on their shirt fronts, heavy gold chains, and white jipijapa hats, as the Indians call Panamas. No one but old Tasio +was in everyday costume. + +</p> +<p>“You seem even sadder than usual,” the lieutenant said to him. “Because we have so many reasons to weep, may we not laugh +once in a while?” + +</p> +<p>“Yes, laugh, but not play the fool! It’s the same insane orgy every year, the same waste of money when there’s so much need +and so much suffering! But I see! It’s the orgy, the bacchanal, that is to still the lamentations of the poor!” + +</p> +<p>“You know I share your opinion,” said Don Filipo, half serious, half laughing, “and that I defended it; but what can I do +against the gobernadorcillo and the curate?” + +</p> +<p>“Resign!” cries the irate old man, leaving him. +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e2885" href="#xd0e2885">120</a>]</span></p> +<p>“Resign!” muttered Don Filipo, going on toward the church. “Resign? Yes, certainly, if my post were an honor and not a charge.” + +</p> +<p>There was a crowd in the parvis, and men, women, and children in a stream were coming and going through the narrow doors of +the church. The smell of powder mingled with that of flowers and incense. Rockets, bombs, and serpents made women run and +scream and delighted the children. An orchestra was playing before the convent; bands accompanied dignitaries on their way +to the church, or paraded the streets under innumerable floating and dipping flags. Light and color distracted the eye, music +and explosions the ear. + +</p> +<p>High mass was about to be celebrated. Among the congregation were to be the chief alcalde of the province and other Spanish +notables; and last, the sermon would be given by Brother Dámaso, who had the greatest renown as a preacher. + +</p> +<p>The church was crammed. People were jostled, crushed, trampled on, and cried out at each encounter. From far they stretched +their arms to dip their fingers in the holy water, but getting nearer, saw its color, and the hands retired. They scarcely +breathed; the heat and atmosphere were insupportable; but the preacher was worth the endurance of all these miseries; besides, +his sermon was to cost the pueblo two hundred and fifty pesos. Fans, hats, and handkerchiefs agitated the air; children cried, +and gave the sacristans a hard enough task getting them out. + +</p> +<p>Ibarra was in a corner. Maria Clara knelt near the high altar, where the curate had reserved a place for her. Captain Tiago, +in frock coat, sat on the bench of authorities, and the children, who did not know him, taking him for another gobernadorcillo, +dared not go near him. + +</p> +<p>At length the alcalde arrived with his suite. He came <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e2898" href="#xd0e2898">121</a>]</span>from the sacristy, and sat down in a splendid fauteuil, beneath which was spread a rich carpet. He was in full dress, and +wore the cordon of Charles III., with four or five other decorations. + +</p> +<p>“Ha!” cried a countryman. “A citizen in fancy dress!” + +</p> +<p>“Imbecile!” replied his neighbor. “It’s Prince Villardo whom we saw last night in the play!” And the alcalde, in the character +of giant-slayer, rose accordingly in the popular estimation. + +</p> +<p>Presently those seated arose, those sleeping awoke, the mass had begun. Brother Salvi celebrated, attended by two Augustins. +At length came the long-looked-for moment of the sermon. The three priests sat down, the alcalde and other notables followed +them, the music ceased. The people made themselves as comfortable as possible, those who had no benches sitting outright on +the pavement, or arranging themselves tailor fashion. + +</p> +<p>Preceded by two sacristans and followed by another monk, who bore a great book, Father Dámaso made his way through the crowd. +He disappeared a moment in the spiral staircase of the pulpit, then his great head reappeared and his herculean bust. He looked +over his audience, and, the review terminated, said to his companion, hidden at his feet: + +</p> +<p>“Attention, brother!” + +</p> +<p>The monk opened his book. + + + +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e2912" href="#xd0e2912">122</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div id="ch25" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">XXV.</h2> +<h2 class="normal">The Sermon.</h2> +<p>The first part of the sermon was to be in Castilian, the remainder in Tagalo. Brother Dámaso began slowly and in ordinary +voice: + +</p> +<p>“<i lang="la">Et spiritum tuum bonum dedisti qui docevet eos, et manna tuum non prohibuisti ab ore eorum, et aquam dedisti eis in siti.</i> Words of the Lord spoken by the mouth of Esdras, Book II., chapter ix., verse 20. + +</p> +<p>“Most worshipful señor (to the alcalde), very reverend priests, brothers in Christ!” + +</p> +<p>Here an impressive pose and a new glance round the audience, then, his eyes on the alcalde, the father majestically extended +his right hand toward the altar, slowly crossed his arms, without saying a word, and, passing from this calm to action, threw +back his head, pointed toward the main entrance, and, impetuously cutting the air with the edge of his hand, began to speak +in a voice strong, full, and resonant. + +</p> +<p>“Brilliant and splendid is the altar, wide the door, the air is the vehicle of the sacred word which shall spring from my +lips. Hear, then, with the ears of the soul and the heart, that the words of the Lord may not fall on a stony ground, but +that they may grow and shoot upward in the field of our seraphic father, St. Francis. You, sinners, captives of those Moors +of the soul who infest the seas of the eternal life, in the doughty ships of the flesh and the world; you who row in the galleys +of Satan, behold with reverent compunction him <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e2931" href="#xd0e2931">123</a>]</span>who redeems souls from the captivity of the demon—the intrepid Gideon, the courageous David, the victorious Roland of Christianity! +the celestial guard, more valiant than all the civil guards of past and future. (The alférez frowned.) Yes, Señor Alférez, +more valiant and more powerful than all! This conqueror, who, without other weapon than a wooden cross, vanquished the eternal +tulisanes of darkness, and would have utterly destroyed them were spirits not immortal. This marvel, this incredible phenomenon, +is the blessed Diego of Alcala!” + +</p> +<p>The “rude Indians,” as the correspondents say, fished out of this paragraph only the words civil guard, tulisane, San Diego, +and San Francisco. They had noticed the grimace of the alférez and the militant gesture of the preacher, and had from this +deduced that the father was angry with the guard for not pursuing the tulisanes, and that San Diego and San Francisco had +taken upon themselves to do it. They were enchanted, not doubting that, the tulisanes once dispersed, St. Francis would also +destroy the municipal guard. Their attention, therefore, redoubled. + +</p> +<p>The monk continued so long his eulogy of San Diego that his auditors, not even excepting Captain Tiago, began to yawn a little. +Then he reproached them with living like the Protestants and heretics, who respect not the ministers of God; like the Chinese, +for which condemnation be upon them! + +</p> +<p>“What is he telling us, the Palé Lámaso?” murmured the Chinese Carlos, looking angrily at the preacher, who went on improvising +a series of apostrophes and imprecations. + +</p> +<p>“You will die in impenitence, race of heretics! Your punishment is already being meted out to you in jails and prisons. The +family and its women should flee you; rulers should destroy you. If you have a member that causeth you to offend, cut it off +and cast it into the fire!” +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e2941" href="#xd0e2941">124</a>]</span></p> +<p>Brother Dámaso was nervous. He had forgotten his sermon and was improvising. Ibarra became restless; he looked about in search +of some corner, but the church was full. Maria Clara no longer heard the sermon. She was analyzing a picture of the souls +of the “Blessed in Purgatory.” + +</p> +<p>In the improvisation the monk who played the part of prompter lost his place and skipped some paragraphs. The text returned +to San Diego, and with a long series of exclamations and contrasts the father brought to a close the first part of his sermon. + +</p> +<p>The second part was entirely improvised; not that Brother Dámaso knew Tagalo better than Castilian; but, considering the natives +of the province entirely ignorant of rhetoric, he did not mind making errors before them. Yet the second part of his discourse +had for certain people graver consequences than the first. + +</p> +<p>He began with a “Maná capatir concristians,” “My Christian brothers,” followed by an avalanche of untranslatable phrases about +the soul, sin, and the patron saint. Then he launched a new series of maledictions against lack of respect and growing irreligion. +On this point he seemed to be inspired, and expressed himself with force and clearness. He spoke of sinners who die in prison +without confession or the sacraments; of accursed families, of petty students, and of toy philosophers. + +</p> +<p>Ibarra listened and understood. He kept a calm exterior, but his eyes turned toward the bench of magistrates. No one seemed +to pay attention; as to the alcalde, he was asleep. + +</p> +<p>The inspiration of the preacher increased. He spoke of the early times when every Filipino encountering a priest uncovered, +knelt, and kissed his hand. Now, he said, there were those who, because they had studied in Manila or in Europe, thought fit +to shake the hand of a priest instead of kissing it. +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e2954" href="#xd0e2954">125</a>]</span></p> +<p>But in spite of the cries and gestures of the orator, by this time many of his auditors slept, and few listened. Some of the +devout would have wept over the sins of the ungodly, but nobody joined them, and they were forced to give it up. A man seated +beside an old woman went so sound asleep that he fell over against her. The good woman took her slipper and tried to waken +him, at the same time crying out: + +</p> +<p>“Get away! Savage, animal, demon, carabao!” + +</p> +<p>Naturally this raised a tumult. The preacher elevated his brows, struck dumb by such a scandal; indignation strangled the +words in his throat; he could only strike the pulpit with his fists. This had its effect. The old woman dropped the shoe and, +still grumbling and signing herself, sank on her knees. + +</p> +<p>“Ah, ah, ah, ah!” the irate priest could at last articulate. “It is for this that I have preached to you all the morning! +Savages! You respect nothing! Behold the work of the incontinence of the century!” And launched again upon this theme, he +preached a half hour longer. The alcalde breathed loud. Maria Clara, having studied all the pictures in sight, had dropped +her head. Crisóstomo had ceased to be moved by the sermon. He was picturing a little house, high up among the mountains, with +Maria Clara in the garden. Why concern himself with men, dragging out their lives in the miserable pueblos of the valley? + +</p> +<p>At length the sermon ended, and the mass went on. At the moment when all were kneeling and the priests bowed their heads at +the “<span lang="la">Incarnatus est</span>,” a man murmured in Ibarra’s ear: “At the blessing of the cornerstone do not separate yourself from the curate; do not go +down into the trench. Your life is at stake!” + +</p> +<p>It was the helmsman. + + + +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e2970" href="#xd0e2970">126</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div id="ch26" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">XXVI.</h2> +<h2 class="normal">The Crane.</h2> +<p>It was indeed not an ordinary crane that the Mongol had built for letting the enormous cornerstone of the school into the +trench. The framework was complicated and the cables passed over extraordinary pulleys. Flags, streamers, and garlands of +flowers, however, hid the mechanism. By means of a cleverly contrived capstan, the enormous stone held suspended over the +open trench could be raised or lowered with ease by a single man. + +</p> +<p>“See!” said the Mongol to Señor Juan, inserting the bar and turning it. “See how I can manipulate the thing up here and unaided!” + +</p> +<p>Señor Juan was full of admiration. + +</p> +<p>“Who taught you mechanics?” he asked. + +</p> +<p>“My father, my late father,” replied the man, with his peculiar smile, “and Don Saturnino, the grandfather of Don Crisóstomo, +taught him.” + +</p> +<p>“You must know then about Don Saturnino——” + +</p> +<p>“Oh, many things! Not only did he beat his workmen and expose them to the sun, but he knew how to awaken sleepers and put +waking men to sleep. Ah, you will see presently what he could teach! You will see!” + +</p> +<p>On a table with Persian spread, beside the trench, were the things to be put into the cornerstone, and the glass box and leaden +cylinder which were to preserve for the future these souvenirs, this mummy of an epoch. + +</p> +<p>Under two long booths near at hand were sumptuous <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e2994" href="#xd0e2994">127</a>]</span>tables, one for the school-children, without wine, and heaped with fruits; the other for the distinguished visitors. The booths +were joined by a sort of bower of leafy branches, where were chairs for the musicians, and tables with cakes, confitures, +and carafes of water, for the public in general. + +</p> +<p>The crowd, gay in garments of many colors, was massed under the trees to avoid the ardent rays of the sun, and the children, +to better see the ceremony of the dedication, had climbed up among the branches. + +</p> +<p>Soon bands were heard in the distance. The Mongol carefully examined his construction; he seemed nervous. A man with the appearance +of a peasant standing near him on the edge of the excavation and close beside the capstan watched all his movements. It was +Elias, well disguised by his salakot and rustic costume. + +</p> +<p>The musicians arrived, preceded by a crowd of old and young in motley array. Behind came the alcalde, the municipal guard +officers, the monks, and the Spanish Government clerks. Ibarra was talking with the alcalde; Captain Tiago, the alférez, the +curate and a number of the rich country gentlemen accompanied the ladies, whose gay parasols gleamed in the sunshine. + +</p> +<p>As they approached the trench, Ibarra felt his heart beat. Instinctively he raised his eyes to the strange scaffolding. The +Mongol saluted him respectfully, and looked at him intently a moment. Ibarra recognized Elias through his disguise, and the +mysterious helmsman, by a significant glance, recalled the warning in the church. + +</p> +<p>The curate put on his robes and began the office. The one-eyed sacristan held his book; a choir boy had in charge the holy +water and sprinkler. The men uncovered, and the crowd stood so silent that, though the father read low, his voice was heard +to tremble. + +</p> +<p>The manuscripts, journals, money, and medals to be preserved <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e3008" href="#xd0e3008">128</a>]</span>in remembrance of this day had been placed in the glass box and the box itself hermetically sealed within the leaden cylinder. + +</p> +<p>“Señor Ibarra, will you place the box in the stone? The curate is waiting for you,” said the alcalde in Ibarra’s ear. + +</p> +<p>“I should do so with great pleasure,” said Ibarra, “but it would be a usurpation of the honor; that belongs to the notary, +who must draw up the written process.” + +</p> +<p>The notary gravely took the box, descended the carpeted stairway which led to the bottom of the trench, and with due solemnity +deposited his burden in the hollow of the stone already laid. The curate took the sprinkler and sprinkled the stone with holy +water. + +</p> +<p>Each one was now to deposit his trowel of cement on the surface of the lower stone, to seal it to the stone held suspended +by the crane when that should be lowered. + +</p> +<p>Ibarra offered the alcalde a silver trowel, on which was engraved the date of the fête, but before using it His Excellency +pronounced a short allocution in Castilian. + +</p> +<p>“Citizens of San Diego,” he said, “we have the honor of presiding at a ceremony whose importance you know without explanations. +We are founding a school, and the school is the basis of society, the book wherein is written the future of each race. + +</p> +<p>“Citizens of San Diego! Thank God, who has given you these priests! Thank the Mother Country, who spreads civilization in +these fertile isles and protects them with the covering of her glorious mantle. Thank God, again, who has enlightened you +by his priests from his divine Word. + +</p> +<p>“And now that the first stone of this building has been blessed, we, the alcalde of this province, in the name of His Majesty +the King, whom God guard; in the name of the illustrious Spanish Government, and under the protection <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e3026" href="#xd0e3026">129</a>]</span>of its spotless and ever-victorious flag, consecrate this act and begin the building of this school! + +</p> +<p>“Citizens of San Diego, long live the king! Long live Spain! Long live the religious orders! Long live the Catholic church!” + +</p> +<p>“Long live the Señor Alcalde!” replied many voices. + +</p> +<p>Then the high official descended majestically, to the strains of the orchestras, put his trowel of cement on the stone, and +came back as majestically as he had gone down. + +</p> +<p>The Government clerks applauded. + +</p> +<p>Ibarra offered the trowel to the curate, who descended slowly in his turn. In the middle of the staircase he raised his eyes +to the great stone suspended above, but he stopped only a second, and continued the descent. This time the applause was a +little warmer, Captain Tiago and the monks adding theirs to that of the clerks. + +</p> +<p>The notary followed. He gallantly offered the trowel to Maria Clara, but she refused, with a smile. The monks, the alférez, +and others descended in turn, Captain Tiago not being forgotten. + +</p> +<p>Ibarra was left. He had ordered the stone to be lowered when the curate remembered him. + +</p> +<p>“You do not put on your trowelful, Señor Ibarra?” said the curate, with a familiar and jocular air. + +</p> +<p>“I should be Juan Palomo, who made the soup and then ate it,” replied Crisóstomo in the same light tone. + +</p> +<p>“You go down, of course,” said the alcalde, taking him by the arm in friendly fashion. “If not, I shall order that the stone +be kept suspended, and we shall stay here till the Day of Judgment!” + +</p> +<p>Such a menace forced Ibarra to obey. He exchanged the silver trowel for a larger one of iron, as some people noticed, and +started out calmly. Elias gave him an indefinable <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e3050" href="#xd0e3050">130</a>]</span>look; his whole being seemed in it. The Mongol’s eyes were on the abyss at his feet. + +</p> +<p>Ibarra, after glancing rapidly at the block over his head, at Elias, and at the Mongol, said to Señor Juan, in a voice that +trembled: + +</p> +<p>“Give me the tray and bring me the other trowel.” + +</p> +<p>He stood alone. Elias no longer looked at him, his eyes were riveted on the hands of the Mongol, who, bending over, was anxiously +following the movements of Ibarra. Then the sound of Ibarra’s trowel was heard, accompanied by the low murmur of the clerks’ +voices as they felicitated the alcalde on his speech. + +</p> +<p>Suddenly a frightful noise rent the air. A pulley attached to the base of the crane sprang out, dragging after it the capstan, +which struck the crane like a lever. The beams tottered, the cables broke, and the whole fabric collapsed with a deafening +roar and in a whirlwind of dust. + +</p> +<p>A thousand voices filled the place with cries of horror. People fled in all directions. Only Maria Clara and Brother Salvi +remained where they were, pale, mute, incapable of motion. + +</p> +<p>As the cloud of dust thinned, Ibarra was seen upright among the beams, joists and cables, between the capstan and the great +stone that had fallen. He still held the trowel in his hand. With eyes frightful to look at, he regarded a corpse half buried +under the beams at his feet. + +</p> +<p>“Are you unhurt? Are you alive? For God’s sake, speak!” cried some one at last. + +</p> +<p>“A miracle! A miracle!” cried others. + +</p> +<p>“Come, take out the body of this man,” said Ibarra, as if waking from a dream. At the sound of his voice Maria Clara would +have fallen but for the arms of her friends. + +</p> +<p>Then everything was confusion. All talked at once, gestured, went hither and thither, and knew not what to do. +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e3072" href="#xd0e3072">131</a>]</span></p> +<p>“Who is killed?” demanded the alférez. + +</p> +<p>“Arrest the head builder!” were the first words the alcalde could pronounce. + +</p> +<p>They brought up the body and examined it. It was that of the Mongol. The heart no longer beat. + +</p> +<p>The priests shook Ibarra’s hand, and warmly congratulated him. + +</p> +<p>“When I think that I was there a moment before!” said one of the clerks. + +</p> +<p>“It is well they gave the trowel to you instead of me,” said a trembling old man. + +</p> +<p>“Don Pascal!” cried some of the Spaniards. + +</p> +<p>“Señores, the Señor Ibarra lives, while I, if I had not been crushed, should have died of fright.” + +</p> +<p>Ibarra had been to inform himself of Maria Clara. + +</p> +<p>“Let the fête continue, Señor Ibarra,” said the alcalde, as he came back. “Thank God, the dead is neither priest nor Spaniard! +You ought to celebrate your escape! What if the stone had fallen on you!” + +</p> +<p>“He had presentiments!” cried the notary. “He did not want to go down, that was plain to be seen!” + +</p> +<p>“It’s only an Indian!” + +</p> +<p>“Let the fête go on! Give us music! Mourning won’t raise the dead. Captain, let the inquest be held! Arrest the head builder!” + +</p> +<p>“Shall he be put in the stocks?” + +</p> +<p>“Yes, in the stocks! Music, music! The head builder in the stocks!” + +</p> +<p>“Señor Alcalde,” said Ibarra, “if mourning won’t raise the dead, neither will the imprisonment of a man whose guilt is not +proven. I go security for his person and ask his liberty, for these fête days at least.” + +</p> +<p>“Very well! But let him not repeat it!” said the alcalde. +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e3107" href="#xd0e3107">132</a>]</span></p> +<p>All kinds of rumors circulated among the people. The idea of a miracle was generally accepted. Many said they had seen descend +into the trench at the fatal moment a figure in a dark costume, like that of the Franciscans. ’Twas no doubt San Diego himself. + +</p> +<p>“A bad beginning,” muttered old Tasio, shaking his head as he moved away. + + + +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e3112" href="#xd0e3112">133</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div id="ch27" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">XXVII.</h2> +<h2 class="normal">Free Thought.</h2> +<p>Ibarra, who had gone home for a change of clothing, had just finished dressing when a servant announced that a peasant wished +to see him. Supposing it to be one of his laborers, he had him taken to his work room, which was at the same time his library +and chemical laboratory. To his great surprise he found himself face to face with the mysterious Elias. + +</p> +<p>“You saved my life,” said the man, speaking in Tagalo, and understanding the movement of Ibarra. “I have not half paid my +debt. Do not thank me. It is I who should thank you. I have come to ask a favor.” + +</p> +<p>“Speak!” said his listener. + +</p> +<p>Elias fixed his melancholy eyes on Ibarra’s and went on: + +</p> +<p>“When the justice of man tries to clear up this mystery, and your testimony is taken, I entreat you not to speak to any one +of the warning I gave you.” + +</p> +<p>“Do not be alarmed,” said Crisóstomo, losing interest; “I know you are pursued, but I’m not an informer.” + +</p> +<p>“I don’t speak for myself, but for you,” said Elias, with some haughtiness. “I have no fear of men.” + +</p> +<p>Ibarra grew surprised. This manner of speaking was new, and did not comport with the state or fortunes of the helmsman. + +</p> +<p>“Explain yourself!” he demanded. + +</p> +<p>“I am not speaking enigmas. To insure your safety, it <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e3138" href="#xd0e3138">134</a>]</span>is necessary that your enemies believe you blind and confiding.” + +</p> +<p>“To insure my safety?” said Ibarra, thoroughly aroused. + +</p> +<p>“You undertake a great enterprise,” Elias went on. “You have a past. Your grandfather and your father had enemies. It is not +criminals who provoke the most hatred; it is honorable men.” + +</p> +<p>“You know my enemies, then?” + +</p> +<p>Elias hesitated. + +</p> +<p>“I knew one; the dead man.” + +</p> +<p>“I regret his death,” said Ibarra; “from him I might have learned more.” + +</p> +<p>“Had he lived, he would have escaped the trembling hand of men’s justice. God has judged him!” + +</p> +<p>“Do you also believe in the miracle of which the people talk?” + +</p> +<p>“If I believed in such a miracle, I should not believe in God, and I believe in Him; I have more than once felt His hand. +At the moment when the scaffolding gave way I placed myself beside the criminal.” Elias looked at Ibarra. + +</p> +<p>“You—you mean that you——” + +</p> +<p>“Yes, when his deadly work was about to be done, he was going to flee; I held him there; I had seen his crime! Let God be +the only one who has the right over life!” + +</p> +<p>“And yet, this time you——” + +</p> +<p>“No!” cried Elias. “I exposed the criminal to the risk he had prepared for others; I ran the risk myself; and I did not strike +him; I left him to be struck by the hand of God!” + +</p> +<p>Ibarra regarded the man in silence. + +</p> +<p>“You are not a peasant,” he said at last. “Who are you? Have you studied?” + +</p> +<p>“I’ve need of much belief in God, since I’ve lost faith in men,” said Elias, evading the question. +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e3172" href="#xd0e3172">135</a>]</span></p> +<p>“But God cannot speak to resolve each of the countless contests our passions raise; it is necessary, it is just, that man +should sometimes judge his kind.” + +</p> +<p>“For good, yes; not for evil. To correct and ameliorate, not to destroy; because, if man’s judgments are erroneous, he has +not the power to remedy the evil he has done. But this discussion is over my head, and I am detaining you. Do not forget what +I came to entreat; save yourself for the good of your country!” And he started to go. + +</p> +<p>“And when shall I see you again?” + +</p> +<p>“Whenever you wish; whenever I can be of use to you; I am always your debtor!” + + + +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e3181" href="#xd0e3181">136</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div id="ch28" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">XXVIII.</h2> +<h2 class="normal">The Banquet.</h2> +<p>All the distinguished people of the province were united in the carpeted and decorated booth. The alcalde was at one end of +the table, Ibarra at the other. The talk was animated, even gay. The meal was half finished when a despatch was handed to +Captain Tiago. He asked permission to read it; his face paled; then lighted up. “Señores,” he cried, quite beside himself, +“His Excellency the captain-general is to honor my house with his presence!” And he started off running, carrying his despatch +and his napkin, forgetting his hat, and pursued by exclamations and questions. The announcement of the tulisanes could not +have put him to greater confusion. + +</p> +<p>“Wait a moment! When is he coming? Tell us?” + +</p> +<p>Captain Tiago was already in the distance. + +</p> +<p>“His Excellency asks the hospitality of Captain Tiago!” the guests exclaimed, apparently forgetting that they spoke before +his daughter and his future son-in-law. + +</p> +<p>“He could hardly make a better choice,” said Ibarra, with dignity. + +</p> +<p>“This was spoken of yesterday,” said the alcalde, “but His Excellency had not fully decided.” + +</p> +<p>“Do you know how long he is to stay?” asked the alférez, uneasily. + +</p> +<p>“I’m not at all sure! His Excellency is fond of surprising people.” + +</p> +<p>Three other despatches were brought. They were for the <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e3205" href="#xd0e3205">137</a>]</span>alcalde, the alférez, and the gobernadorcillo, and identical, announcing the coming of the governor. It was remarked that +there was none for the curate. + +</p> +<p>“His Excellency arrives at four this afternoon,” said the alcalde, solemnly. “We can finish our repast.” It might have been +Leonidas saying: “To-night we sup with Pluto!” + +</p> +<p>The conversation returned to its former course. + +</p> +<p>“I notice the absence of our great preacher,” said one of the clerks, an honest, inoffensive fellow, who had not yet said +a word. Those who knew the story of Ibarra’s father looked significantly at one another. “Fools rush in,” said the glances +of some; but others, more considerate, tried to cover the error. + +</p> +<p>“He must be somewhat fatigued——” + +</p> +<p>“Somewhat!” cried the alférez. “He must be spent, as they say here, malunqueado. What a sermon!” + +</p> +<p>“Superb! Herculean!” was the opinion of the notary. + +</p> +<p>“Magnificent! Profound!” said a newspaper correspondent. + +</p> +<p>In the other booth the children were more noisy than little Filipinos are wont to be, for at table or before strangers they +are usually rather too timid than too bold. If one of them did not eat with propriety, his neighbor corrected him. To one +a certain article was a spoon; to others a fork or a knife; and as nobody settled their questions, they were in continual +uproar. + +</p> +<p>Their fathers and mothers, simple peasants, looked in ravishment to see their children eating on a white cloth, and doing +it almost as well as the curate or the alcalde. It was better to them than a banquet. + +</p> +<p>“Yes,” said a young peasant woman to an old man grinding his buyo, “whatever my husband says, my Andoy shall be a priest. +It is true, we are poor; but Father Mateo says Pope Sixtu was once a keeper of carabaos at Batanzas! <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e3227" href="#xd0e3227">138</a>]</span>Look at my Andoy; hasn’t he a face like St. Vincent?” and the good mother’s mouth watered at the sight of her son with his +fork in both hands! + +</p> +<p>“God help us!” said the old man, munching his sapa. “If Andoy gets to be pope, we will go to Rome! I can walk yet! Ho! Ho!” + +</p> +<p>Another peasant came up. + +</p> +<p>“It’s decided, neighbor,” he said, “my son is to be a doctor.” + +</p> +<p>“A doctor! Don’t speak of it!” replied Petra. “There’s nothing like being a curate! He has only to make two or three turns +and say ‘déminos pabiscum’ and he gets his money.” + +</p> +<p>“And isn’t it work to confess?” + +</p> +<p>“Work! Think of the trouble we take to find out the affairs of our neighbors! The curate has only to sit down, and they tell +him everything!” + +</p> +<p>“And preaching? Don’t you call that work?” + +</p> +<p>“Preaching? Where is your head? To scold half a day from the pulpit without any one’s daring to reply and be paid for it into +the bargain! Look, look at Father Dámaso! See how fat he gets with his shouting and pounding!” + +</p> +<p>In truth, Father Dámaso was that moment passing the children’s booth in the gait peculiar to men of his size. As he entered +the other booth, he was half smiling, but so maliciously that at sight of it Ibarra, who was talking, lost the thread of his +speech. + +</p> +<p>The guests were astonished to see the father, but every one except Ibarra received him with signs of pleasure. They were at +the dessert, and the champagne was sparkling in the cups. + +</p> +<p>Father Dámaso’s smile became nervous when he saw Maria Clara sitting next Crisóstomo, but, taking a chair beside the alcalde, +he said in the midst of a significant silence: +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e3251" href="#xd0e3251">139</a>]</span></p> +<p>“You were talking of something, señores; continue!” + +</p> +<p>“We had come to the toasts,” said the alcalde. “Señor Ibarra was mentioning those who had aided him in his philanthropic enterprise, +and he was speaking of the architect when your reverence——” + +</p> +<p>“Ah, well! I know nothing about architecture,” interrupted Father Dámaso, “but I scorn architects and the simpletons who make +use of them.” + +</p> +<p>“Nevertheless,” said the alcalde, as Ibarra was silent, “when certain buildings are in question, like a school, for example, +an expert is needed——” + +</p> +<p>“An expert!” cried the father, with sarcasm. “One needs be more stupid than the Indians, who build their own houses, not to +know how to raise four walls and put a roof on them. Nothing else is needed for a school!” + +</p> +<p>Every one looked at Ibarra, but, though he grew a little pale, he pursued his conversation with Maria Clara. + +</p> +<p>“But does your reverence consider——” + +</p> +<p>“See here!” continued the Franciscan, again cutting off the alcalde. “See how one of our lay brothers, the most stupid one +we have, built a hospital. He paid the workmen eight cuartos a day, and got them from other pueblos, too. Not much like these +young feather-brains who ruin workmen, paying them three or four réales!” + +</p> +<p>“Does your reverence say he paid but eight cuartos? Impossible!” said the alcalde, hoping to change the course of the conversation. + +</p> +<p>“Yes, señor, and so should those do who pride themselves upon being good Spaniards. Since the opening of the Suez Canal, corruption +has reached even here! When the Cape had to be doubled, not so many ruined men came here, and fewer went abroad to ruin themselves!” + +</p> +<p>“But Father Dámaso——” + +</p> +<p>“You know the Indian; as soon as he has learned anything, <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e3276" href="#xd0e3276">140</a>]</span>he takes a title. All these beardless youths who go to Europe——” + +</p> +<p>“But, your reverence, listen——” began the alcalde, alarmed by the harshness of these words. + +</p> +<p>“Finish as they merit,” continued the priest. “The hand of God is in it; he is blind who does not see that. Already even the +fathers of these reptiles receive their chastisement; they die in prison! Ah——” + +</p> +<p>He did not finish. Ibarra, livid, had been watching him. At these words he rose, gave one bound, and struck out with his strong +hand. The monk, stunned by the blow, fell backward. + +</p> +<p>Surprised and terrified, not one of the spectators moved. + +</p> +<p>“Let no one come near!” said the young man in a terrible voice, drawing his slender blade, and holding the neck of the priest +with his foot. “Let no one come, unless he wishes to die.” + +</p> +<p>Ibarra was beside himself, his whole body trembled, his threatening eyes were big with rage. Father Dámaso, regaining his +senses, made an effort to rise, but Crisóstomo, grasping his neck, shook him till he had brought him to his knees. + +</p> +<p>“Señor de Ibarra! Señor de Ibarra!” stammered one and another. But nobody, not even the alférez, risked a movement. They saw +the knife glitter; they calculated Crisóstomo’s strength, unleashed by anger; they were paralyzed. + +</p> +<p>“All you here, you have said nothing. Now it rests with me. I avoided him; God brings him to me. Let God judge!” + +</p> +<p>Ibarra breathed with effort, but his arm of iron kept harsh hold of the Franciscan, who struggled in vain to free himself. + +</p> +<p>“My heart beats true, my hand is firm——” And he looked about him. +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e3298" href="#xd0e3298">141</a>]</span></p> +<p>“I ask you first, is there among you any one who has not loved his father, who has not loved his father’s memory; any one +born in shame and abasement? See, hear this silence! Priest of a God of peace, thy mouth full of sanctity and religion, thy +heart of corruption! Thou canst not know what it is to be a father; thou shouldst have thought of thy own! See, in all this +crowd that you scorn there is not one like you! You are judged!” + +</p> +<p>The guests, believing he was going to strike, made their first movement. + +</p> +<p>“Do not come near us!” he cried again in the same threatening voice. “What? You fear I shall stain my hand in impure blood? +Did I not tell you that my heart beats true? Away from us, and listen, priests, believing yourselves different from other +men, giving yourselves other rights! My father was an honorable man. Ask the country which venerates his memory. My father +was a good citizen, who <span class="corr" id="xd0e3305" title="Source: sacrified">sacrificed</span> himself for me and for his country’s good. His house was open, his table set for the stranger or the exile who should turn +to him! He was a Christian; always doing good, never pressing the weak, nor forcing tears from the wretched. As to this man, +he opened his door to him, made him sit down at his table, and called him friend. And how did the man respond? He falsely +accused him; he pursued him; he armed ignorance against him! Confiding in the sanctity of his office, he outraged his tomb, +dishonored his memory; his hate troubled even the rest of the dead. And not yet satisfied, he now pursues the son. I fled +from him, avoided his presence. You heard him this morning profane the chair, point me out to the people’s fanaticism; but +I said nothing. Now, he comes here to seek a quarrel; I suffer in silence, until he again insults a memory sacred to all sons. + +</p> +<p>“You who are here, priests, magistrates, have you seen <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e3310" href="#xd0e3310">142</a>]</span>your old father give himself for you, part from you for your good, die of grief in a prison, looking for your embrace, looking +for consolation from any one who would bring it, sick, alone; while you in a foreign land? Then have you heard his name dishonored, +found his tomb empty when you went there to pray? No? You are silent; then you condemn him!” + +</p> +<p>He raised his arm. But a girl, rapid as light, threw herself between him and the priest, and with her fragile hands held the +avenging arm. It was Maria Clara. Ibarra looked at her with eyes like a madman’s. Then, little by little, his tense fingers +relaxed; he let fall the knife, and, covering his face with his hands, he fled. + + + +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e3314" href="#xd0e3314">143</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div id="ch29" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">XXIX.</h2> +<h2 class="normal">Opinions.</h2> +<p>The noise of the affair spread rapidly. At first no one believed it, but when there was no longer room for doubt, each made +his comments, according to the degree of his moral elevation. + +</p> +<p>“Father Dámaso is dead,” said some. “When he was carried away, his face was congested with blood, and he no longer breathed.” + +</p> +<p>“May he rest in peace, but he has only paid his debt!” said a young stranger. + +</p> +<p>“Why do you say that?” + +</p> +<p>“One of us students who came from Manila for the fête left the church when the sermon in Tagalo began, saying it was Greek +to him. Father Dámaso sent for him afterward, and they came to blows.” + +</p> +<p>“Are we returning to the times of Nero?” asked another student. + +</p> +<p>“You mistake,” replied the first. “Nero was an artist, and Father Dámaso is a jolly poor preacher!” + +</p> +<p>The men of more years talked otherwise. + +</p> +<p>“To say which was wrong and which right is not easy,” said the gobernadorcillo, “and yet, if Señor Ibarra had been more moderate——” + +</p> +<p>“You probably mean, if Father Dámaso had shown half the moderation of Señor Ibarra,” interrupted Don Filipo. “The pity is +that the rôles were interchanged: the youth <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e3340" href="#xd0e3340">144</a>]</span>conducted himself like an old man, and the old man like a youth.” + +</p> +<p>“And you say nobody but the daughter of Captain Tiago came between them? Not a monk, nor the alcalde?” asked Captain Martin. +“I wouldn’t like to be in the young man’s shoes. None of those who were afraid of him will ever forgive him. Hah, that’s the +worst of it!” + +</p> +<p>“You think so?” demanded Captain Basilio, with interest. + +</p> +<p>“I hope,” said Don Filipo, exchanging glances with Captain Basilio, “that the pueblo isn’t going to desert him. His friends +at least——” + +</p> +<p>“But, señores,” interrupted the gobernadorcillo, “what can we do? What can the pueblo? Whatever happens, the monks are always +in the right——” + +</p> +<p>“They are always in the right, because we always say they’re in the right. Let us say we are in the right for once, and then +we shall have something to talk about!” + +</p> +<p>The gobernadorcillo shook his head. + +</p> +<p>“Ah, the young blood!” he said. “You don’t seem to know what country you live in; you don’t know your compatriots. The monks +are rich; they are united; we are poor and divided. Try to defend him and you will see how you are left to compromise yourself +alone!” + +</p> +<p>“Yes,” cried Don Filipo bitterly, “and it will be so as long as fear and prudence are supposed to be synonymous. Each thinks +of himself, nobody of any one else; that is why we are weak!” + +</p> +<p>“Very well! Think of others and see how soon the others will let you hang!” + +</p> +<p>“I’ve had enough of it!” cried the exasperated lieutenant. “I shall give my resignation to the alcalde to-day.” + +</p> +<p>The women had still other thoughts. + +</p> +<p>“Aye!” said one of them. “Young people are always <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e3366" href="#xd0e3366">145</a>]</span>the same. If his good mother were living, what would she say? When I think that my son, who is a young hothead, too, might +have done the same thing——” + +</p> +<p>“I’m not with you,” said another woman. “I should have nothing against my two sons if they did as Don Crisóstomo.” + +</p> +<p>“What are you saying, Capitana Maria?” cried the first woman, clasping her hands. + +</p> +<p>“I’m a poor stupid,” said a third, the Capitana Tinay, “but I know what I’m going to do. I’m going to tell my son not to study +any more. They say men of learning all die on the gallows. Holy Mary, and my son wants to go to Europe!” + +</p> +<p>“If I were rich as you, my children should travel,” said the Capitana Maria. “Our sons ought to aspire to be more than their +fathers. I have not long to live, and we shall meet again in the other world.” + +</p> +<p>“Your ideas, Capitana Maria, are little Christian,” said Sister Rufa severely. “Make yourself a sister of the Sacred Rosary, +or of St. Francis.” + +</p> +<p>“Sister Rufa, when I’m a worthy sister of men, I will think about being a sister of the saints,” said the capitana, smiling. + +</p> +<p>Under the booth where the children had their feast the father of the one who was to be a doctor was talking. + +</p> +<p>“What troubles me most,” said he, “is that the school will not be finished; my son will not be a doctor, but a carter.” + +</p> +<p>“Who said there wouldn’t be a school?” + +</p> +<p>“I say so. The White Fathers have called Don Crisóstomo plibastiero. There won’t be any school.” + +</p> +<p>The peasants questioned each other’s faces. The word was new to them. + +</p> +<p>“And is that a bad name?” one at last ventured to ask. +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e3392" href="#xd0e3392">146</a>]</span></p> +<p>“It’s the worst one Christian can give another.” + +</p> +<p>“Worse than tarantado and saragate?” + +</p> +<p>“If it weren’t, it wouldn’t amount to much.” + +</p> +<p>“Come now. It can’t be worse than indio, as the alférez says.” + +</p> +<p>He whose son was to be a carter looked gloomy. The other shook his head and reflected. + +</p> +<p>“Then is it as bad as betalapora, that the old woman of the alférez says?” + +</p> +<p>“You remember the word <i>ispichoso</i> (suspect), which had only to be said of a man to have the guards lead him off to prison? Well, plibastiero is worse yet; +if any one calls you plibastiero, you can confess and pay your debts, for there’s nothing else left to do but get yourself +hanged. That’s what the telegrapher and the sub-director say, and you know whether the telegrapher and the sub-director ought +to know: one talks with iron wires, and the other knows Spanish, and handles nothing but the pen.” + +</p> +<p>The last hope fled. + + + +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e3412" href="#xd0e3412">147</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div id="ch30" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">XXX.</h2> +<h2 class="normal">The First Cloud.</h2> +<p>The home of Captain Tiago was naturally not less disturbed than the minds of the crowd. Maria Clara refused to be comforted +by her aunt and her foster-sister. Her father had forbidden her to speak to Crisóstomo until the ban of excommunication should +be raised. + +</p> +<p>In the midst of his preparations for receiving the governor-general Captain Tiago was summoned to the convent. + +</p> +<p>“Don’t cry, my child,” said Aunt Isabel, as she polished the mirrors with a chamois skin, “the ban will be raised. They will +write to the holy father. We will make a big offering. Father Dámaso only fainted; he isn’t dead!” + +</p> +<p>“Don’t cry,” whispered Andeng; “I will arrange to meet Crisóstomo.” + +</p> +<p>At last Captain Tiago came back. They scanned his face for answers to many questions; but the face of Captain Tiago spoke +discouragement. The poor man passed his hand across his brow and seemed unable to frame a word. + +</p> +<p>“Well, Santiago?” demanded the anxious aunt. + +</p> +<p>He wiped away a tear and replied by a sigh. + +</p> +<p>“Speak, for heaven’s sake! What is it?” + +</p> +<p>“What I all the time feared,” he said at last, conquering his tears. “Everything is lost! Father Dámaso orders me to break +the promise of marriage. They all say the same thing, even Father Sibyla. I must shut the doors of my house to him, and—I +owe him more than fifty thousand pesos! I told the fathers so, but they wouldn’t take it into account. ‘Which would you rather +lose,’ they said, ‘fifty <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e3436" href="#xd0e3436">148</a>]</span>thousand pesos or your soul?’ Ah, St. Anthony, if I had known, if I had known!” + +</p> +<p>Maria Clara was sobbing. + +</p> +<p>“Don’t cry, my child,” he said, turning to her; “you aren’t like your mother; she never cried. Father Dámaso told me that +a young friend of his is coming from Spain; he intends him for your fiancé——” + +</p> +<p>Maria Clara stopped her ears. + +</p> +<p>“But, Santiago, are you mad?” cried Aunt Isabel. “Speak to her of another fiancé now? Do you think your daughter changes them +as she does her gloves?” + +</p> +<p>“I have thought about it, Isabel; but what would you have me do? They threaten me, too, with excommunication.” + +</p> +<p>“And you do nothing but distress your daughter! Aren’t you the friend of the archbishop? Why don’t you write to him?” + +</p> +<p>“The archbishop is a monk, too. He will do only what the monks say. But don’t cry, Maria; the governor-general is coming. +He will want to see you, and your eyes will be red. Alas, I thought I was going to have such a good afternoon! Without this +misfortune I should be the happiest of men, with everybody envying me! Be calm, my child, I am more unhappy than you, and +I don’t cry. You may find a better fiancé; but as for me, I lose fifty thousand pesos! Ah, Virgin of Antipolo, if only I have +luck tonight!” + +</p> +<p>Salvos, the sound of wheels and of horses galloping, the band playing the Royal March, announced the arrival of His Excellency +the governor-general of the Philippine Islands. Maria Clara ran to hide in her chamber. Poor girl! Her heart was at the mercy +of rude hands that had no sense of its delicate fibres. + +</p> +<p>While the house was filling with people, while heavy footsteps, <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e3456" href="#xd0e3456">149</a>]</span>words of command, and the hurling of sabres and spurs resounded all about, the poor child, heart-broken, was half-lying, half-kneeling +before that picture of the Virgin where Delaroche represents her in a grievous solitude, as though he had surprised her returning +from the sepulchre of her son. Maria Clara did not think of the grief of this mother; she thought only of her own. Her head +bent on her breast, her hands pressed against the floor, she seemed a lily broken by the storm. A future for years caressed +in dreams, illusions born in childhood, fostered in youth, grown a part of her being, they thought to shatter all these with +a word, to drive it all out of her mind and heart. A devout Catholic, a loving daughter, the excommunication terrified her. +Not so much her father’s commands as her desire for his peace of mind demanded from her the sacrifice of her love. And in +this moment she felt for the first time the full strength of her affection for Crisóstomo. The peaceful river glides over +its sandy bed under the nodding flowers along its banks; the wind scarcely ridges its current; it seems to sleep; but farther +down the banks close in, rough rocks choke the channel, a heap of knotty trunks forms a dyke; then the river roars, revolts, +its waters whirl, and shake their plumes of spray, and, raging, beat the rocks and rush on madly. So this tranquil love was +now transformed and the tempests were let loose. + +</p> +<p>She would have prayed; but who can pray without hope? “O God!” her heart complained. “Why refuse a man the love of others? +Thou givest him the sunshine and the air; thou dost not hide from him the sight of heaven. Why take away that love without +which he cannot live?” + +</p> +<p>The poor child, who had never known a mother of her own, had brought her grief to that pure heart which knew only filial and +maternal love, to that divine image of womanhood of whose tenderness we dream, whom we call Mary. +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e3462" href="#xd0e3462">150</a>]</span></p> +<p>“Mother, mother!” she sobbed. + +</p> +<p>Aunt Isabel came to find her; her friends were there, and the governor-general had asked for her. + +</p> +<p>“Dear aunt, tell them I am ill!” she begged in terror. “They will want me to play and sing!” + +</p> +<p>“Your father has promised. Would you make your father break his word?” + +</p> +<p>Maria Clara rose, looked at her aunt, threw out her beautiful arms with a sob, then stood still till she was outwardly calm, +and went to obey. + + + +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e3473" href="#xd0e3473">151</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div id="ch31" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">XXXI.</h2> +<h2 class="normal">His Excellency.</h2> +<p>“I want to talk with that young man,” said the general to one of his aids; “he rouses all my interest.” + +</p> +<p>“He has been sent for, my general; but there is here another young man of Manila who insists upon seeing you. We told him +you have not the time; that you did not come to give audiences. He replied that Your Excellency has always the time to do +justice.” + +</p> +<p>The general, perplexed, turned to the alcalde. + +</p> +<p>“If I am not mistaken,” said the alcalde, with an inclination of the head, “it is a student who this morning had trouble with +Father Dámaso about the sermon.” + +</p> +<p>“Another still? Has this monk started out to put the province to revolt, or does he think he commands here? Admit the young +man!” And the governor got up and walked nervously back and forth. + +</p> +<p>In the ante-chamber some Spanish officers and all the functionaries of the pueblo were talking in groups. All the monks, too, +except Father Dámaso, had come to pay their respects to the governor. + +</p> +<p>“His Excellency begs your reverences to attend a moment,” said the aide-de-camp. “Enter, young man!” + +</p> +<p>The young Manilian who confounded the Tagalo with the Greek entered, trembling. + +</p> +<p>Every one was greatly astonished. His Excellency must be much annoyed to make the monks wait this way. Said Brother Sibyla: +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e3497" href="#xd0e3497">152</a>]</span></p> +<p>“I have nothing to say to him, and I’m wasting my time here.” + +</p> +<p>“I also,” said an Augustin. “Shall we go?” + +</p> +<p>“Would it not be better to find out what he thinks?” asked Brother Salvi. “We should avoid a scandal, and we could remind +him—of his duty——” + +</p> +<p>“Your reverences may enter,” said the aid, conducting back the young man, who came out radiant. + +</p> +<p>The fathers went in and saluted the governor. + +</p> +<p>“Who among your reverences is the Brother Dámaso?” demanded His Excellency at once, without asking them to be seated or inquiring +for their health, and without any of those complimentary phrases which form the repertory of dignitaries. + +</p> +<p>“Señor, Father Dámaso is not with us,” replied Father Sibyla, in a tone almost as dry. + +</p> +<p>“Your Excellency’s servant is ill,” added the humble Brother Salvi. “We come, after saluting Your Excellency and inquiring +for his health, to speak in the name of Your Excellency’s respectful servant, who has had the misfortune——” + +</p> +<p>“Oh!” interrupted the captain-general, with a nervous smile, while he twirled a chair on one leg. “If all the servants of +my Excellency were like the Father Dámaso, I should prefer to serve my Excellency myself!” + +</p> +<p>Their reverences did not seem to know what to reply. + +</p> +<p>“Won’t your reverences sit down?” added the governor in more conventional tone. + +</p> +<p>Captain Tiago, in evening dress and walking on tiptoe, came in, leading by the hand Maria Clara, hesitating, timid. Overcoming +her agitation, she made her salute, at once ceremonial and graceful. + +</p> +<p>“This sigñorita is your daughter!” exclaimed the surprised governor. “Happy the fathers whose daughters are <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e3524" href="#xd0e3524">153</a>]</span>like you, sigñorita. They have told me about you, and I wish to thank you in the name of His Majesty the King, who loves the +peace and tranquillity of his subjects, and in my own name, in that of a father who has daughters. If there is anything you +would wish, sigñorita——” + +</p> +<p>“Señor!” protested Maria, trembling. + +</p> +<p>“The Señor Don Juan Crisóstomo Ibarra awaits Your Excellency’s orders,” announced the ringing voice of the aide-de-camp. + +</p> +<p>“Permit me, sigñorita, to see you again before I leave the pueblo. I have yet things to say to you. Señor acalde, Your Highness +will accompany me on the walk I wish to take after the private conference I shall have with the Señor Ibarra.” + +</p> +<p>“Your Excellency,” said Father Salvi humbly, “will permit us to inform him that the Señor Ibarra is excommunicated——” + +</p> +<p>The general broke in. + +</p> +<p>“I am happy,” he said, “in being troubled about nothing but the state of Father Dámaso. I sincerely desire his complete recovery, +for, at his age, a voyage to Spain in search of health would be somewhat disagreeable. But all depends upon him. Meanwhile, +God preserve the health of your reverences!” + +</p> +<p>All retired. + +</p> +<p>“In his own case also everything depends upon him,” murmured Brother Salvi as he went out. + +</p> +<p>“We shall see who makes the earliest voyage to Spain!” added another Franciscan. + +</p> +<p>“I shall go immediately,” said Father Sibyla, in vexation. + +</p> +<p>“We, too,” grumbled the Augustins. + +</p> +<p>Both parties bore it ill that for the fault of a Franciscan His Excellency should have received them so coldly. +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e3550" href="#xd0e3550">154</a>]</span></p> +<p>In the ante-chamber they encountered Ibarra, who a few hours before had been their host. There was no exchange of greetings, +but there were eloquent looks. The alcalde, on the contrary, gave Ibarra his hand. On the threshold Crisóstomo met Maria coming +out. Looks spoke again, but very differently this time. + +</p> +<p>Though this encounter with the monks had seemed to him of bad augury, Ibarra presented himself in the utmost calm. He bowed +profoundly. The captain-general came forward. + +</p> +<p>“It gives me the greatest satisfaction, Señor Ibarra, to take you by the hand. I hope for your entire confidence.” And he +examined the young man with evident satisfaction. + +</p> +<p>“Señor, so much kindness——” + +</p> +<p>“Your surprise shows that you did not expect a friendly reception; that was to doubt my fairness.” + +</p> +<p>“A friendly reception, señor, for an insignificant subject of His Majesty, like myself, is not fairness, but favor.” + +</p> +<p>“Well, well!” said the general, sitting down and motioning Crisóstomo to a seat. “Let us have a moment of open hearts. I am +much gratified by what you are doing, and have proposed you to the Government of His Majesty for a decoration in recompense +for your project of the school. Had you invited me, I should have found it a pleasure to be here for the ceremony. Perhaps +I should have been able to save you an annoyance. But as to what happened between you and Father Dámaso, have neither fear +nor regrets. Not a hair of your head shall be harmed so long as I govern the islands; and in regard to the excommunication, +I will talk with the archbishop. We must conform ourselves to our circumstances. We cannot laugh at it here, as we might in +Europe. But be more prudent in the future. You have weighted yourself with the religious orders, who, from their office and +their wealth, must be respected. I protect <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e3565" href="#xd0e3565">155</a>]</span>you, because I like a good son. By heaven, I don’t know what I should have done in your place!” + +</p> +<p>Then, quickly changing the subject, he said: + +</p> +<p>“They tell me you have just returned from Europe. You were in Madrid?” + +</p> +<p>“Yes, señor, several months.” + +</p> +<p>“How happens it that you return without bringing me a letter of recommendation?” + +</p> +<p>“Señor,” replied Ibarra, bowing, “because, having heard there of the character of Your Excellency, I thought a letter of recommendation +would not only be unnecessary, but might even offend you; the Filipinos are all recommended to you.” + +</p> +<p>A smile curled the lips of the old soldier, who replied slowly, as though meditating and weighing his words: + +</p> +<p>“I cannot help being flattered that you think so. And yet, young man, you should know what a weight rests on our shoulders. +Here we old soldiers have to be all—king, ministers of state, of war, of justice, of everything; and yet, in every event, +we have to consult the far-off mother country, which often must approve or reject our propositions with blind justice. If +in Spain itself, with the advantage of everything near and familiar, all is imperfect and defective, the wonder is that all +here is not revolution. It is not lack of good will in the governors, but we must use the eyes and arms of strangers, of whom, +for the most part, we can know nothing, and who, instead of serving their country, may be serving only their own interests. +The monks are a powerful aid, but they are not sufficient. You inspire great interest in me, and I would not have the imperfection +of our governmental system tell in anyway against you. I cannot watch over any one; every one cannot come to me. Tell me, +can I be useful to you in any way? Have you any request to make?” + +</p> +<p>Ibarra reflected. +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e3583" href="#xd0e3583">156</a>]</span></p> +<p>“Señor,” he replied, “my great desire is for the happiness of my country, and I would that happiness might be due to the efforts +of our mother country and of my fellow-citizens united to her and united among themselves by the eternal bonds of common views +and interests. What I would ask, the Government alone can give, and that after many continuous years of labor and of well-conceived +reforms.” + +</p> +<p>The general gave him a long look, which Ibarra bore naturally, without timidity, without boldness. + +</p> +<p>“You are the first man with whom I’ve spoken in this country,” cried His Excellency, stretching out his hand. + +</p> +<p>“Your Excellency has seen only those who while away their lives in cities; he has not visited the falsely maligned cabins +of our villages. There Your Excellency would be able to see veritable men, if to be a man a noble heart and simple manners +are enough.” + +</p> +<p>The captain-general rose and walked up and down the room. + +</p> +<p>“Señor Ibarra,” he said, stopping before Crisóstomo, “your education and manner of thinking are not for this country. Sell +what you own and come with me when I go back to Europe; the climate will be better for you.” + +</p> +<p>“I shall remember all my life this kindness of Your Excellency,” replied Ibarra, moved; “but I must live in the country where +my parents lived——” + +</p> +<p>“Where they died, you would say more justly. Believe me, I, perhaps, know your country better than you do yourself. Ah, but +I forget! You are to marry an adorable girl, and I’m keeping you from her all this time! Go—go to her! And that you may have +more freedom, send the father to me,” he added, smiling. “Don’t forget, though, that I want your company for the promenade.” + +</p> +<p>Ibarra saluted, and went out. +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e3602" href="#xd0e3602">157</a>]</span></p> +<p>The general called his aide-de-camp. + +</p> +<p>“I am pleased,” said he, giving him a light tap on the shoulder; “I have seen to-day for the first time how one may be a good +Spaniard without ceasing to be a good Filipino. What a pity that this Ibarra some day or other——but call the alcalde.” + +</p> +<p>The judge at once presented himself. + +</p> +<p>“Señor alcalde,” said the general, “to avoid a repetition of scenes like those of which you were a spectator to-day—scenes, +I deplore, because they reflect upon the Government and upon all Spaniards—I recommend the Señor Ibarra to your utmost care +and consideration.” + +</p> +<p>The alcalde perceived the reprimand and lowered his eyes. + +</p> +<p>Captain Tiago presented himself, stiff and unnatural. + +</p> +<p>“Don Santiago,” the general said affectionately, “a moment ago I congratulated you upon having a daughter like the Señorita +de los Santos. Now I make you my compliments upon your future son-in-law. The most virtuous of daughters is worthy of the +first citizen of the Philippines. May I know the day of the wedding?” + +</p> +<p>“Señor——” stammered Captain Tiago, wiping drops of sweat from his brow. + +</p> +<p>“Then nothing is settled, I see. If witnesses are lacking, it will give me the greatest pleasure to be one of them.” + +</p> +<p>“Yes, señor,” said Captain Tiago, with a smile to stir compassion. + +</p> +<p>Ibarra had gone off almost running to find Maria Clara. He had so much to talk over with her. Through a door he heard the +murmur of girls’ voices. He knocked. + +</p> +<p>“Who is there?” asked Maria. + +</p> +<p>“I.” + +</p> +<p>The voices were hushed, but the door did not open. +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e3631" href="#xd0e3631">158</a>]</span></p> +<p>“It’s I. May I come in?” demanded Crisóstomo, his heart beginning to beat violently. + +</p> +<p>The silence continued. After some moments, light foot-steps approached the door, and the voice of Sinang said through the +keyhole: + +</p> +<p>“Crisóstomo, we’re going to the theatre to-night. Write what you have to say to Maria Clara.” + +</p> +<p>“What does that mean?” said Ibarra to himself as he slowly left the door. + + + +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e3640" href="#xd0e3640">159</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div id="ch32" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">XXXII.</h2> +<h2 class="normal">The Procession.</h2> +<p>That evening, in the light of countless lanterns, to the sound of bells and of continuous detonations, the procession started +for the fourth time. + +</p> +<p>The captain-general, who had set out on foot, accompanied by his two aides-de-camp, Captain Tiago, the alcalde, the alférez, +and Ibarra, and preceded by the guards, to open a passage, was to view the procession from the house of the gobernadorcillo. +This functionary had built a platform for the recitation of a loa, a religious poem in honor of the patron saint. + +</p> +<p>Ibarra would gladly have renounced the hearing of this composition, but His Excellency had ordered his attendance, and Crisóstomo +must console himself with the thought of seeing his fiancée at the theatre. + +</p> +<p>The procession began by the march of the silver candelabra, borne by three sacristans. Then came the school children and their +master, then other children, all with paper lanterns, shaped and ornamented according to the taste of each child—for each +was his own lantern-maker—hoisted on bamboo poles of various lengths and lighted by bits of candles. An effigy of St. John +the Baptist followed, borne on a litter, and then came St. Francis, surrounded by crystal lamps. A band followed, and then +the standard of the saint, borne by the brothers of the Third Order, praying aloud in a sort of lamentation. San Diego came +next, his car drawn by six brothers of the Third Order, probably fulfilling <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e3654" href="#xd0e3654">160</a>]</span>some vow. St. Mary Magdalen followed him, a beautiful image with splendid hair, wearing a costume of silk spangled with gold, +and holding a handkerchief of embroidered piña in her jewelled hands. Lights and incense surrounded her, and her glass tears +reflected the varied colors of Bengal lights. St. John the Baptist moved far ahead, as if ashamed of his camel’s hair beside +all this gold and glitter. + +</p> +<p>After the Magdalen came the women of the order, the elder first, so that the young girls should surround the car of the Virgin; +behind them was the curate under his dais. The car of the Virgin was preceded by men dressed as phantoms, to the great terror +of the children; the women wore habits like those of religious orders. In the midst of this obscure mass of robes and cowls +and cordons one saw, like dainty jasmines, like fresh sampages amid old rags, twelve little girls in white, their hair free. +Their eyes shone like their necklaces. One might have thought them little genii of the light taken prisoner by spectres. By +two wide blue ribbons they were attached to the car of the Virgin, like the doves which draw the car of Spring. + +</p> +<p>At the gobernadorcillo’s the procession stopped, all the images and their attendants were drawn up around the platform, and +all eyes were fixed on the half-open curtain. At length it parted, and a young man appeared, winged, booted like a cavalier, +with sash and belt and plumed hat, and in Latin, Castilian, and Tagal recited a poem as extraordinary as his attire. The verses +ended, St. John pursued his bitter way. + +</p> +<p>At the moment when the figure of the Virgin passed the house of Captain Tiago, a celestial song greeted it. It was a voice, +sweet and tender, almost weeping out the Gounod “Ave Maria.” The music of the procession died away, the prayers ceased. Father +Salvi himself stood still. The <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e3662" href="#xd0e3662">161</a>]</span>voice trembled; it drew tears; it was more than a salutation: it was a supplication and a complaint. + +</p> +<p>Ibarra heard, and fear and darkness entered his heart. He felt the suffering in the voice and dared not ask himself whence +it came. + +</p> +<p>The captain-general was speaking to him. + +</p> +<p>“I should like your company at table. We will talk to those children who have disappeared,” he said. + +</p> +<p>Crisóstomo, looking at the general without seeing him, asked himself under his breath: “Can I be the cause?” And he followed +the governor mechanically. + + + +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e3672" href="#xd0e3672">162</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div id="ch33" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">XXXIII.</h2> +<h2 class="normal">Doña Consolacion.</h2> +<p>Why were the windows of the house of the alférez not only without lanterns, but shuttered? Where, when the procession passed, +were the masculine head with its great veins and purple lips, the flannel shirt, and the big cigar of the “Muse of the Municipal +Guard”? + +</p> +<p>The house was sad, as Sinang said, because the people were gay. Had not a sentinel paced as usual before the door one might +have thought the place uninhabited. + +</p> +<p>A feeble light showed the disorder of the room, where the alféreza was sitting, and pierced the dusty and spider-webbed conches +of the windows. The dame, according to her idle custom, was dozing in a fauteuil. To deaden the sound of the bombs, she had +coifed her head in a handkerchief, from which escaped her tangled hair, short and thin. This morning she had not been to mass, +not because she did not wish it, but because her husband had not permitted it, accompanying his prohibition with oaths and +threats of blows. Doña Consolacion was now dreaming of revenge. She bestirred herself at last and ran over the house from +one end to the other, her dark face disquieting to look at. A spark flashed from her eyes like that from the pupil of a serpent +trapped and about to be crushed. It was cold, luminous, penetrating; it was viscous, cruel, repulsive. The smallest error +on the part of a servant, the least noise, drew forth words injurious enough to smirch the soul; but nobody replied; to offer +excuse would have been to commit another crime. +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e3684" href="#xd0e3684">163</a>]</span></p> +<p>In this way the day passed. Meeting no opposition—her husband had been invited to the gobernadorcillo’s—she stored up spleen; +the cells of her organism seemed slowly charging with electric force, which burst out, later on, in a tempest. + +</p> +<p>Sisa had been in the barracks since her arrest the day before. The alférez, fearing she might become the sport of the crowd, +had ordered her to be kept until the fête was over. + +</p> +<p>This evening, whether she had heard the song of Maria Clara, whether the bands had recalled airs that she knew, for some reason +she began to chant, in her sympathetic voice, the songs of her youth. The soldiers heard and became still; they knew these +airs, had sung them themselves when they were young and free and innocent. Doña Consolacion heard, too, and inquired for the +singer. + +</p> +<p>“Have her come up at once,” she said, after a moment’s reflection, something like a smile flickering on her dry lips. + +</p> +<p>The soldiers brought Sisa, who came without fear or question. When she entered she seemed to see no one, which wounded the +vanity of the dreadful muse. Doña Consolacion coughed, motioned the soldiers to withdraw, and, taking down her husband’s riding +whip, said in a sinister voice: + +</p> +<p lang="tl">“Vamos, magcanter icau!” + +</p> +<p>It was an order to sing, in a mixture of Castilian and Tagalo. Doña Consolacion affected ignorance of her native tongue, thinking +thus to give herself the air of a veritable <i>Orofea</i>, as she said in her attempt at Europea. For if she martyred the Tagalo, she treated Castilian worse, though her husband, +and chairs and shoes, had contributed to giving her lessons. + +</p> +<p>Sisa had been happy enough not to understand. The forehead of the shrew unknotted a bit, and a look of satisfaction animated +her face. +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e3704" href="#xd0e3704">164</a>]</span></p> +<p>“Tell this woman to sing!” she said to the orderly. “She doesn’t understand; she doesn’t know Spanish!” + +</p> +<p>The orderly spoke to Sisa, and she began at once the “Night Song.” + +</p> +<p>At first Doña Consolacion listened with a mocking smile, but little by little it left her lips. She became attentive, then +serious. Her dry and withered heart received the rain. “The sadness, the cold, the dew come down from the sky in the mantle +of the night,” seemed to fall upon her heart; she understood “the flower, full of vanity, and prodigal with its splendors +in the sun, now, at the fall of day, withered and stained, repentant and disillusioned, trying to raise its poor petals toward +heaven, begging a shade to hide it from the mockery of the sun, who had seen it in its pomp, and was laughing at the impotence +of its pride; begging also a drop of dew to be let fall upon it.” + +</p> +<p>“No! Stop singing!” she cried in perfect Tagal. “Stop! These verses bore me!” + +</p> +<p>Sisa stopped. The orderly thought: “Ah, she knows the Tagal!” And he regarded his mistress with admiration. + +</p> +<p>She saw she had betrayed herself, became ashamed, and shame in her unfeminine nature meant rage. She showed the door to the +imprudent orderly, and shut it behind him with a blow. Then she took several turns around the room, wringing the whip in her +nervous hands. At last, planting herself before Sisa, she said to her in Spanish: “Dance!” + +</p> +<p>Sisa did not move. + +</p> +<p>“Dance! Dance!” she repeated in a threatening voice. The poor thing looked at her with vacant eyes. The vixen took hold of +one of her arms and then the other, raising them and swaying them about. It was of no use. Sisa did not understand. + +</p> +<p>In vain Doña Consolacion began to leap about, making signs for Sisa to imitate her. In the distance a band was <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e3723" href="#xd0e3723">165</a>]</span>playing a slow and majestic march; but the creature leaped furiously to another measure, beating within herself. Sisa looked +on, motionless. A faint curiosity rose in her eyes, a feeble smile moved her pale lips; the alféreza’s dance pleased her. + +</p> +<p>The dancer stopped, as if ashamed, and raised the terrible whip, well known to thieves and soldiers. + +</p> +<p>“Now,” said she, “it’s your turn! Dance!” And she began to give light taps to the bare feet of bewildered Sisa, whose face +contracted with pain; the poor thing tried to ward off the blows with her hands. + +</p> +<p>“Ah! You’re beginning, are you?” cried Doña Consolacion, with savage joy, and from lento, she passed to allegro vivace. + +</p> +<p>Sisa cried out and drew up first one foot and then the other. + +</p> +<p>“Will you dance, accursed Indian!” and the whip whistled. + +</p> +<p>Sisa let herself fall to the floor, trying to cover her feet, and looking at her tormenter with haggard eyes. Two lashes on +the shoulders forced her to rise with screams. + +</p> +<p>Her thin chemise was torn, the skin broken and the blood flowing. + +</p> +<p>This excited Doña Consolacion still more. + +</p> +<p>“Dance! Dance!” she howled, and seizing Sisa with one hand, while she beat her with the other, she commenced to leap about +again. + +</p> +<p>At length Sisa understood, and followed, moving her arms without rhythm or measure. A smile of satisfaction came to the lips +of the horrible woman—the smile of a female Mephistopheles who has found an apt pupil: hate, scorn, mockery, and cruelty were +in it; a burst of demoniacal laughter could not have said more. + +</p> +<p>Absorbed by her delight in this spectacle, the alféreza did <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e3747" href="#xd0e3747">166</a>]</span>not know that her husband had arrived until the door was violently thrown open with a kick. + +</p> +<p>The alférez was pale and morose. When he saw what was going on, he darted a terrible glance at his wife, then quietly put +his hand on the shoulder of the strange dancer, and stopped her motion. Sisa, breathing hard, sat down on the floor. He called +the orderly. + +</p> +<p>“Take this woman away,” he said; “see that she is properly cared for, and has a good dinner and a good bed. To-morrow she +is to be taken to Señor Ibarra’s.” + +</p> +<p>Then he carefully closed the door after them, pushed the bolt, and approached his wife. + + + +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e3755" href="#xd0e3755">167</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div id="ch34" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">XXXIV.</h2> +<h2 class="normal">Right and Might.</h2> +<p>It was ten o’clock in the evening. The first rockets were slowly going up in the dark sky, where bright-colored balloons shone +like new stars. On the ridge-poles of the houses men were seen armed with bamboo poles, with pails of water at hand. Their +dark silhouettes against the clear gray of the night seemed phantoms come to share in the gayety of men. They were there to +look out for balloons that might fall burning. + +</p> +<p>Crowds of people were going toward the plaza to see the last play at the theatre. Bengal fires burned here and there, grouping +the merry-makers fantastically. + +</p> +<p>The grand estrade was magnificently illuminated. Thousands of lights were fixed round the pillars, hung from the roof and +clustered near the ground. + +</p> +<p>In front of the stage the orchestra was tuning its instruments. The dignitaries of the pueblo, the Spaniards, and wealthy +strangers occupied seats in rows. The people filled the rest of the place; some had brought benches, rather to mount them +than to sit on them, and others noisily protested against this. + +</p> +<p>Comings and goings, cries, exclamations, bursts of laughter, jokes, a whistle, swelled the tumult. Here the leg of a bench +gave way and precipitated those on it, to the delight of the spectators; there was a dispute for place; and a little beyond +a fracas of glasses and bottles. It was Andeng, carrying a great tray of drinks, and unfortunately she had <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e3771" href="#xd0e3771">168</a>]</span>encountered her fiancé, who was disposed to profit by the occasion. + +</p> +<p>The lieutenant, Don Filipo, was in charge of the spectacle, for the gobernadorcillo was playing monte, of which he was a passionate +devotee. Don Filipo was talking with old Tasio, who was on the point of leaving. + +</p> +<p>“Aren’t you going to see the play?” + +</p> +<p>“No, thank you! My own mind suffices for rambling and dreaming,” replied the philosopher, laughing. “But I have a question +to propose. Have you ever observed the strange nature of our people? Pacific, they love warlike spectacles; democratic, they +adore emperors, kings, and princes; irreligious, they ruin themselves in the pomps of the ritual; the nature of our women +is gentle, but they have deliriums of delight when a princess brandishes a lance. Do you know the cause of all this? Well——” + +</p> +<p>The arrival of Maria Clara and her friends cut short the conversation. Don Filipo accompanied them to their places. Then came +the curate, with his usual retinue. + +</p> +<p>The evening began with Chananay and Marianito in “Crispino and the Gossip.” The scene fixed the attention of every one. The +act was ending when Ibarra entered. His coming excited a murmur, and eyes turned from him to the curate. But Crisóstomo observed +nothing. He gracefully saluted Maria and her friends and sat down. The only one who spoke to him was Sinang. + +</p> +<p>“Have you been watching the fireworks?” she asked. + +</p> +<p>“No, little friend, I had to accompany the governor-general.” + +</p> +<p>“That was too bad!” + +</p> +<p>Brother Salvi had risen, gone to Don Filipo, and appeared to be having with him a serious discussion. He spoke with heat, +the lieutenant calmly and quietly. + +</p> +<p>“I am sorry not to be able to satisfy your reverence, but <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e3793" href="#xd0e3793">169</a>]</span>Señor Ibarra is one of the chief contributors to the fête, and has a perfect right to be here so long as he creates no disturbance.” + +</p> +<p>“But is it not creating a disturbance to scandalize all good Christians?” + +</p> +<p>“Father,” replied Don Filipo, “my slight authority does not permit me to interfere in religious matters. Let those who fear +Señor Ibarra’s contact avoid him: he forces himself upon no one; the señor alcalde and the captain-general have been in his +company all the afternoon; it hardly becomes me to give them a lesson.” + +</p> +<p>“If you do not put him out of the place, we shall go.” + +</p> +<p>“I should be very sorry, but I have no authority to remove him.” + +</p> +<p>The curate repented of his threat, but there was now no remedy. He motioned to his companions, who rose reluctantly, and all +went out, not without hostile glances toward Ibarra. + +</p> +<p>The whisperings and murmurs began again. Several people came up to Crisóstomo and said: + +</p> +<p>“We are with you; pay no attention to them!” + +</p> +<p>“To whom?” he asked in astonishment. + +</p> +<p>“Those who have gone out because you are here; they say you are excommunicated.” + +</p> +<p>Ibarra, surprised, not knowing what to say, looked about him. Maria’s face was hidden. + +</p> +<p>“Is it possible? Are we yet in the middle ages?” he began. But he checked himself and said to the girls: + +</p> +<p>“I must excuse myself; I will be back to go home with you.” + +</p> +<p>“Oh, stay!” said Sinang. “Yeyeng is going to dance!” + +</p> +<p>“I cannot, little friend.” + +</p> +<p>While Yeyeng was coming forward, two soldiers of the <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e3825" href="#xd0e3825">170</a>]</span>guard approached Don Filipo and demanded that the representation be stopped. + +</p> +<p>“And why?” he asked in surprise. + +</p> +<p>“Because the alférez and his wife have been fighting; they want to sleep.” + +</p> +<p>“Tell the alférez we have the permission of the alcalde of the province, and nobody in the pueblo can overrule that, not even +the gobernadorcillo.” + +</p> +<p>“But we have our orders to stop the performance.” + +</p> +<p>Don Filipo shrugged his shoulders and turned his back. The Comedy Company of Tondo was about to give a play, and the audience +was settling for its enjoyment. + +</p> +<p>The Filipino is passionately fond of the theatre; he listens in silence, never hisses, and applauds with measure. Does not +the spectacle please him? He chews his buyo and goes out quietly, not to trouble those who may like it. He expects in his +plays a combat every fifteen seconds, and all the rest of the time repartee between comic personages, or terrifying metamorphoses. +The comedy chosen for this fête was “Prince Villardo, or the Nails Drawn from the Cellar of Infamy,” comedy with sorcery and +fireworks. + +</p> +<p>Prince Villardo presented himself, defying the Moors, who held his father prisoner. He threatened to cut off all their heads +at a single stroke and send them into the moon. + +</p> +<p>Fortunately for the Moors, as they were preparing for the combat, a tumult arose. The music stopped, and the musicians assailed +the theatre with their instruments, which went flying in all directions. The valiant Villardo, unprepared for so many foes, +threw down his sword and buckler and took to flight, and the Moors, seeing the hasty leave of so terrible a Christian, made +bold to follow him. Cries, exclamations, and imprecations rose on all sides, people ran against one another, lights went out, +children screamed, and <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e3843" href="#xd0e3843">171</a>]</span>benches were overturned in a hurly-burly. Some cried fire, some cried “The tulisanes!” + +</p> +<p>What had happened? The two guards had driven off the musicians, and the lieutenant and some of the cuadrilleros were vainly +trying to check their flight. + +</p> +<p>“Take those two men to the tribunal!” cried Don Filipo. “Don’t let them escape!” + +</p> +<p>When the crowd had recovered from its fright and taken account of what had happened, indignation broke forth. + +</p> +<p>“That’s why they are for!” cried a woman, brandishing her arms; “to trouble the pueblo! They are the real tulisanes! Fire +the barracks!” + +</p> +<p>Stones rained on the group of cuadrilleros leading off the guards, and the cry to fire the barracks was repeated. Chananay +in her costume of Leonora in “Il Trovatore” was talking with Ratia, in schoolmaster’s dress; Yeyeng, wrapped in a shawl, was +attended by Prince Villardo, while the Moors tried to console the mortified musicians; but already the crowd had determined +upon action, and Don Filipo was doing his best to hold them in check. + +</p> +<p>“Do nothing rash!” he cried. “To-morrow we will demand satisfaction; we shall have justice; I promise you justice!” + +</p> +<p>“No,” replied some; “that’s what they did at Calamba: they promised justice, and the alcalde didn’t do a thing! We will take +justice for ourselves! To the barracks!” + +</p> +<p>Don Filipo, looking about for some one to aid him, saw Ibarra. + +</p> +<p>“For heaven’s sake, Señor Ibarra, keep the people here while I go for the cuadrilleros!” + +</p> +<p>“What can I do?” demanded the perplexed young fellow; but Don Filipo was already in the distance. + +</p> +<p>Ibarra, in his turn, looked about for aid, and saw Elias. He ran to him, took him by the arm, and, speaking in Spanish, <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e3867" href="#xd0e3867">172</a>]</span>begged him to do what he could for order. The helmsman disappeared in the crowd. Animated discussions were heard, and rapid +questions; then, little by little, the mass began to dissolve and to wear a less hostile attitude. It was time; the soldiers +arrived with bayonets fixed. + +</p> +<p>As Ibarra was about to enter his house that night a little man in mourning, having a great scar on his left cheek, placed +himself in front of him and bowed humbly. + +</p> +<p>“What can I do for you?” asked Crisóstomo. + +</p> +<p>“Señor, my name is José; I am the brother of the man killed this morning.” + +</p> +<p>“Ah,” said Ibarra, “I assure you I am not insensible to your loss. What do you wish of me?” + +</p> +<p>“Señor, I wish to know how much you are going to pay my brother’s family.” + +</p> +<p>“Pay!” repeated Crisóstomo, not without annoyance. “We will talk of this again; come to me to-morrow.” + +</p> +<p>“But tell me simply what you will give,” insisted José. + +</p> +<p>“I tell you we will talk of it another day, not now,” said Ibarra, more impatiently. + +</p> +<p>“Ah! You think because we are poor——” + +</p> +<p>Ibarra interrupted him. + +</p> +<p>“Don’t try my patience too far,” he said, moving on. José looked after him with a smile full of hatred. + +</p> +<p>“It is easy to see he is a grandson of the man who exposed my father to the sun,” he murmured between his teeth. “The same +blood!” Then in a changed tone he added: “But if you pay well—friends!” + + + +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e3893" href="#xd0e3893">173</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div id="ch35" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">XXXV.</h2> +<h2 class="normal">Husband and Wife.</h2> +<p>The fête was over, and the inhabitants of the pueblo now perceived, as they did every year, that their purses were empty, +that in the sweat of their faces they had earned scant pleasure, and paid dear for noise and headaches. But what of that? +The next year they would begin again; the next century it would still be the same, for it had been so up to this time, and +there is nothing which can make people renounce a custom. + +</p> +<p>The house of Captain Tiago is sad. All the windows are closed; one scarcely dares make a sound; and nowhere but in the kitchen +do they speak aloud. Maria Clara, the soul of the house, is sick in bed. The state of her health could be read on all faces, +as our actions betray the griefs of our hearts. + +</p> +<p>“What do you think, Isabel, ought I to make a gift to the cross at Tunasan, or that at Matahong?” asks the unhappy father. +“The cross at Tunasan grows, but that at Matahong perspires. Which do you call the more miraculous?” + +</p> +<p>Aunt Isabel reflected, nodded her head, and whispered: + +</p> +<p>“To grow is more miraculous; we all perspire, but we don’t all grow.” + +</p> +<p>“That’s so, yes, Isabel; but, after all, for wood to perspire—well, then, the best thing is to make offerings to both.” + +</p> +<p>A carriage stopping before the house cut short the conversation. Captain Tiago, followed by Aunt Isabel, ran down <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e3913" href="#xd0e3913">174</a>]</span>the steps to receive the coming guests. They were the doctor, Don Tiburcio de Espadaña, his wife, the Doctora Doña Victorina +de Los Reyes de de Espadaña, and a young Spaniard of attractive face and fine appearance. + +</p> +<p>The doctora wore a silk dress bordered with flowers, and a hat with a large parrot perched among bows of red and blue ribbons. +The dust of the journey mingling with the rice powder on her cheeks, exaggerated her wrinkles; as when we saw her at Manila, +she had given her arm to her lame husband. + +</p> +<p>“I have the pleasure of presenting to you our cousin, Don Alfonso Linares de Espadaña,” said Doña Victorina, indicating the +young man; “the adopted son of a relative of Father Dámaso’s, and private secretary of all the ministers——” + +</p> +<p>The young man bowed low; Captain Tiago barely escaped kissing his hand. + +</p> +<p>While the countless trunks, valises, and bags are being cared for and Captain Tiago is conducting his guests to their apartments, +let us make a nearer acquaintance with these people whom we have not seen since the opening chapters. + +</p> +<p>Doña Victorina is a woman of forty-five summers, which, according to her arithmetic, are equivalent to thirty-two springs. +In her youth she had been very pretty, but, enraptured in her own contemplation, she had looked with the utmost disdain on +her numerous Filipino adorers, even scorning the vows of love once murmured in her ears or chanted under her balcony by Captain +Tiago. Her aspirations bore her toward another race. + +</p> +<p>Her first youth, then her second, then her third, having passed in tending nets to catch in the ocean of the world the object +of her dreams, Doña Victorina must in the end content herself with what fate willed her. It was a poor man <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e3930" href="#xd0e3930">175</a>]</span>torn from his native Estramadure, who, after wandering six or seven years about the world, a modern Ulysses, found at length, +in the island of Luzon, hospitality, money, and a faded Calypso. + +</p> +<p>Don Tiburcio was a modest man, without force, who would not willingly have injured a fly. He started for the Philippines as +under-clerk of customs, but after breaking his leg was forced to give up his position. For a while he lived at the expense +of some compatriots, but he found their bread bitter. As he had neither profession nor money, his advisers counselled him +to go into the provinces and offer himself as a physician. At first he refused, but, necessity becoming pressing, his friends +convinced him of the vanity of his scruples. He started out, kept by his conscience from asking more than small fees, and +was on the road to prosperity when a jealous doctor called him to the attention of the College of Physicians at Manila. Nothing +would have come of it, but the affair reached the ears of the people; loss of confidence followed, and then loss of patrons. +Misery again stared him in the face when he heard of the affliction of Doña Victorina. Don Tiburcio saw here a patch of blue +sky, and asked to be presented. + +</p> +<p>They met, and after a half-hour of conversation, reached an understanding. Without doubt she would have preferred a Spaniard +less halting, less bald, without impediment of speech, and with more teeth; but such a Spaniard had never asked her hand, +and at thirty-two what woman is not prudent? + +</p> +<p>For his part, Don Tiburcio resigned himself when he saw the spectre of famine raise its head. Not that he had ever had great +ambitions or great pretensions; but his heart, virgin till now, had pictured a different divinity. He was, however, somewhat +of a philosopher. He said to himself: “All that was a dream! Is the reality powdered and wrinkled, <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e3938" href="#xd0e3938">176</a>]</span>homely and ridiculous? Well, I am bald and lame and toothless.” + +</p> +<p>They were married then, and Doña Victorina was enchanted with her husband. She had him fitted out with false teeth, attired +by the best tailors of the city, and ordered carriages and horses for the professional visits she intended him again to make. + +</p> +<p>While thus transforming her husband, she did not forget herself. She discarded the silk skirt and jacket of piña for European +costume, loaded her head with false hair, and her person with such extravagances generally as to disturb the peace of a whole +idle and tranquil neighborhood. + +</p> +<p>The glamour around the husband first began to dim when he tried to approach the subject of the rice powder by remarking that +nothing is so ugly as the false or so admirable as the natural. Doña Victorina looked unpleasantly at his teeth, and he was +silent. Indeed, at the end of a very short time the doctora had arrived at the complete subjugation of her husband, who no +longer offered any more resistance than a little lap-dog. If he did anything to annoy her, she forbade his going out, and +in her moments of greatest rage she tore out his false teeth, and left him, sometimes for days, horribly disfigured. + +</p> +<p>When they were well settled in Manila, Rodoreda received orders to engrave on a plate of black marble: + + +</p> +<div class="blockquote"> +<p class="aligncenter">“Dr. De Espadaña,<br> +Specialist in All Kinds of Diseases.” +</p> +</div><p> + + +</p> +<p>“Do you wish me to be put in prison?” asked Don Tiburcio in terror. + +</p> +<p>“I wish people to call you doctor and me doctora,” said Doña Victorina, “but it must be understood that you treat only very +rare cases.” +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e3958" href="#xd0e3958">177</a>]</span></p> +<p>The <span class="corr" id="xd0e3961" title="Source: senora">señora</span> signed her own name, Victorina de los Reyes de de Espadaña. Neither the engraver of her visiting cards nor her husband could +make her renounce that second “de.” + +</p> +<p>“If I use only one ‘de,’ people will think you haven’t any, imbecile!” she said to Don Tiburcio. + +</p> +<p>Then the number of gewgaws grew, the layer of rice powder was thickened, the ribbons and laces were piled higher, and Doña +Victorina regarded with more and more disdain her poor compatriots who had not had the fortune to marry husbands of so high +estate as her own. + +</p> +<p>All this sublimity, however, did not prevent her being each day older and more ridiculous. Every time Captain Tiago was with +her, and remembered that she had once really inspired him with love, he sent a peso to the church for a mass of thanksgiving. +But he had much respect for Don Tiburcio, because of his title of specialist, and listened attentively to the rare sentences +the doctor’s impediment of speech let him pronounce. For this reason and because the doctor did not lavish his visits on people +at large he had chosen him to treat Maria. + +</p> +<p>As to young Linares, Doña Victorina, wishing a steward from the peninsula, her husband remembered a cousin of his, a law student +at Madrid, who was considered the most astute of the family. They sent for him, and the young man had just arrived. + +</p> +<p>Father Salvi entered while Don Santiago and his guests were at the second breakfast. They talked of Maria Clara, who was sleeping; +they talked of the journey, and Doña Victorina exclaimed loudly at the costumes of the provincials, their houses of nipa, +and their bamboo bridges. She did not omit to inform the curate of her friendly relations with the “Segundo Cabo,” with this +alcalde, with that councillor, all people of distinction, who had for her the greatest consideration. +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e3974" href="#xd0e3974">178</a>]</span></p> +<p>“If you had come two days earlier, Doña Victorina,” said Captain Tiago, profiting by a slight pause in the lady’s brilliant +loquacity, “you would have found His Excellency the governor general seated in this very place.” + +</p> +<p>“What! His Excellency was here? And at your house? Impossible!” + +</p> +<p>“I repeat that he was seated exactly here. If you had come two days ago——” + +</p> +<p>“Ah! What a pity Clarita did not fall ill sooner!” she cried. “You hear, cousin! His Excellency was here! You know, Don Santiago, +that at Madrid our cousin was the friend of ministers and dukes, and that he dined with the Count del Campanario.” + +</p> +<p>“The Duke de la Torre, Victorina,” suggested her husband. + +</p> +<p>“It is the same thing!” + +</p> +<p>“Shall I find Father Dámaso at his pueblo to-day?” Linares asked Brother Salvi. + +</p> +<p>“Father Dámaso is here, and may be with us at any moment.” + +</p> +<p>“I’m very glad! I have a letter for him, and if a happy chance had not brought me here, I should have come expressly to see +him.” + +</p> +<p>Meanwhile the “happy chance,” that is to say, poor Maria Clara, had awakened. + +</p> +<p>“Come, de <span class="corr" id="xd0e3997" title="Source: Españada">Espadaña</span>, come, see Clarita,” said Doña Victorina. “It is for you he does this,” she went on, turning to Captain Tiago; “my husband +attends only people of quality.” + +</p> +<p>The sick-room was almost in obscurity, the windows closed, for fear of draughts; two candles, burning before an image of the +Virgin of Antipolo, sent out feeble glimmers. + +</p> +<p>Enveloped in multiple folds of white, the lovely figure of Maria lay on her bed of kamagon, behind curtains of jusi <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e4004" href="#xd0e4004">179</a>]</span>and piña. Her abundant hair about her face increased its transparent pallor, as did the radiance of her great, sad eyes. Beside +her were her two friends, and Andeng holding a lily branch. + +</p> +<p>De Espadaña felt her pulse, examined her tongue, asked a question or two, and nodded his head. + +</p> +<p><span class="corr" id="xd0e4009" title="Not in source">“</span>Sh—she is s—sick, but she can be c—cured.” + +</p> +<p>Doña Victorina looked proudly at their audience. + +</p> +<p><span class="corr" id="xd0e4015" title="Not in source">“</span>Lichen with m—m—milk, for the m—m—morning, syrup of m—m—marshmallow, and two tablets of cynoglossum.” + +</p> +<p>“Take courage, Clarita,” said Doña Victorina, approaching the bed, “we have come to cure you. I’m going to present to you +our cousin.” + +</p> +<p>Linares, absorbed, was gazing at those eloquent eyes, which seemed to be searching for some one; he did not hear Doña Victorina. + +</p> +<p>“Señor Linares,” said the curate, drawing him out of his abstraction, “here is Father Dámaso.” + +</p> +<p>It was indeed he; but it was not the Father Dámaso of heretofore, so vigorous and alert. He walked uncertainly, and he was +pale and sad. + + + +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e4026" href="#xd0e4026">180</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div id="ch36" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">XXXVI.</h2> +<h2 class="normal">Projects.</h2> +<p>With no word for any one else, Father Dámaso went straight to Maria’s bed and took her hand. + +</p> +<p>“Maria,” he said with great tenderness, and tears gushed from his eyes, “Maria, my child, you must not die!” + +</p> +<p>Maria Clara looked at him with some astonishment. No one of those who knew the Franciscan would have believed him capable +of such display of feeling. + +</p> +<p>He could not say another word, but moved aside the draperies and went out among the plants of Maria’s balcony, crying like +a child. + +</p> +<p>“How he loves his god-daughter!” every one thought. + +</p> +<p>Father Salvi, motionless and silent, watched him intently. + +</p> +<p>When the father’s grief seemed more controlled, Doña Victorino presented young Linares. Father Dámaso, saying nothing, looked +him over from head to foot, took the letter, read it without appearing to comprehend, and asked: + +</p> +<p>“Well, who are you?” + +</p> +<p>“Alfonso Linares, the godson of your brother-in-law——” stammered the young fellow. Father Dámaso threw back his head and examined +him anew, his face clearing. + +</p> +<p>“What! It’s the godson of Carlicos!” he cried, clasping him in his arms. “I had a letter from him some days ago. And it is +you? You were not born when I left the country. I did not know you!” And Father Dámaso still held in his strong arms the young +man, whose face began to color, perhaps from embarrassment, perhaps from suffocation. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e4052" href="#xd0e4052">181</a>]</span>Father Dámaso appeared to have completely forgotten his grief. + +</p> +<p>After the first moments of effusion and questions about Carlicos and Pepa, Father Dámaso asked: + +</p> +<p>“Let’s see, what is it Carlicos wishes me to do for you?” + +</p> +<p>“I think he says something about it in the letter,” stammered Linares again. + +</p> +<p>“In the letter? Yes, that’s so! He wishes me to find you employment and a wife. Ah, the employment is easy enough, but as +for the wife!—hem!—a wife——” + +</p> +<p>“Father, that is not so urgent,” said Linares, with confusion. + +</p> +<p>But Father Dámaso was walking back and forth murmuring: “A wife! A wife!” His face was no longer sad or joyful, but serious +and preoccupied. From a distance Father Salvi watched the scene. + +</p> +<p>“I did not think the thing could cause me so much pain,” Father Dámaso murmured plaintively; “but of two evils choose the +least!” Then approaching Linares: + +</p> +<p>“Come with me, my boy,” he said, “we will talk with Don Santiago.” Linares paled and followed the priest. + + + +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e4070" href="#xd0e4070">182</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div id="ch37" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">XXXVII.</h2> +<h2 class="normal">Scrutiny of Conscience.</h2> +<p>Long days followed by weary nights were passed by the pillow of the sick girl. After a confession to Father Salvi, Maria Clara +had had a relapse, and in her delirium she pronounced no name but that of her mother, whom she had never known. Her friends, +her father, her aunt, watched her, and heaped with gifts and with silver for masses the altars of miraculous images. At last, +slowly and regularly, the fever began to abate. + +</p> +<p>The Doctor de Espadaña was stupefied at the virtues of the syrup of marshmallow and the decoction of lichen, prescriptions +he had never varied. Doña Victorina was so satisfied with her husband that one day when he stepped on her train, in a rare +state of clemency she did not apply to him the usual penal code by pulling out his teeth. + +</p> +<p>One afternoon, Sinang and Victorina were with Maria; the curate, Captain Tiago, and the Espadañas were talking in the dining-room. + +</p> +<p>“I’m distressed to hear it,” the doctor was saying; “and Father Dámaso must be greatly disturbed.” + +</p> +<p>“Where did you say he is to be sent?” asked Linares. + +</p> +<p>“Into the province of Tabayas,” replied the curate carelessly. + +</p> +<p>“Maria Clara will be very sorry too,” said Captain Tiago; “she loves him like a father.” + +</p> +<p>Father Salvi looked at him from the corner of his eye. + +</p> +<p>“Father,” continued Captain Tiago, “I believe her <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e4094" href="#xd0e4094">183</a>]</span>sickness came from nothing but that trouble the day of the fête.” + +</p> +<p>“I am of the same opinion, so you have done well in not permitting Señor Ibarra to talk with her; that would only have aggravated +her condition.” + +</p> +<p>“And it is thanks to us alone,” interrupted Doña Victorina, “that Clarita is not already in heaven singing praises with the +angels.” + +</p> +<p>“Amen!” Captain Tiago felt moved to say. + +</p> +<p>“I think I know whereof I speak,” said the curate, “when I say that the confession of Maria Clara brought about the favorable +crisis that saved her life. I do not deny the power of science, but a pure conscience——” + +</p> +<p>“Pardon,” objected Doña Victorina, piqued; “then cure the wife of the alférez with a confession!” + +</p> +<p>“A hurt, señora, is not a malady, to be influenced by the conscience,” replied Father Salvi severely; “but a good confession +would preserve her in future from such blows as she got this morning.” + +</p> +<p>“She deserved them!” said Doña Victorina. “She is an insolent woman. In church she did nothing but look at me. I had a mind +to ask her what there was curious about my face; but who would soil her lips speaking to these people of no standing?” + +</p> +<p>The curate, as if he had not heard this tirade, continued: “To finish the cure of your daughter, she should receive the communion +to-morrow, Don Santiago. I think she does not need to confess, and yet, if she will once more, this evening——” + +</p> +<p>“I don’t know,” said Doña Victorina, profiting by the pause to continue her reflections, “I don’t understand how men can marry +such frights. One easily sees where that woman came from. She is dying of envy, that shows in her eyes. What does an alférez +get?” +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e4114" href="#xd0e4114">184</a>]</span></p> +<p>“So prepare Maria for confession,” the curate continued, turning to Aunt Isabel. + +</p> +<p>The good aunt left the group and went to her niece’s room. Maria Clara was still in bed, and pale, very pale; beside her were +her two friends. + +</p> +<p>Sinang was giving her her medicine. + +</p> +<p>“He has not written to you again?” asked Maria, softly. + +</p> +<p>“No.” + +</p> +<p>“He gave you no message for me?” + +</p> +<p>“No; he only said he was going to make every effort to have the archbishop raise the ban of excommunication——” + +</p> +<p>The arrival of Aunt Isabel interrupted the conversation. + +</p> +<p>“The father says you are to prepare yourself for confession, my child,” said she. “Sinang, leave her to examine her conscience. +Shall I bring you the ‘Anchor,’ the ‘Bouquet,’ or the ‘Straight Road to Heaven,’ Maria?” + +</p> +<p>Maria Clara did not reply. + +</p> +<p>“Well, we mustn’t fatigue you,” said the good aunt consolingly; “I will read you the examination myself, and you will only +have to remember your sins.” + +</p> +<p>“Write him to think of me no more,” murmured the sick girl in Sinang’s ear. + +</p> +<p>“What!” + +</p> +<p>But Aunt Isabel came back with her book, and Sinang had to go. + +</p> +<p>The good aunt drew her chair up to the light, settled her glasses on the tip of her nose, and opened a little book. + +</p> +<p>“Give good attention, my child: I will begin with the commandments of God; I shall go slowly, so that you may meditate: if +you don’t hear well, you must tell me, and I will repeat; you know I’m never weary of working for your good.” + +</p> +<p>In a voice monotonous and nasal, she began to read. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e4149" href="#xd0e4149">185</a>]</span>Maria Clara gazed vaguely into space. The first commandment finished, Aunt Isabel observed her listener over her glasses, +and appeared satisfied with her sad and meditative air. She coughed piously, and after a long pause began the second. The +good old woman read with unction. The terms of the second commandment finished, she again looked at her niece, who slowly +turned away her head. + +</p> +<p>“Bah!” said Aunt Isabel within herself, “as to taking His holy name in vain, the poor thing has nothing to question: pass +on to the third.” + +</p> +<p>And the third commandment sifted and commentated, all the causes of sin against it droned out, she again looked toward the +bed. This time she lifted her glasses and rubbed her eyes; she had seen her niece raise her handkerchief, as if to wipe away +tears. + +</p> +<p>“Hm!” said she; “hm! the poor child must have fallen asleep during the sermon.” And putting back her glasses on the tip of +her nose, she reflected: + +</p> +<p>“We shall see if besides not keeping the holy feast days, she has not honored her father and her mother.” And slowly, in a +voice more nasal than ever, she read the fourth commandment. + +</p> +<p>“What a pure soul!” thought the old lady; “she who is so obedient, so submissive! I’ve sinned much more deeply than that, +and I’ve never been able to really cry!” And she began the fifth commandment with such enthusiasm that she did not hear the +stifled sobs of her niece. It was only when she stopped after the commentaries on wilful homicide, that she perceived the +groanings of the sinner. Then in a voice that passed description, and a manner she strove to make menacing, she finished the +commentary, and seeing that Maria had not ceased to weep: + +</p> +<p>“Cry, my child, cry!” she said, going to her bedside; “the more you cry the more quickly will God pardon you. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e4163" href="#xd0e4163">186</a>]</span>Cry, my child, cry; and beat your breast, but not too hard, for you are ill yet, you know.” + +</p> +<p>But as if grief had need of mystery and solitude, Maria Clara, finding herself surprised, stopped sobbing little by little +and dried her eyes. Aunt Isabel returned to her reading, but the plaint of her audience having ceased, she lost her enthusiasm; +the second table of the law made her sleepy, and a yawn broke the nasal monotony. + +</p> +<p>“No one would have believed it without seeing it,” thought the good woman; “the child sins like a soldier against the first +five commandments, and from the sixth to the tenth not so much as a peccadillo. That is contrary to the custom of the rest +of us. One sees queer things in these days!” And she lighted a great candle for the Virgin of Antipolo, and two smaller ones +for Our Lady of the Rosary and Our Lady of the Pillar. The Virgin of Delaroche was excluded from this illumination: she was +to Aunt Isabel an unknown foreigner. + +</p> +<p>We may not know what passed during the confession in the evening. It was long, and Aunt Isabel, who at a distance was watching +over her niece, could see that instead of offering his ear to the sick girl, the curate had his face turned toward her. He +went out, pale, with compressed lips. At the sight of his brow, darkened and moist with sweat, one would have said it was +he who had confessed, and absolution had been denied him. + +</p> +<p>“Maria! Joseph!” said the good aunt, crossing herself, “who can comprehend the girls of to-day!” + + + +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e4173" href="#xd0e4173">187</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div id="ch38" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">XXXVIII.</h2> +<h2 class="normal">The Two Women.</h2> +<p>Doña Victorina was taking a walk through the pueblo, to see of what sort were the dwellings and the advancement of the indolent +Indians. She had put on her most elegant adornments, to impress the provincials, and to show what distance separated them +from her sacred person. Giving her arm to her limping husband, she paraded the streets of the pueblo, to the profound amazement +of its inhabitants. + +</p> +<p>“What ugly houses these Indians have!” she began, with a grimace. “One must needs be an Indian to live in them! And how ill-bred +the people are! They pass us without uncovering. Knock off their hats, as the curates do, and the lieutenants of the Civil +Guard.” + +</p> +<p>“And if they attack me?” stammered the doctor. + +</p> +<p>“Are you not a man?” + +</p> +<p>“Yes, but—but—I am lame.” + +</p> +<p>Doña Victorina grew cross. There were no sidewalks in these streets, and the dust was soiling the train of her dress. Some +young girls who passed dropped their eyes, and did not admire at all as they should her luxurious attire. Sinang’s coachman, +who was driving Sinang and her cousin in an elegant tres-por-ciento, had the effrontery to cry out to her “Tabi!” in so audacious +a voice that she moved out of the way. + +</p> +<p>“What a brute of a coachman!” she protested; “I shall tell his master he had better train his servants. Come along, Tiburcio!” +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e4193" href="#xd0e4193">188</a>]</span></p> +<p>Her husband, fearing a tempest, turned on his heels, and they found themselves face to face with the alférez. Greetings were +exchanged, but Doña Victorina’s discontent grew. Not only had the officer said nothing complimentary of her costume, but she +believed she detected mockery in his look. + +</p> +<p>“You ought not to give your hand to a simple alférez,” she said to her husband, when the officer had passed. “You don’t know +how to preserve your rank.” + +</p> +<p>“H—here he is the chief.” + +</p> +<p>“What does that mean to us? Do we happen to be Indians?” + +</p> +<p>“You are right,” said Don Tiburcio, not minded to dispute. + +</p> +<p>They passed the barracks. Doña Consolacion was at the window, as usual dressed in flannel, and puffing her puro. As the house +was low, the two women faced each other. The muse examined Doña Victorina from head to foot, protruded her lip, ejected tobacco +juice, and turned away her head. This affectation of contempt brought the patience of the doctora to an end. Leaving her husband +without support, she went, trembling with rage, powerless to utter a word, and placed herself in front of the alféreza’s window. +Doña Consolacion turned her head slowly back, regarded her antagonist with the utmost calm, and spat again with the same cool +contempt. + +</p> +<p>“What’s the matter with you, doña?” she asked. + +</p> +<p>“Could you tell me, señora, why you stare at me in this fashion? Are you jealous?” Doña Victorina was at last able to say. + +</p> +<p>“I jealous? And of you?” replied the alféreza calmly. “Yes, I’m jealous of your frizzes.” + +</p> +<p>“Come away there!” broke in the doctor; “d—d—don’t pay at—t—t—tention to these f—f—follies!” + +</p> +<p>“Let me alone! I have to give a lesson to this brazenface!” <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e4216" href="#xd0e4216">189</a>]</span>replied the doctora, joggling her husband, who just missed sprawling in the dust. + +</p> +<p>“Consider to whom you are speaking!” she said haughtily, turning back to Doña Consolacion. “Don’t think I am a provincial +or a woman of your class. With us, at Manila, the alférezas are not received; they wait at the door.” + +</p> +<p>“Ho! ho! most worshipful señora, the alférezas wait at the door! But you receive such paralytics as this gentleman! Ha! ha! +ha!” + +</p> +<p>Had she been less powdered Doña Victorina might have been seen to blush. She started to rush on her enemy, but the sentinel +stood in the way. The street was filling with a curious crowd. + +</p> +<p>“Know that I demean myself in speaking to you; persons of position like me ought not! Will you wash my clothes? I will pay +you well. Do you suppose I do not know you are a washerwoman?” + +</p> +<p>Doña Consolacion sat erect. To be called a washerwoman had wounded her. + +</p> +<p>“And do you think we don’t know who you are?” she retorted. “My husband has told me! Señora, I, at least——” + +</p> +<p>But she could not be heard. Doña Victorina, wildly shaking her fists, screamed out: + +</p> +<p>“Come down, you old hussy, come down and let me tear your beautiful eyes out!” + +</p> +<p>Rapidly the medusa disappeared from the window; more rapidly yet she came running down the steps, brandishing her husband’s +terrible whip. Don Tiburcio, supplicating both, threw himself between, but he could not have prevented the combat, had not +the alférez arrived. + +</p> +<p>“Well, well, señoras!—Don Tiburcio!” + +</p> +<p>“Give your wife a little more breeding, buy her more <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e4240" href="#xd0e4240">190</a>]</span>beautiful clothes, and if you haven’t the money, steal it from the people of the pueblo; you have soldiers for that!” cried +Doña Victorina. + +</p> +<p>“Señora,” said the alférez, furious, “it is fortunate that I remember you are a woman; if I didn’t, I should trample you down, +with all your curls and ribbons!” + +</p> +<p>“Se—señor alférez!” + +</p> +<p>“Move on, charlatan! It’s not you who wear the breeches!” + +</p> +<p>Armed with words and gestures, with cries, insults, and injuries, the two women hurled at each other all there was in them +of soil and shame. All four talked at once, and in the multitude of words numerous verities were paraded in the light. If +they did not hear all, the crowd of the curious did not fail to be diverted. They were looking forward to battle, but, unhappily +for these amateurs of sport, the curate came by and established peace. + +</p> +<p>“Señoras! señoras! what a scandal! Señor alférez!” + +</p> +<p>“What are you doing here, hypocrite, carlist!” + +</p> +<p>“Don Tiburcio, take away your wife! Señora, restrain your tongue!” + +</p> +<p>Little by little the dictionary of sounding epithets became exhausted. The shameless shrews found nothing left to say to each +other, and still threatening, the two couples drew slowly apart, the curate going from one to the other, lavishing himself +on both. + +</p> +<p>“We shall leave for Manila this very day and present ourselves to the captain-general!” said the infuriated Doña Victorina +to her husband. “You are no man!” + +</p> +<p>“But—but, wife, the guards, and I am lame.” + +</p> +<p>“You are to challenge him, with swords or pistols, or else—or else——” And she looked at his teeth. + +</p> +<p>“Woman, I’ve never handled——” + +</p> +<p>Doña Victorina let him go no farther; with a sublime <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e4268" href="#xd0e4268">191</a>]</span>movement she snatched out his teeth, threw them in the dust, and trampled them under her feet. The doctor almost crying, the +doctora pelting him with sarcasms, they arrived at the house of Captain Tiago. Linares, who was talking with Maria Clara, +was no little disquieted by the abrupt arrival of his cousins. Maria, amid the pillows of her fauteuil, was not less surprised +at the new physiognomy of her doctor. + +</p> +<p>“Cousin,” said Doña Victorina, “you are to go and challenge the alférez this instant; if not——” + +</p> +<p>“Why?” demanded the astonished Linares. + +</p> +<p>“You are to go and challenge him this instant; if not, I shall say here, and to everybody, who you are.” + +</p> +<p>“Doña Victorina!” + +</p> +<p>The three friends looked at each other. + +</p> +<p>“The alférez has insulted us. The old sorceress came down with a whip to assault us, and this creature did nothing to prevent +it! A man!” + +</p> +<p>“Hear that!” said Sinang regretfully. “There was a fight, and we didn’t see it!” + +</p> +<p>“The alférez broke the doctor’s teeth!” added Doña Victorina. + +</p> +<p>Captain Tiago entered, but he wasn’t given time to get his breath. In few words, with an intermingling of spicy language, +Doña Victorina narrated what had passed, naturally trying to put herself in a good light. + +</p> +<p>“Linares is going to challenge him, do you hear? Or don’t let him marry your daughter. If he isn’t courageous, he doesn’t +merit Clarita.” + +</p> +<p>“What! you are going to marry this gentleman?” Sinang asked Maria, her laughing eyes filling with tears. “I know you are discreet, +but I didn’t think you inconstant.” + +</p> +<p>Maria Clara, white as alabaster, looked with great, <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e4294" href="#xd0e4294">192</a>]</span>frightened eyes from her father to Doña Victorina, from Doña Victorina to Linares. The young man reddened; Captain Tiago dropped +his head. + +</p> +<p>“Help me to my room,” Maria said to her friends, and steadied by their round arms, her head on the shoulder of Victorina, +she went out. + +</p> +<p>That night the husband and wife packed their trunks, and presented their account—no trifle—to Captain Tiago. The next morning +they set out for Manila, leaving to the pacific Linares the rôle of avenger. + + + +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e4300" href="#xd0e4300">193</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div id="ch39" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">XXXIX.</h2> +<h2 class="normal">The Outlawed.</h2> +<p>By the feeble moonlight that penetrates the thick foliage of forest trees, a man was making his way through the woods. His +movement was slow but assured. From time to time, as if to get his bearings, he whistled an air, to which another whistler +in the distance replied by repeating it. + +</p> +<p>At last, after struggling long against the many obstacles a virgin forest opposes to the march of man, and most obstinately +at night, he arrived at a little clearing, bathed in the light of the moon in its first quarter. Scarcely had he entered it +when another man came carefully out from behind a great rock, a revolver in his hand. + +</p> +<p>“Who are you?” he demanded with authority in Tagalo. + +</p> +<p>“Is old Pablo with you?” asked the newcomer tranquilly; “if so, tell him Elias is searching for him.” + +</p> +<p>“You are Elias?” said the other, with a certain respect, yet keeping his revolver cocked. “Follow me!” + +</p> +<p>They penetrated a cavern, the guide warning the helmsman when to lower his head, when to crawl on all fours. After a short +passage they arrived at a sort of room, dimly lighted by pitch torches, where twelve or fifteen men, dirty, ragged, and sinister, +were talking low among themselves. His elbows resting on a stone, an old man of sombre face sat apart, looking toward the +smoky torches. It was a cavern of tulisanes. When Elias arrived, the men started <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e4318" href="#xd0e4318">194</a>]</span>to rise, but at a gesture from the old man they remained quiet, contenting themselves with examining the newcomer. + +</p> +<p>“Is it thou, then?” said the old chief, his sad eyes lighting a little at sight of the young man. + +</p> +<p>“And you are here!” exclaimed Elias, half to himself. + +</p> +<p>The old man bent his head in silence, making at the same time a sign to the men, who rose and went out, not without taking +the helmsman’s measure with their eyes. + +</p> +<p>“Yes,” said the old man to Elias when they were alone, “six months ago I gave you hospitality in my home; now it is I who +receive compassion from you. But sit down and tell me how you found me.” + +</p> +<p>“As soon as I heard of your misfortunes,” replied Elias slowly, “I set out, and searched from mountain to mountain. I’ve gone +over nearly two provinces.” After a short pause in which he tried to read the old man’s thoughts in his sombre face, he went +on: + +</p> +<p>“I have come to make you a proposition. After vainly trying to find some representative of the family which caused the ruin +of my own, I have decided to go North, and live among the savage tribes. Will you leave this life you are beginning, and come +with me? Let me be a son to you?” + +</p> +<p>The old man shook his head. + +</p> +<p>“At my age,” he said, “when one has taken a desperate resolution it is final. When such a man as I, who passed his youth and +ripe age laboring to assure his future and that of his children, who submitted always to the will of superiors, whose conscience +is clear—when such a man, almost on the border of the tomb, renounces all his past, it is because after ripe reflection he +concludes that there is no such thing as peace. Why go to a strange land to drag out my miserable days? I had two sons, a +daughter, a home, a fortune. I enjoyed consideration and respect; now I am like a tree stripped of its branches, bare and +desolate. And <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e4336" href="#xd0e4336">195</a>]</span>why? Because a man dishonored my daughter; because my sons wished to seek satisfaction from this man, placed above other by +his office; because this man, fearing them, sought their destruction and accomplished it. And I have survived; but if I did +not know how to defend my sons, I shall know how to avenge them. The day my band is strong enough, I shall go down into the +plain and wipe out my vengeance and my life in fire! Either this day will come or there is no God!” + +</p> +<p>The old man rose, and, his eyes glittering, his voice cavernous, he cried, fastening his hands in his long hair: + +</p> +<p>“Malediction, malediction upon me, who held the avenging hands of my sons! I was their assassin!” + +</p> +<p>“I understand you,” said Elias; “I too have a vengeance to satisfy; and yet, from fear of striking the innocent, I choose +to forego that.” + +</p> +<p>“You can; you are young; you have not lost your last hope. I too, I swear it, would not strike the innocent. You see this +wound? I got it rather than harm a cuadrillero who was doing his duty.” + +</p> +<p>“And yet,” said Elias, “if you carry out your purpose, you will bring dreadful woes to our unhappy country. If with your own +hands you satisfy your vengeance, your enemies will take terrible reprisals—not from you, not from those who are armed, but +from the people, who are always the ones accused. When I knew you in other days, you gave me wise counsels: will you permit +me——” + +</p> +<p>The old man crossed his arms and seemed to attend. + +</p> +<p>“Señor,” continued Elias, “I have had the fortune to do a great service to a young man, rich, kind of heart, upright, wishing +the good of his country. It is said he has relations at Madrid; of that I know nothing, but I know he is the friend of the +governor-general. What do you think of interesting <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e4352" href="#xd0e4352">196</a>]</span>him in the cause of the miserable and making him their voice?” + +</p> +<p>The old man shook his head. + +</p> +<p>“He is rich, you say. The rich think only of increasing their riches. Not one of them would compromise his peace to go to +the aid of those who suffer. I know it, I who was rich myself.” + +</p> +<p>“But he is not like the others. And he is a young man about to marry, who wishes the tranquillity of his country for the sake +of his children’s children.” + +</p> +<p>“He is a man, then, who is going to be happy. Our cause is not that of fortunate men.” + +</p> +<p>“No, but it is that of men of courage!” + +</p> +<p>“True,” said the old man, seating himself again. “Let us suppose he consents to be our mouthpiece. Let us suppose he wins +the captain-general, and finds at Madrid deputies who can plead for us; do you believe we shall have justice?” + +</p> +<p>“Let us try it before we try measures of blood,” said Elias. “It must surprise you that I, an outlaw too, and young and strong, +propose pacific measures. It is because I see the number of miseries which we ourselves cause, as well as our tyrants. It +is always the unarmed who pay the penalty.” + +</p> +<p>“And if nothing result from our steps?” + +</p> +<p>“If we are not heard, if our grievances are made light of, I shall be the first to put myself under your orders.” + +</p> +<p>The old man embraced Elias, a strange light in his eyes. + +</p> +<p>“I accept the proposition,” he said; “I know you will keep your word. I will help you to avenge your parents; you shall help +me to avenge my sons!” + +</p> +<p>“Meanwhile, señor, you will do nothing violent.” + +</p> +<p>“And you will set forth the wrongs of the people; you know them. When shall I have the response?” +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e4380" href="#xd0e4380">197</a>]</span></p> +<p>“In four days send me a man to the lake shore of San Diego. I will tell him the decision, and name the person on whom I count.” + +</p> +<p>“Elias will be chief when Captain Pablo is fallen,” said the old man. And he himself accompanied the helmsman out of the cave. + + + +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e4385" href="#xd0e4385">198</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div id="ch40" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">XL.</h2> +<h2 class="normal">The Enigma.</h2> +<p>The day after the departure of the doctor and the doctora, Ibarra returned to the pueblo. He hastened to the house of Captain +Tiago to tell Maria he had been reconciled to the Church. Aunt Isabel, who was fond of the young fellow, and anxious for his +marriage with her niece, was filled with joy. Captain Tiago was not at home. + +</p> +<p>“Come in!” Aunt Isabel cried in her bad Castilian. “Maria, Crisóstomo has returned to favor with the Church; the <span class="corr" id="xd0e4395" title="Source: archibshop">archbishop</span> has disexcommunicated him!” + +</p> +<p>But <span class="corr" id="xd0e4400" title="Source: Crisòstomo">Crisóstomo</span> stood still, the smile froze on his lips, the words he was to say to Maria fled from his mind. Leaning against the balcony +beside her was Linares; on the floor lay leafless roses and sampagas. The Spaniard was making garlands with the flowers and +leaves from the vines; Maria Clara, buried in her fauteuil, pale and thoughtful, was playing with an ivory fan, less white +than her slender hands. + +</p> +<p>At sight of Ibarra Linares paled, and carmine tinted the cheeks of Maria Clara. She tried to rise, but was not strong enough; +she lowered her eyes and let her fan fall. + +</p> +<p>For some seconds there was an embarrassing silence; then Ibarra spoke. + +</p> +<p>“I have this moment arrived, and came straight here. You are better than I thought you were.” + +</p> +<p>One would have said Maria had become mute: her eyes still lowered, she did not say a word in reply. Ibarra looked searchingly +at Linares; the timid young man bore the scrutiny with haughtiness. +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e4411" href="#xd0e4411">199</a>]</span></p> +<p>“I see my arrival was not expected,” he went on slowly. “Pardon me, Maria, that I did not have myself announced. Some day +I can explain to you—for we shall still see each other—surely!” + +</p> +<p>At these last words the girl raised toward her fiancé her beautiful eyes full of purity and sadness, so suppliant and so sweet +that Ibarra stood still in confusion. + +</p> +<p>“May I come to-morrow?” he asked after a moment. + +</p> +<p>“You know that to me you are always welcome,” she said in a weak voice. + +</p> +<p>Ibarra left, calm in appearance, but a tempest was in his brain and freezing cold in his heart. What he had just seen and +comprehended seemed to him incomprehensible. Was it doubt, inconstancy, betrayal? + +</p> +<p>“Oh, woman!” he murmured. + +</p> +<p>Without knowing where he went, he arrived at the ground where the school was going up. Señor Juan hailed him with delight, +and showed him what had been done since he went away. + +</p> +<p>With surprise Ibarra saw Elias among the workmen; the helmsman saluted him, as did the others, and at the same time made him +understand that he had something to say to him. + +</p> +<p>“Señor Juan,” said Ibarra, “will you bring me the list of workmen?” Señor Juan disappeared, and Ibarra approached Elias, who +was lifting a great stone and loading it on a cart. + +</p> +<p>“If you can, señor,” said the helmsman, “give me an hour of conversation, there is something grave of which I want to talk +with you. Will you go on the lake early this evening in my boat?” + +</p> +<p>Ibarra gave a sign of assent and Elias moved away. Señor Juan brought the list, but Ibarra searched it in vain for the name +of the helmsman. + + + +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e4434" href="#xd0e4434">200</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div id="ch41" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">XLI.</h2> +<h2 class="normal">The Voice of the Persecuted.</h2> +<p>The sun was just setting when Ibarra stepped into the little boat on the lake shore. He appeared disturbed. + +</p> +<p>“Pardon me, señor,” said Elias, “for having asked this favor; I wished to speak to you freely, with no possibility of listeners.” + +</p> +<p>“And what have you to say?” + +</p> +<p>They had already shot away from the bank. The sun had disappeared behind the crest of the mountains, and as twilight is of +short duration in this latitude, the night was descending rapidly, lighted by a brilliant moon. + +</p> +<p>“Señor,” replied Elias, “I am the spokesman of many unfortunates.” And briefly he told of his conversation with the chief +of the tulisanes, omitting the old man’s doubts and threats. + +</p> +<p>“And they wish?” asked Ibarra, when he had finished. + +</p> +<p>“Radical reforms in the guard, the clergy, and the administration of justice.” + +</p> +<p>“Elias,” said Ibarra, “I know little of you, but I believe you will understand me when I say that though I have friends at +Madrid whom I might influence, and though I might interest the captain-general in these people, neither they nor he could +bring about such a revolution. And more, I would not take a step in this direction, because I believe what you want reformed +is at present a necessary evil.” + +</p> +<p>“You also, señor, believe in necessary evil?” said Elias <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e4458" href="#xd0e4458">201</a>]</span>with a tremor in his voice. “You think one must go through evil to arrive at good?” + +</p> +<p>“No; but I look at evil as a violent remedy we sometimes use to cure ourselves of illness.” + +</p> +<p>“It is a bad medicine, señor, that does away with the symptoms without searching out the cause of the disease. The Municipal +Guard exists only to suppress crime by force and terrorizing.” + +</p> +<p>“The institution may be imperfect, but the terror it inspires keeps down the number of criminals.” + +</p> +<p>“Rather say that this terror creates new criminals every day,” said Elias. “There are those who have become tulisanes for +life. A first offence punished inhumanly, and the fear of further torture separates them forever from society and condemns +them to kill or to be killed. The terrorism of the Municipal Guard shuts the doors of repentance, and as a tulisan, defending +himself in the mountains, fights to much better advantage than the soldier he mocks, we cannot remedy the evil we have made. +Terrorism may serve when a people is enslaved, and the mountains have no caverns; but when a desperate man feels the strength +of his arm, and anger possesses him, terrorism cannot put out the fire for which it has itself heaped the fuel.” + +</p> +<p>“You would seem to speak reasonably, Elias, if one had not already his own convictions. But let me ask you, Who demand these +reforms? You know I except you, whom I cannot class with these others; but are they not all criminals, or men ready to become +so?” + +</p> +<p>“Go from pueblo to pueblo, señor, from house to house, and listen to the stifled groanings, and you will find that if you +think that, you are mistaken.” + +</p> +<p>“But the Government must have a body of unlimited power, to make itself respected and its authority felt.” + +</p> +<p>“It is true, señor, when the Government is at war with <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e4476" href="#xd0e4476">202</a>]</span>the country; but is it not unfortunate that in times of peace the people should be made to feel they are at strife with their +rulers? If, however, we prefer force to authority, we should at least be careful to whom we give unlimited power. Such a force +in the hands of men ignorant, passionate, without moral training or tried honor, is a weapon thrown to a madman in the middle +of an unarmed crowd. I grant the Government must have an arm, but let it choose this arm well; and since it prefers the power +it assumes to that the people might give it, let it at least show that it knows how to assume it!” + +</p> +<p>Elias spoke with passion; his eyes were brilliant, his voice was resonant. His words were followed by silence; the boat, no +longer driven forward by the oars, seemed motionless on the surface of the lake; the moon shone resplendent in the sapphire +sky; above the far banks the stars glittered. + +</p> +<p>“And what else do they ask?” + +</p> +<p>“Reform of the religious orders,—they demand better protection——” + +</p> +<p>“Against the religious orders?” + +</p> +<p>“Against their oppression, señor.” + +</p> +<p>“Do the Philippines forget the debt they owe those men who led them out of error into the true faith? It is a pity we are +not taught the history of our country!” + +</p> +<p>“We must not forget this debt, no! But were not our nationality and independence a dear price with which to cancel it? We +have also given the priests our best pueblos, our most fertile fields, and we still give them our savings, for the purchase +of all sorts of religious objects. I realize that a pure faith and a veritable love of humanity moved the first missionaries +who came to our shores. I acknowledge the debt we owe those noble men; I know that in those days Spain abounded in heroes, +of politics as well as religion. But because the ancestors were true men, <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e4492" href="#xd0e4492">203</a>]</span>must we consent to the excesses of their unworthy descendants? Because a great good has been done us, may we not protest against +being done a great wrong? The missionaries conquered the country, it is true; but do you think it is through the monks that +Spain will keep the Philippines?” + +</p> +<p>“Yes, and through them only. It is the opinion of all those who have written on the islands.” + +</p> +<p>“Señor,” said Elias in dejection, “I thank you for your patience. I will take you back to the shore.” + +</p> +<p>“No,” said Ibarra, “go on; we should know which is right in so important a question.” + +</p> +<p>“You will excuse me, señor,” said Elias, “I have not eloquence enough to convince you. If I have some education, I am an Indian, +and my words would always be suspected. Those who have expressed opinions contrary to mine are Spaniards, and as such disarm +in advance all contradiction. Besides, when I see that you, who love your country, you, whose father sleeps below this calm +water, you who have been attacked and wronged yourself, have these opinions, I commence to doubt my own convictions, I acknowledge +that the people may be mistaken. I must tell these unfortunates who have placed their confidence in men to put it in God or +in their own strength.” + +</p> +<p>“Elias, your words hurt me, and make me, too, have doubts. I have not grown up with the people, and cannot know their needs. +I only know what books have taught me. If I take your words with caution, it is because I fear you may be prejudiced by your +personal wrongs. If I could know something of your story, perhaps it would alter my judgment. I am mistrustful of theories, +am guided rather by facts.” + +</p> +<p>Elias thought a moment, then he said: + +</p> +<p>“If this is so, señor, I will briefly tell you my history.” + + + +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e4508" href="#xd0e4508">204</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div id="ch42" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">XLII.</h2> +<h2 class="normal">The Family of Elias.</h2> +<p>“It is about sixty years since my grandfather was employed as accountant by a Spanish merchant. Although still young, he was +married, and had a son. One night the warehouse took fire, and was burned with the surrounding property. The loss was great, +incendiarism was suspected, and my grandfather was accused. He had no money to pay for his defence, and he was convicted and +condemned to be publicly flogged in the streets of his pueblo. Attached to a horse, he was beaten as he passed each street +corner by men, his brothers. The curates, you know, advocate nothing but blows for the discipline of the Indian. When the +unhappy man, marked forever with infamy, was liberated, his poor young wife went about seeking work to keep alive her disabled +husband and their little child. Failing in this, she was forced to see them suffer, or to live herself a life of shame.” + +</p> +<p>Ibarra rose to his feet. + +</p> +<p>“Oh, don’t be disturbed! There was no longer honor or dishonor for her or hers. When the husband’s wounds were healed, they +went to hide themselves in the mountains, where they lived for a time, shunned and feared. But my grandfather, less courageous +than his wife, could not endure this existence and hung himself. When his body was found, by chance, my grandmother was accused +for not reporting his death, and was in turn condemned to be flogged; but in consideration of her state her punishment was +deferred. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e4520" href="#xd0e4520">205</a>]</span>She gave birth to another son, unhappily sound and strong; two months later her sentence was carried out. Then she took her +two children and fled into a neighboring province. + +</p> +<p><span class="corr" id="xd0e4523" title="Not in source">“</span>The elder of the sons remembered that he had once been happy. As soon as he was old enough he became a tulisan to avenge his +wrongs, and the name of Bâlat spread terror in many provinces. The younger son, endowed by nature with a gentle disposition, +stayed with his mother, both living on the fruits of the forest and dressing in the cast-off rags of those charitable enough +to give. At length the famous Bâlat fell into the hands of justice, and paid a dreadful penalty for his crimes, to that society +which had never done anything to teach him better than to commit them. One morning the young brother, who had been in the +forest gathering fruits, came back to find the dead body of his mother in front of their cabin, the horror-stricken eyes staring +upward; and following them with his own, the unhappy boy saw suspended from a limb the bloody head of his brother.<span class="corr" id="xd0e4526" title="Not in source">”</span> + +</p> +<p>“My God!” cried Ibarra. + +</p> +<p>“It is perhaps the cry that escaped the lips of my father,” said Elias coldly. “Like a condemned criminal, he fled across +mountains and valleys. When he thought himself far enough away to have lost his identity, he found work with a rich man of +the province of Tayabas. His industry and the sweetness of his disposition gained him favor. Here he stayed, economized, got +a little capital, and as he was yet young, thought to be happy. He won the love of a girl of the pueblo, but delayed asking +for her hand, fearing that his past might be uncovered. At length, when love’s indiscretion bore fruit, to save her reputation +he was obliged to risk everything. He asked to marry her, his papers were demanded, and the truth was learned. As <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e4533" href="#xd0e4533">206</a>]</span>the father was rich, he instituted a prosecution. The unhappy young man made no defence, and was sent to the garrison. + +</p> +<p><span class="corr" id="xd0e4536" title="Not in source">“</span>Our mother bore twins, my sister and me. She died while we were yet young, and we were told that our father was dead also. +As our grandfather was rich, we had a happy childhood; we were always together, and loved each other as only twins can. I +was sent very early to the college of the Jesuits, and my sister to La Concordia, that we might not be completely separated. +In time we returned to take possession of our grandfather’s property. We had many servants and rich fields. We were both happy, +and my sister was affianced to a man she adored. + +</p> +<p><span class="corr" id="xd0e4540" title="Not in source">“</span>By my haughtiness, perhaps, and for pecuniary reasons, I had won the dislike of a distant relative. He threw in my face the +obscurity of our origin and the dishonor of our race. Believing it calumny, I demanded satisfaction; the tomb where so many +miseries sleep was opened, and the truth came forth to confound me. To crown all, there had been with us many years an old +servant, who had suffered all my caprices without complaint. I do not know how our relative found it out, but he brought the +old man before the court and made him declare the truth: he was our father. Our happiness was ended. I gave up my inheritance, +my sister lost her fiancé, and with our father we left the pueblo, to live where he might. The thought of the unhappiness +he had brought upon us shortened our father’s days, and my sister and I were left alone. She could not forget her lover, and +little by little I saw her droop. One day she disappeared, and I searched everywhere for her in vain. Six months afterward, +I learned that at the time I lost her there had been found on the lake shore of Calamba the body of a young woman drowned +or assassinated. A knife, they said, was buried in her breast. From what they told <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e4543" href="#xd0e4543">207</a>]</span>me of her dress and her beauty, I recognized my sister. Since then I have wandered from province to province, my reputation +and my story following in time. Many things are attributed to me, often unjustly, but I continue my way and take little account +of men. You have my story, and that of one of the judgments of our brothers!” + +</p> +<p>Elias rowed on in a silence which was for some time unbroken. + +</p> +<p>“I believe you are not wrong when you say that justice should interest herself in the education of criminals,” said Crisóstomo +at length; “but it is impossible, it is Utopia; where get the money necessary to create so many new offices?” + +</p> +<p>“Why not use the priests, who vaunt their mission of peace and love? Can it be more meritorious to sprinkle a child’s head +with water than to wake, in the darkened conscience of a criminal, that spark lighted by God in every soul to guide it in +the search for truth? Can it be more humane to accompany a condemned man to the gallows than to help him in the hard path +that leads from vice to virtue? And the spies, the executioners, the guards, do not they too cost money?” + +</p> +<p>“My friend, if I believed all this, what could I do?” + +</p> +<p>“Alone, nothing; but if the people sustained you?” + +</p> +<p>“I shall never be the one to lead the people when they try to obtain by force what the Government does not think it time to +give them. If I should see the people armed, I should range myself on the side of the Government. I do not recognize my country +in a mob. I desire her good; that is why I build a school. I seek this good through instruction; without light there is no +route.” + +</p> +<p>“Without struggle, no liberty; without liberty, no light. You say you know your country little. I believe you. You do not +see the conflict coming, the cloud on the horizon: <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e4559" href="#xd0e4559">208</a>]</span>the struggle begun in the sphere of the mind is going to descend to the arena of blood. Listen to the voice of God; woe to +those who resist it! History shall not be theirs!” + +</p> +<p>Elias was transfigured. He stood uncovered, his manly face illumined by the white light of the moon. He shook his mane of +hair and continued: + +</p> +<p>“Do you not see how everything is waking? The sleep has lasted centuries, but some day the lightning will strike, and the +bolt, instead of bringing ruin, will bring life. Do you not see minds in travail with new tendencies, and know that these +tendencies, diverse now, will some day be guided by God into one way? God has not failed other peoples; He will not fail us!” + +</p> +<p>The words were followed by solemn silence. The boat, drawn on by the waves, was nearing the bank. Elias was the first to speak. + +</p> +<p>“What shall I say to those who sent me?” + +</p> +<p>“That they must wait. I pity their situation, but progress is slow, and there is always much of our own fault in our misfortunes.” + +</p> +<p>Elias said no more. He lowered his eyes and continued to row. When the boat touched the shore, he took leave of Ibarra. + +</p> +<p>“I thank you, señor,” he said, “for your kindness to me, and, in your own interest, I ask you to forget me from this day.” + +</p> +<p>When Ibarra was gone, Elias guided his boat toward a clump of reeds along the shore. His attention seemed absorbed in the +thousands of diamonds that rose with the oar, and fell back and disappeared in the mystery of the gentle azure waves. When +he touched land, a man came out from among the reeds. + +</p> +<p>“What shall I say to the captain?” he asked. +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e4579" href="#xd0e4579">209</a>]</span></p> +<p>“Tell him Elias, if he lives, will keep his word,” replied the helmsman sadly. + +</p> +<p>“And when will you join us?” + +</p> +<p>“When your captain thinks the hour has come.” + +</p> +<p>“That is well; adieu!” + +</p> +<p>“If I live!” repeated Elias, under his breath. + + + +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e4590" href="#xd0e4590">210</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div id="ch43" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">XLIII.</h2> +<h2 lang="it" class="normal">Il Buon Di si Conosce da Mattina.</h2> +<p>While Ibarra and Elias were on the lake, old Tasio, ill in his solitary little house, and Don Filipo, who had come to see +him, were also talking of the country. For several days the old philosopher, or fool—as you find him—prostrated by a rapidly +increasing feebleness, had not left his bed. + +</p> +<p>“The country,” he was saying to Don Filipo, “isn’t what it was twenty years ago.” + +</p> +<p>“Do you think so?” + +</p> +<p>“Don’t you see it?” asked the old man, sitting up. “Ah! you did not know the past. Hear the students of to-day talking. New +names are spoken under the arches that once heard only those of Saint Thomas, Suarez, Amat, and the other idols of my day. +In vain the monks cry from the chair against the demoralization of the times; in vain the convents extend their ramifications +to strangle the new ideas. The roots of a tree may influence the parasites growing on it, but they are powerless against the +bird, which, from the branches, mounts triumphant toward the sky!” + +</p> +<p>The old man spoke with animation, and his eye shone. + +</p> +<p>“And yet the new germ is very feeble,” said the lieutenant. “If they all set about it, the progress already so dearly paid +for may yet be choked.” + +</p> +<p>“Choke it? Who? The weak dwarf, man, to choke progress, the powerful child of time and energy? When <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e4610" href="#xd0e4610">211</a>]</span>has he done that? He has tried dogma, the scaffold, and the stake, but <i lang="it">E pur si muove</i> is the device of progress. Wills are thwarted, individuals sacrificed. What does that mean to progress? She goes her way, +and the blood of those who fall enriches the soil whence spring her new shoots. The Dominicans themselves do not escape this +law, and they are beginning to imitate the Jesuits, their irreconcilable enemies.” + +</p> +<p>“Do you hold that the Jesuits move with progress?” asked the astonished Don Filipo. “Then why are they so attacked in Europe?” + +</p> +<p>“I reply as did once an ecclesiastic of old,” said the philosopher, laying his head back on the pillow and putting on his +mocking air, “that there are three ways of moving with progress: ahead, beside, behind; the first guide, the second follow, +the third are dragged. The Jesuits are of these last. At present, in the Philippines, we are about three centuries behind +the van of the general movement. The Jesuits, who in Europe are the reaction, viewed from here represent progress. For instance, +the Philippines owe to them the introduction of the natural sciences, the soul of the nineteenth century. As for ourselves, +at this moment we are entering a period of strife: strife between the past which grapples to itself the tumbling feudal castle, +and the future whose song may be heard afar off, bringing us from distant lands the tidings of good news.” + +</p> +<p>The old man stopped, but seeing the expression of Don Filipo he smiled and went on. + +</p> +<p>“I can almost divine what you are thinking.” + +</p> +<p>“Can you?” + +</p> +<p>“You are thinking that I may easily be wrong; to-day I have the fever, and I am never infallible. But it is permitted us to +dream. Why not make the dreams agreeable in the last hours of life? You are right: I do dream! Our <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e4627" href="#xd0e4627">212</a>]</span>young men think of nothing but loves and pleasures; our men of riper years have no activity but in vice, serve only to corrupt +youth with their example; youth spends its best years without ideal, and childhood wakes to life in rust and darkness. It +is well to die. Claudite jam rivos, pueri.” + +</p> +<p>“Is it time for your medicine?” asked Don Filipo, seeing the cloud on the old man’s face. + +</p> +<p>“The parting have no need of medicine, but those who stay. In a few days I shall be gone. The Philippines are in the shadows.” + + + +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e4633" href="#xd0e4633">213</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div id="ch44" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">XLIV.</h2> +<h2 class="normal">La Gallera.</h2> +<p>To keep holy the afternoon of Sunday in Spain, one goes ordinarily to the plaza de toros; in the Philippines, to the gallera. +Cock-fights, introduced in the country about a century ago, are to-day one of the vices of the people. The Chinese can more +easily deprive themselves of opium than the Filipinos of this bloody sport. + +</p> +<p>The poor, wishing to get money without work, risks here the little he has; the rich seeks a distraction at the price of whatever +loose coin feasts and masses leave him. The education of their cocks costs both much pains, often more than that of their +sons. + +</p> +<p>Since the Government permits and almost recommends it, let us take our part in the sport, sure of meeting friends. + +</p> +<p>The gallera of San Diego, like most others, is divided into three courts. In the entry is taken the sa pintû, that is, the +price of admission. Of this price the Government has a share, and its revenues from this source are some hundred thousand +pesos a year. It is said this license fee of vice serves to build schools, open roads, span rivers, and establish prizes for +the encouragement of industry. Blessed be vice when it produces so happy results! In this entry are found girls selling buyo, +cigars, and cakes. Here gather numerous children, brought by their fathers or uncles, whose duty it is to initiate them into +the ways of life. +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e4647" href="#xd0e4647">214</a>]</span></p> +<p>In the second court are most of the cocks. Here the contracts are made, amid recriminations, oaths, and peals of laughter. +One caresses his cock, while another counts the scales on the feet of his, and extends the wings. See this fellow, rage in +his face and heart, carrying by the legs his cock, deplumed and dead. The animal which for months has been tended night and +day, on which such brilliant hopes were built, will bring a peseta and make a stew. Sic transit gloria mundi! The ruined man +goes home to his anxious wife and ragged children. He has lost at once his cock and the price of his industry. Here the least +intelligent discuss the sport; those least given to thought extend the wings of cocks, feel their muscles, weigh, and ponder. +Some are dressed in elegance, followed and surrounded by the partisans of their cocks; others, ragged and dirty, the stigma +of vice on their blighted faces, follow anxiously the movements of the rich; the purse may get empty, the passion remains. +Here not a face that is not animated; in this the Filipino is not indolent, nor apathetic, nor silent; all is movement, passion. +One would say they were all devoured by a thirst always more and more excited by muddy water. + +</p> +<p>From this court one passes to the pit, a circle with seats terraced to the roof, filled during the combats with a mass of +men and children; scarcely ever does a woman risk herself so far. Here it is that destiny distributes smiles and tears, hunger +and joyous feasts. + +</p> +<p>Entering, we recognize at once the gobernadorcillo, Captain Basilio, and José, the man with the scar, so cast down by the +death of his brother. And here comes Captain Tiago, dressed like the sporting man, in a canton flannel shirt, woollen trousers, +and a jipijapa hat. He is followed by two servants with his cocks. A combat is soon arranged between one of these and a famous +cock of Captain Basilio’s. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e4654" href="#xd0e4654">215</a>]</span>The news spreads, and a crowd gathers round, examining, considering, forecasting, betting. + +</p> +<p>While men were searching their pockets for their last cuarto, or in lieu of it were engaging their word, promising to sell +the carabao, the next crop, and so forth, two young fellows, brothers apparently, looked on with envious eyes. José watched +them by stealth, smiling evilly. Then making the pesos sound in his pocket, he passed the brothers, looking the other way +and crying: + +</p> +<p>“I pay fifty; fifty against twenty for the lásak!” + +</p> +<p>The brothers looked at each other discontentedly. + +</p> +<p>“I told you not to risk all the money,” said the elder. “If you had listened to me——” + +</p> +<p>The younger approached José and timidly touched his arm. + +</p> +<p>“What! It’s you?” he cried, turning and feigning surprise. “Does your brother accept my proposition?” + +</p> +<p>“He won’t do it. But if you would lend us something, as you say you know us——” + +</p> +<p>José shook his head, shifted his position, and replied: + +</p> +<p>“Yes, I know you; you are Társilo and Bruno; and I know that your valiant father died from the club strokes of these soldiers. +I know you don’t think of vengeance——” + +</p> +<p>“Don’t concern yourself with our history,” said the elder brother, joining them; “that brings misfortune. If we hadn’t a sister, +we should have been hanged long ago!” + +</p> +<p>“Hanged! Only cowards are hanged. Besides, the mountain isn’t so far.” + +</p> +<p>“A hundred against fifty for the bûlik!” cried some one passing. + +</p> +<p>“Loan us four pesos—three—two,” begged Bruno. José again shook his head. + +</p> +<p>“Sh! the money isn’t mine. Don Crisóstomo gave it to me for those who are willing to serve him. But I see you <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e4684" href="#xd0e4684">216</a>]</span>are not like your father; he was courageous. The man who is not must not expect to divert himself.” And he moved away. + +</p> +<p>“See!” said Bruno, “he’s talking with Pedro; he’s giving him a lot of money!” And in truth José was counting silver pieces +into the palm of Sisa’s husband. + +</p> +<p>Társilo was moody and thoughtful; with his shirt sleeve he wiped the sweat from his forehead. + +</p> +<p>“Brother,” said Bruno, “I’m going, if you don’t; our father must be avenged!” + +</p> +<p>“Wait,” said Társilo, gazing into his eyes—they were both pale—“I’m going with you. You are right: our father must be avenged!” +But he did not move, and again wiped his brow. + +</p> +<p>“What are you waiting for?” demanded Bruno impatiently. + +</p> +<p>“Don’t you think—our poor sister——” + +</p> +<p>“Bah! Isn’t Don Crisóstomo the chief, and haven’t we seen him with the governor-general? What risk do we run?” + +</p> +<p>“And if we die?” + +</p> +<p>“Did not our poor father die under their clubs?” + +</p> +<p>“You are right!” + +</p> +<p>The brothers set out to find José, but hesitation again possessed Társilo. + +</p> +<p>“No; come away! we’re going to ruin ourselves!” he cried. + +</p> +<p>“Go on if you want to. I shall accept!” + +</p> +<p>“Bruno!” + +</p> +<p>Unhappily a man came up and asked: + +</p> +<p>“Are you betting? I’m for the lásak.” + +</p> +<p>“How much?” demanded Bruno. + +</p> +<p>The man counted his pieces. + +</p> +<p>“I have two hundred; fifty against forty!” + +</p> +<p>“No!” said Bruno resolutely. +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e4726" href="#xd0e4726">217</a>]</span></p> +<p>“Good! Fifty against thirty!” + +</p> +<p>“Double it if you will.” + +</p> +<p>“A hundred against sixty, then!” + +</p> +<p>“Agreed! Wait while I go for the money,” and turning to his brother he said: + +</p> +<p>“Go away if you want to; I shall stay!” + +</p> +<p>Társilo reflected. He loved Bruno, and he loved sport. + +</p> +<p>“I am with you,” he said. They found José. + +</p> +<p>“Uncle,” said Társilo, “how much will you give?” “I’ve told you already; if you will promise to find others to help surprise +the quarters, I’ll give you thirty pesos each, and ten to each companion. If all goes well, they will each receive a hundred, +and you double. Don Crisóstomo is rich!” + +</p> +<p>“Agreed!” cried Bruno; “give us the money!” + +</p> +<p>“I knew you were like your father! Come this way, so that those who killed him cannot hear us,” said José. And drawing them +into a corner, he added as he counted out the money: + +</p> +<p>“Don Crisóstomo has come and brought the arms. To-morrow night at eight o’clock meet me in the cemetery. I will give you the +final word. Go find your companions.” And he left them. + +</p> +<p>The brothers appeared to have exchanged rôles. Társilo now seemed undisturbed; Bruno was pale. They went back to the crowd, +which was leaving the circle for the raised seats. Little by little the place became silent. Only the soltadores were left +in the ring holding two cocks, with exaggerated care, looking out for wounds. The silence became solemn; the spectators became +mere caricatures of men; the fight was about to begin. + + + +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e4751" href="#xd0e4751">218</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div id="ch45" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">XLV.</h2> +<h2 class="normal">A Call.</h2> +<p>Two days later Brother Salvi presented himself at the house of Captain Tiago. The Franciscan was more gaunt and pale than +usual; but as he went up the steps a strange light shone in his eyes, and his lips parted in a strange smile. Captain Tiago +kissed his hand, and took his hat and cane, smiling beatifically. + +</p> +<p>“I bring good news,” said the curate as he entered the drawing-room; “good news for everybody. I have letters from Manila +confirming the one Señor Ibarra brought me, so that I believe, Don Santiago, the obstacle is quite removed.” + +</p> +<p>Maria Clara, seated at the piano, made a movement to rise, but her strength failed her and she had to sit down again. Linares +grew pale; Captain Tiago lowered his eyes. + +</p> +<p>“The young man seems to me very sympathetic,” said the curate. “At first I misjudged him. He is impulsive, but when he commits +a fault, he knows so well how to atone for it that one is forced to forgive him. If it were not for Father Dámaso——” And the +curate flashed a glance at Maria Clara. She was listening with all her being, but did not take her eyes off her music, in +spite of the pinches that were expressing Sinang’s joy. Had they been alone they would have danced. + +</p> +<p>“But Father Dámaso has said,” continued the curate, without losing sight of Maria Clara, “that as godfather he could <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e4767" href="#xd0e4767">219</a>]</span>not permit; but, indeed, I believe if Señor Ibarra will ask his pardon everything will arrange itself.” + +</p> +<p>Maria rose, made an excuse, and with Victorina left the room. + +</p> +<p>“And if Father Dámaso does not pardon him?” asked Don Santiago in a low voice. + +</p> +<p>“Then Maria Clara must decide. But I believe the matter can be arranged.” + +</p> +<p>The sound of an arrival was heard, and Ibarra entered. His coming made a strange impression. Captain Tiago did not know whether +to smile or weep. Father Salvi rose and offered his hand so affectionately that Crisóstomo could scarcely repress a look of +surprise. + +</p> +<p>“Where have you been all day?” demanded wicked Sinang. “We asked each other: ‘What can have taken that soul newly rescued +from perdition?’ and each of us had her opinion.” + +</p> +<p>“And am I to know what each opinion was?” + +</p> +<p>“No, not yet! Tell me where you went, so I can see who made the best guess.” + +</p> +<p>“That’s a secret too; but I can tell you by yourself if these gentlemen will permit.” + +</p> +<p>“Certainly, certainly?” said Father Salvi. Sinang drew Crisóstomo to the other end of the great room. + +</p> +<p>“Tell me, little friend,” said he, “is Maria angry with me?” + +</p> +<p>“I don’t know. She says you had best forget her, and then she cries. This morning when we were wondering where you were I +said to tease her: ‘Perhaps he has gone a-courting.’ But she was quite grave, and said: ‘It is God’s will!’” + +</p> +<p>“Tell Maria I must see her alone,” said Ibarra, troubled. + +</p> +<p>“It will be difficult, but I’ll try to manage it.” +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e4795" href="#xd0e4795">220</a>]</span></p> +<p>“And when shall I know?” + +</p> +<p>“To-morrow. But you are going without telling me the secret!” + +</p> +<p>“So I am. Well, I went to the pueblo of Los Baños to see about some cocoanut trees!” + +</p> +<p>“What a secret!” cried Sinang aloud in a tone of a usurer despoiled. + +</p> +<p>“Take care, I really don’t want you to speak of it.” + +</p> +<p>“I’ve no desire to,” said Sinang scornfully. “If it had been really of importance I should have told my friends; but cocoanuts, +cocoanuts, who cares about cocoanuts!” and she ran off to find Maria. + +</p> +<p>Conversation languished, and Ibarra soon took his leave. Captain Tiago was torn between the bitter and the sweet. Linares +said nothing. Only the curate affected gayety and recounted tales. + + + +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e4810" href="#xd0e4810">221</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div id="ch46" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">XLVI.</h2> +<h2 class="normal">A Conspiracy.</h2> +<p>The bell was announcing the time of prayer the evening after. At its sound every one stopped his work and uncovered. The laborer +coming from the fields checked his song; the woman in the streets crossed herself; the man caressed his cock and said the +Angelus, that chance might favor him. And yet the curate, to the great scandal of pious old ladies, was running through the +street toward the house of the alférez. He dashed up the steps and knocked impatiently. The alférez opened. + +</p> +<p>“Ah, father, I was just going to see you; your young buck——” + +</p> +<p>“I’ve something very important——” began the breathless curate. + +</p> +<p>“I can’t allow the fences to be broken; if he comes back, I shall fire on him.” + +</p> +<p>“Who knows whether to-morrow you will be alive,” said the curate, going on toward the reception-room. + +</p> +<p>“What? You think that youngster is going to kill me?” + +</p> +<p>“Señor alférez, the lives of all of us are in danger!” + +</p> +<p>“What?” + +</p> +<p>The curate pointed to the door, which the alférez closed in his customary fashion. + +</p> +<p>“Now, go ahead,” he said calmly. + +</p> +<p>“Did you see how I ran? When I thus forget myself, there is some grave reason.” + +</p> +<p>“And this time it is——” +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e4840" href="#xd0e4840">222</a>]</span></p> +<p>The curate approached him and spoke low. + +</p> +<p>“Do you—know—of nothing—new?” + +</p> +<p>The alférez shrugged his shoulders. + +</p> +<p>“Are you speaking of Elias?” + +</p> +<p>“No, no! I’m speaking of a great peril!” + +</p> +<p>“Well, finish then!” cried the exasperated alférez. + +</p> +<p>The curate lowered his voice mysteriously: + +</p> +<p>“I have discovered a conspiracy!” + +</p> +<p>The alférez gave a spring and looked at the curate in stupefaction. + +</p> +<p>“A terrible conspiracy, well organized, that is to break out to-night!” + +</p> +<p>The alférez rushed across the room, took down his sabre from the wall, and grasped his revolver. + +</p> +<p>“Whom shall I arrest?” he cried. + +</p> +<p>“Be calm! There is plenty of time, thanks to the haste with which I came. At eight o’clock——” + +</p> +<p>“They shall be shot, all of them!” + +</p> +<p>“Listen! It is a secret of the confessional, discovered to me by a woman. At eight o’clock they are to surprise the barracks, +sack the convent, and assassinate all the Spaniards.” + +</p> +<p>The alférez stood dumbfounded. + +</p> +<p>“Be ready for them; ambush your soldiers; send me four guards for the convent! You will earn your promotion to-night! I only +ask you to make it known that it was I who warned you.” + +</p> +<p>“It shall be known, father; it shall be known, and, perhaps, it will bring down a mitre!” replied the alférez, his eyes on +the sleeves of his uniform. + +</p> +<p>While this conversation was in progress, Elias was running toward the house of Ibarra. He entered and was shown to the laboratory, +where Crisóstomo was passing the time until the hour of his appointment with Maria Clara. +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e4879" href="#xd0e4879">223</a>]</span></p> +<p>“Ah! It is you, Elias?” he said, without noticing the tremor of the helmsman. “See here! I’ve just made a discovery: this +piece of bamboo is non-combustible.” + +</p> +<p>“Señor, there is no time to talk of that; take your papers and flee!” + +</p> +<p>Ibarra looked up amazed, and, seeing the gravity of the helmsman’s face, let fall the piece of bamboo. + +</p> +<p>“Leave nothing behind that could compromise you, and may an hour from this time find you in a safer place than this!” + +</p> +<p>“What does all this mean?” + +</p> +<p>“That there is a conspiracy on foot which will be attributed to you. I have this moment been talking with a man hired to take +part in it.” + +</p> +<p>“Did he tell you who paid him?” + +</p> +<p>“He said it was you.” + +</p> +<p>Ibarra stared in stupid amazement. + +</p> +<p>“Señor, you <span class="corr" id="xd0e4900" title="Source: havn’t">haven’t</span> a moment to lose. The plot is to be carried out to-night.” + +</p> +<p>Crisóstomo still gazed at Elias, as if he did not understand. + +</p> +<p>“I learned of it too late; I don’t know the leaders; I can do nothing. Save yourself, señor!” + +</p> +<p>“Where can I go? I am due now at Captain Tiago’s,” said Ibarra, beginning to come out of his trance. + +</p> +<p>“To another pueblo, to Manila, anywhere! Destroy your papers! Fly, and await events!” + +</p> +<p>“And Maria Clara? No! Better die!” + +</p> +<p>Elias wrung his hands. + +</p> +<p>“Prepare for the accusation, at all events. Destroy your papers!” + +</p> +<p>“Aid me then,” said Crisóstomo, in almost helpless bewilderment. “They are in these cabinets. My father’s letters might compromise +me. You will know them by the <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e4919" href="#xd0e4919">224</a>]</span>addresses.” And he tore open one drawer after another. Elias worked to better purpose, choosing here, rejecting there. Suddenly +he stopped, his pupils dilated; he turned a paper over and over in his hand, then in a trembling voice he asked: + +</p> +<p>“Your family knew Don Pedro Eibarramendia?” + +</p> +<p>“He was my great-grandfather.” + +</p> +<p>“Your great-grandfather?” repeated Elias, livid. + +</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Ibarra mechanically, and totally unobservant of Elias. “The name was too long; we cut it.” + +</p> +<p>“Was he a Basque?” asked Elias slowly. + +</p> +<p>“Yes; but what ails you?” said Crisóstomo, looking round and recoiling before the hard face and clenched fists of Elias. + +</p> +<p>“Do you know who Don Pedro Eibarramendia was? Don Pedro Eibarramendia was the wretch who caused all our misfortune! I have +long been searching for his descendants; God has delivered you into my hands! Look at me! Do you think I have suffered? And +you live, and you love, and have a fortune and a home; you live, you live!” and, beside himself, he ran toward a collection +of arms on the wall. But no sooner had he reached down two poniards than he dropped them, looking blindly at Ibarra, who stood +rigid. + +</p> +<p>“What was I going to do?” he said under his breath, and he fled like a madman. + + + +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e4937" href="#xd0e4937">225</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div id="ch47" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">XLVII.</h2> +<h2 class="normal">The Catastrophe.</h2> +<p>Captain Tiago, Aunt Isabel, and Linares were dining. Maria Clara had said she was not hungry, and was at the piano with Sinang. +The two girls had arranged this moment for meeting Ibarra away from too watchful eyes. The clock struck eight. + +</p> +<p>“He’s coming! Listen!” cried the laughing Sinang. + +</p> +<p>He entered, white and sad. Maria Clara, in alarm, started toward him, but before any one could speak a fusilade sounded in +the street; then random pistol shots, and cries and clamor. Crisóstomo seemed glued to the floor. The diners came running +in crying: “The tulisanes! The tulisanes!” Aunt Isabel fell on her knees half dead from fright, Captain Tiago was weeping. +Some one rushed about fastening the windows. The tumult continued outside; then little by little there fell a dreadful silence. +Presently the alférez was heard crying out as he ran through the street: + +</p> +<p>“Father Salvi! Father Salvi!” + +</p> +<p>“Mercy!” exclaimed Aunt Isabel. “The alférez is asking for confession!” + +</p> +<p>“The alférez is wounded!” murmured Linares, with an expression of the utmost relief. + +</p> +<p>“The tulisanes have killed the alférez! Maria, Sinang, into your chamber! Barricade the door!” + +</p> +<p>In spite of the protests of Aunt Isabel, Ibarra went out into the street. Everything seemed turning round and round him; his +ears rang; he could scarcely move his limbs. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e4959" href="#xd0e4959">226</a>]</span>Spots of blood, flashes of light and darkness alternated before his eyes. The streets were deserted, but the barracks were +in confusion, and voices came from the tribunal, that of the alférez dominating all the others. Ibarra passed unchallenged, +and reached his home, where his servants were anxiously watching for him. + +</p> +<p>“Saddle me the best horse and go to bed,” he said to them. + +</p> +<p>He entered his cabinet and began to pack a valise. He had put in his money and jewels and Maria’s picture and was gathering +up his papers when there came three resounding knocks at the house door. + +</p> +<p>“Open in the name of the King! Open or we force the door!” said an imperious voice. Ibarra armed himself and looked toward +the window; then changed his mind, threw down his revolver, and went to the door. Three guards immediately seized him. + +</p> +<p>“I make you prisoner in the name of the King!” said the sergeant. + +</p> +<p>“Why?” + +</p> +<p>“You will learn at the tribunal; I am forbidden to talk with you.” + +</p> +<p>“I am at your disposition. It will not be for, I suppose, long.” + +</p> +<p>“If you promise not to try to escape us, we may leave your hands free; the alférez grants you that favor.” + +</p> +<p>Crisóstomo took his hat and followed the guards, leaving his servants in consternation. + +</p> +<p>Elias, after leaving the house of Ibarra, ran like a madman, not knowing whither. He crossed the fields and reached the wood. +He was fleeing from men and their habitations; he was fleeing from light; the moon made him suffer. He buried himself in the +mysterious silence of the wood. The birds stirred, wakened from their sleep; owls <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e4981" href="#xd0e4981">227</a>]</span>flew from branch to branch, screeching or looking at him with great, round eyes. Elias did not see or hear them; he thought +he was followed by the irate shades of his ancestors. From every branch hung the bleeding head of Bâlat. At the foot of every +tree he stumbled against the cold body of his grandmother; among the shadows swung the skeleton of his infamous grandfather; +and the skeleton, the body, and the bleeding head cried out: “Coward! Coward!” + +</p> +<p>He ran on. He left the mountain and went down to the lake, moving feverishly along the shore; his wandering eyes became fixed +upon a point on the tranquil surface, and there, surrounded by a silver nimbus and rocked by the tide, stood a shade which +he seemed to recognize. Yes, that was her hair, so long and beautiful; yes, that was her breast, gaping from the poniard stroke. +And the wretched man, kneeling in the sand, stretched out his arms to the cherished vision: + +</p> +<p>“Thou! Thou, too!” he cried. + +</p> +<p>His eyes fixed on the apparition, he rose, entered the water and descended the gentle slope of the beach. Already he was far +from the bank; the waves lapped his waist; but he went on fascinated. The water reached his breast. Did he know it? Suddenly +a volley tore the air; the night was so calm that the rifle shots sounded clear and sharp. He stopped, listened, came to himself; +the shade vanished; the dream was gone. He perceived that he was in the lake, level with his eyes across the tranquil water +he saw the lights in the poor cabins of fishermen. Everything came back to him. He made for the shore and went rapidly toward +the pueblo. + +</p> +<p>San Diego was deserted; the houses were closed; even the dogs had hidden themselves. The glittering light that bathed everything +detached the shadows boldly, making the solitude still more dreary. +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e4991" href="#xd0e4991">228</a>]</span></p> +<p>Fearing to encounter the guards, Elias scaled fences and hedges, and so, making his way through the gardens, reached the home +of Ibarra. The servants were around the door lamenting the arrest of their master. Elias learned what had happened, and made +feint of going away, but returned to the back of the house, jumped the wall, climbed into a window and made his way to the +laboratory. He saw the papers, the arms taken down, the bags of money and jewels, Maria’s picture, and had a vision of Ibarra +surprised by the soldiers. He meditated a moment and decided to bury the things of value in the garden. He gathered them up, +went to the window, and saw gleaming in the moonlight the casques and bayonets of the guard. His plans were quickly laid. +He hid about his person the money and jewels, and, after an instant’s hesitation, the picture of Maria. Then, heaping all +the papers in the middle of the room, he saturated them with oil from a lamp, threw the lighted candle in the midst, and sprang +out of the window. It was none too soon: the guards were forcing entrance against the protests of the servants. + +</p> +<p>But dense smoke made its way through the house and tongues of flame began to break out. Soldiers and servants together cried +fire and rushed toward the cabinet, but the flames had reached the chemicals, and their explosion drove every one back. The +water the servants could bring was useless, and the house stood so apart that their cries brought no aid. The flames leaped +upward amid great spirals of smoke; the house, long respected by the elements, was now their prisoner. + + + +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e4996" href="#xd0e4996">229</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div id="ch48" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">XLVIII.</h2> +<h2 class="normal">Gossip.</h2> +<p>It was not yet dawn. The street in which were the barracks and tribunal was still deserted; none of its houses gave a sign +of life. Suddenly the shutter of a window opened with a bang and a child’s head appeared, looking in all directions, the little +neck stretched to its utmost—plas! It was the sound of a smart slap in contact with the fresh human skin. The child screwed +up his face, shut his eyes, and disappeared from the window, which was violently closed again. + +</p> +<p>But the example had been given: the two bangs of the shutter had been heard. Another window opened, this time with precaution, +and the wrinkled and toothless head of an old woman looked stealthily out. It was Sister Putá, the old dame who had caused +such a commotion during Father Dámaso’s sermon. Children and old women are the representatives of curiosity in the world; +the children want to know, the old women to live over again. The old sister stayed longer than the child, and gazed into the +distance with contracted brows. Timidly a skylight opened in the house opposite, giving passage to the head and shoulders +of sister Rufa. The two old women looked across at each other, smiled, exchanged gestures, and signed themselves. + +</p> +<p>“Since the sack of the pueblo by Bâlat I’ve not known such a night!” said Sister Putá. + +</p> +<p>“What a firing! They say it was the band of old Pablo.” + +</p> +<p>“Tulisanes? Impossible! I heard it was the cuadrilleros <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e5012" href="#xd0e5012">230</a>]</span>against the guards; that’s why Don Filipo was arrested.” + +</p> +<p>“They say at least fourteen are dead.” + +</p> +<p>Other windows opened and people were seen exchanging greetings and gossip. + +</p> +<p>By the light of the dawn, which promised a splendid day, soldiers could now be seen dimly at the end of the street, like gray +silhouettes coming and going. + +</p> +<p>“Do you know what it was?” asked a man, with a villainous face. + +</p> +<p>“Yes, the cuadrilleros.” + +</p> +<p>“No, señor, a revolt!” + +</p> +<p>“What revolt? The curate against the alférez?” + +</p> +<p>“Oh, no; nothing of that kind. It was an uprising of the Chinese.” + +</p> +<p>“The Chinese!” repeated all the listeners, with great disappointment. + +</p> +<p>“That’s why we don’t see one!” + +</p> +<p>“They are all dead!” + +</p> +<p>“I—I suspected they had something on foot!” + +</p> +<p>“I saw it, too. Last night——” + +</p> +<p>“What a pity they are all dead before Christmas!” cried Sister Rufa. “We shall not get their presents!” + +</p> +<p>The streets began to show signs of life. First the dogs, pigs, and chickens began to circulate; then some little ragged boys, +keeping hold of each other’s hands, ventured to approach the barracks. Two or three old women crept after them, their heads +wrapt in handkerchiefs knotted under their chins, pretending to tell their beads, so as not to be driven back by the soldiers. +When it was certain that one might come and go without risking a pistol shot, the men commenced to stroll out. Affecting indifference +and stroking their cocks, they finally got as far as the tribunal. + +</p> +<p>Every quarter hour a new version of the affair was circulated. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e5046" href="#xd0e5046">231</a>]</span>Ibarra with his servants had tried to carry off Maria Clara, and in defending her, <span class="corr" id="xd0e5048" title="Source: Capain">Captain</span> Tiago had been wounded. The number of dead was no longer fourteen, but thirty. At half-past seven the version which received +most credit was clear and detailed. + +</p> +<p>“I’ve just come from the tribunal,” said a passer, “where I saw Don Filipo and Don Crisóstomo prisoners. Well, Bruno, son +of the man who was beaten to death, has confessed everything. You know, Captain Tiago is to marry his daughter to the young +Spaniard. Don Crisóstomo wanted revenge, and planned to massacre all the Spaniards. His band attacked the convent and the +barracks. They say many of them escaped. The guards burned Don Crisóstomo’s house, and if he hadn’t been arrested, they would +have burned him, too.” + +</p> +<p>“They burned the house?” + +</p> +<p>“You can still see the smoke from here,” said the narrator. + +</p> +<p>Everybody looked: a column of smoke was rising against the sky. Then the comments began, some pitying, some accusing. + +</p> +<p>“Poor young man!” cried the husband of Sister Putá. + +</p> +<p>“What!” cried the sister. “You are ready to defend a man that heaven has so plainly punished? You’ll find yourself arrested +too. You uphold a falling house!” + +</p> +<p>The husband was silent; the argument had told. + +</p> +<p>“Yes,” went on the old woman. “After striking down Father Dámaso, there was nothing left but to kill Father Salvi!” + +</p> +<p>“But you can’t deny he was a good child.” + +</p> +<p>“Yes, he was good,” replied the old woman; “but he went to Europe, and those who go to Europe come back heretics, the curates +say.” + +</p> +<p>“Oho!” said the husband, taking his advantage. “And <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e5073" href="#xd0e5073">232</a>]</span>the curate, and all the curates, and the archbishop, and the pope, aren’t they all Spaniards? What? And are they heretics?” + +</p> +<p>Happily for Sister Putá, the conversation was cut short. A servant came running, pale and horror-stricken. + +</p> +<p>“A man hung—in our neighbor’s garden!” she gasped. + +</p> +<p>A man hung! Nobody stirred. + +</p> +<p>“Let’s come and see,” said the old man, rising. + +</p> +<p>“Don’t go near him,” cried Sister Putá, “’twill bring us misfortune. If he’s hung, so much the worse for him!” + +</p> +<p>“Let me see him, woman. You, Juan, go and inform them at the tribunal; he may not be dead.” And the old man went off, the +women, even Sister Putá, following at a distance, full of fear, but also of curiosity. + +</p> +<p>Hanging from the branch of a sandal tree in the garden a human body met their gaze. The brave man examined it. + +</p> +<p>“We must wait for the authorities; he’s been dead a long time,” he said. + +</p> +<p>Little by little the women drew near. + +</p> +<p>“It’s the new neighbor,” they whispered. “See the scar on his face?” + +</p> +<p>In half an hour the authorities arrived. + +</p> +<p>“People are in a great hurry to die!” said the directorcillo, cocking his pen behind his ear, and he began his investigation. + +</p> +<p>Meanwhile a peasant wearing a great salakat on his head and having his neck muffled was examining the body and the cord. He +noticed several evidences that the man was dead before he was hung. The curious countryman noticed also that the clothing +seemed recently torn and was covered with dust. + +</p> +<p>“What are you looking at?” demanded the directorcillo, who had gathered all his evidence. + +</p> +<p>“I was looking, señor, to see if I knew him,” stammered <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e5105" href="#xd0e5105">233</a>]</span>the man, half uncovering, in which he managed to lower his salakat even farther over his eyes. + +</p> +<p>“But didn’t you hear that it is a certain José? You must be asleep!” + +</p> +<p>Everybody laughed. The confused countryman stammered something else and went away. When he had reached a safe distance, he +took off his disguise and resumed the stature and gait of Elias. + + + +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e5111" href="#xd0e5111">234</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div id="ch49" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">XLIX.</h2> +<h2 class="normal">Væ Victis.</h2> +<p>With threatening air the guards marched back and forth before the door of the town hall, menacing with the butt of their rifles +intrepid small boys, who came and raised themselves on tiptoe to see through the gratings. + +</p> +<p>The court room had not the same appearance as the day of the discussion of the fête. The guards and the cuadrilleros spoke +low; the alférez paced the room, looking angrily at the door from time to time. In a corner yawned Doña Consolacion, her steely +eyes riveted on the door leading into the prison. The arm-chair under the picture of His Majesty was empty. + +</p> +<p>It was almost nine o’clock when the curate arrived. + +</p> +<p>“Well,” said the alférez, “you haven’t kept us waiting!” + +</p> +<p>“I did not wish to be here,” said the curate, ignoring the tone of the alférez. “I am very nervous.” + +</p> +<p>“I thought it best to wait for you,” said the alférez. “We have eight here,” he went on, pointing toward the door of the prison; +“the one called Bruno died in the night. Are you ready to examine the two unknown prisoners?” + +</p> +<p>The curate sat down in the arm-chair. + +</p> +<p>“Let us go on,” he said. + +</p> +<p>“Bring out the two in the cepo!” ordered the alférez in as terrible a voice as he could command. Then turning to the curate: + +</p> +<p>“We skipped two holes.” + +</p> +<p>For the benefit of those not acquainted with the instruments <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e5139" href="#xd0e5139">235</a>]</span>of torture of the Philippines, we will say that the cepo, a form of stocks, is one of the most innocent; but by skipping enough +holes, the position is made most trying. It is, however, a torture that can be long endured. + +</p> +<p>The jailor drew the bolt and opened the door. A sickening odor escaped, and a match lighted by one of the guards went out +in the vitiated air; when it was possible to take in a candle, one could see dimly, from the rooms outside, the forms of men +crouching or standing. The cepo was opened. + +</p> +<p>A dark figure came out between two soldiers; it was Társilo, the brother of Bruno. His torn clothing let his splendid muscles +show. The other prisoner brought out was weeping and lamenting. + +</p> +<p>“What is your name?” the alférez demanded of Társilo. + +</p> +<p>“Társilo Alasigan.” + +</p> +<p>“What did Don Crisóstomo promise you for attacking the convent?” + +</p> +<p>“I have never had any communication with Don Crisóstomo.” + +</p> +<p>“Don’t attempt to deny it: what other reason had you for joining the conspiracy?” + +</p> +<p>“You had killed our father, we wished to avenge him, nothing more. Go find two of your guards. They’re at the foot of the +precipice, where we threw them. You may kill me now, you will learn nothing more.” + +</p> +<p>There was silence and general surprise. + +</p> +<p>“You will name your accomplices,” cried the alférez, brandishing his cane. + +</p> +<p>The accused man smiled disdainfully. The alférez talked apart with the curate. + +</p> +<p>“Take him where the bodies are,” he ordered. + +</p> +<p>In a corner of the patio, on an old cart, five bodies were heaped under a piece of soiled matting. +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e5167" href="#xd0e5167">236</a>]</span></p> +<p>“Do you know them?” asked the alférez, lifting the covering. Társilo did not reply. He saw the body of Sisa’s husband, and +that of his brother, pierced through with bayonet strokes. His face grew darker, and a great sigh escaped him; but he was +mute. + +</p> +<p>“Beat him till he confesses or dies!” cried the exasperated alférez. + +</p> +<p>They led him back where the other prisoner, with chattering teeth, was invoking the saints. + +</p> +<p>“Do you know this man?” demanded Father Salvi. + +</p> +<p>“I never saw him before,” replied Társilo, looking at the poor wretch with faint compassion. + +</p> +<p>“Fasten him to the bench; gag him!” ordered the alférez, trembling with rage. When this was done, a guard began his sad task. + +</p> +<p>Father Salvi, pale and haggard, rose trembling, and left the tribunal. In the street he saw a girl, leaning against the wall, +rigid, motionless, her eyes far away. The sun shone full down on her. She seemed not to breathe but to count, one after another, +the muffled blows inside. It was Társilo’s sister. + +</p> +<p>The torture continued until the soldier, breathless, let his arm fall, and the alférez ordered his victim released. But Társilo +still refused to speak. Then Doña Consolacion whispered in her husband’s ear; he nodded. + +</p> +<p>“To the well with him!” he said. + +</p> +<p>The Filipinos know what that means. In Tagalo it is called timbaîn. We do not know who invented this judiciary process, but +it must belong to antiquity. Truth coming out of a well is perhaps a sarcastic interpretation. + +</p> +<p>In the middle of the patio of the tribunal was a picturesque well curb of uncut stones. It had a rustic crank of bamboo; its +water was slimy and putrid. All sorts of refuse had been thrown around it and in it. +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e5190" href="#xd0e5190">237</a>]</span></p> +<p>Toward this Társilo was led. He was very pale, and his lips trembled, if he was not praying. The pride he had shown appeared +now to be crushed out; he seemed resigned to suffer. The poor wretch looked enviously at the pile of bodies, and sighed heavily. + +</p> +<p>“Speak then!” said the directorcillo. “You will be hung anyway. Why not die without so much suffering?” But Társilo remained +mute. + +</p> +<p>When the well was reached, they bound his feet. He was to be let down head foremost. He was fastened to the curb; the crank +turned, and his body disappeared. The alférez noted the seconds with his watch. At the signal the body was drawn up, too pitiable +to describe; but Társilo was still mute. Again he was let down, again he refused to speak; when he was drawn up the third +time, he no longer breathed. + +</p> +<p>His torturers looked at each other in consternation. The alférez ordered the body taken down, and they all examined it for +signs of life; but there were none. + +</p> +<p>“See,” said a cuadrillero, at last, “he has strangled himself with his tongue!” + +</p> +<p>“Put the body with the others,” ordered the alférez nervously. “We must examine the other unknown prisoner.” + + + +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e5203" href="#xd0e5203">238</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div id="ch50" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">L.</h2> +<h2 class="normal">Accurst.</h2> +<p>The news spread that the prisoners were to be taken to the capital, and members of their families ran wildly from convent +to barracks, from barracks to tribunal, but found no consolation anywhere. The curate was said to be ill. The guards dealt +roughly with the supplicating women, and the gobernadorcillo was more useless than ever. The friends of the accused, therefore, +had collected near the prison, waiting for them to be brought out. Doray, Don Filipo’s young wife, wandered back and forth, +her child in her arms, both crying. The Capitana Tinay called on her son Antonio, and brave Capitana Maria watched the grating +behind which were her twins, her only children. + +</p> +<p>At two in the afternoon, an uncovered cart drawn by two oxen stopped in front of the tribunal. It was surrounded, and there +were loud threats of breaking it. + +</p> +<p>“Don’t do that!” cried Capitana Maria; “do you wish them to go on foot?” In a few moments, twenty soldiers came out and surrounded +the ox-cart; then the prisoners appeared. The first was Don Filipo, who smiled at his wife. Doray responded by bitter sobs, +and would have rushed to her husband, had not the guards held her back. The son of Capitana Tinay was crying like a child, +which did not help to check the lamentations of his family. The twins were calm and grave. Ibarra came last. He walked between +two guards, his hand free; his eyes sought on all sides for a friendly face. +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e5215" href="#xd0e5215">239</a>]</span></p> +<p>“He is the guilty one!” cried numerous voices. “He is the guilty one, and his hands are unbound!” + +</p> +<p>“Bind my arms,” said Ibarra to his guards. + +</p> +<p>“We have no orders.” + +</p> +<p>“Bind me!” + +</p> +<p>The soldiers obeyed. + +</p> +<p>The alférez appeared on horseback, armed to the teeth, and followed by an escort of soldiers. The prisoners’ friends saluted +them with affectionate words; only Ibarra was friendless. + +</p> +<p>“What has my husband done to you?” sobbed Doray. “See my child; you have robbed him of his father!” + +</p> +<p>Grief began to turn to hate against the man who was said to have provoked the uprising. + +</p> +<p>The alférez gave the order to start. + +</p> +<p>“Coward!” cried a woman, as the cart moved off. “While the others fought, you were in hiding! Coward!” + +</p> +<p>“Curses on you!” cried an old man, running after. “Cursed be the gold heaped up by your family to take away our peace. Accurst! +accurst!” + +</p> +<p>“May you be hung, heretic!” cried a woman, picking up a stone and throwing it after him. Her example was promptly followed, +and a shower of dust and pebbles beat against the unhappy man. Crisóstomo bore this injustice without a sign. It was the farewell +of his beloved country. He bent his head and sat motionless. Perhaps he was thinking of a man beaten in the pueblo streets; +perhaps of the body of a girl, washed up by the waves. + +</p> +<p>The alférez felt obliged to drive away the crowd, but stones did not cease to fall, nor insult to sound. One mother only did +not curse Ibarra; the Capitana Maria watched her sons go, with compressed lips and eyes full of silent tears. + +</p> +<p>Of all the people in the open windows as he passed, none <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e5244" href="#xd0e5244">240</a>]</span>but the indifferent and curious showed Ibarra the least compassion. All his friends had deserted him, even Captain Basilio, +who had forbidden Sinang to weep. When Crisóstomo passed the smoking ruins of his home, that home where he was born, and spent +his happy childhood and youth, the tears, long repressed, gushed from his eyes, and bound as he was, he had to experience +the bitterness of showing a grief that could not rouse the slightest sympathy. + +</p> +<p>From a hill, an old man, pale and thin, wrapped in a mantle, and leaning on a stick, watched the sad procession. At the news +of what had happened, old Tasio had left his bed, and tried to go to the pueblo, but his strength had failed him. He followed +the cart with his eyes, until it disappeared in the distance. Then, after resting a while in thought, he got up painfully, +and started toward his home, halting for breath at almost every step. The next day some shepherds found him dead under the +shadow of his solitary house. + + + +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e5248" href="#xd0e5248">241</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div id="ch51" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">LI.</h2> +<h2 class="normal">Patriotism and Interest.</h2> +<p>The telegraph had secretly transmitted to Manila the news of the uprising, and thirty-six hours later, the newspapers, their +accounts expanded, corrected, and mutilated by the attorney-general, talked about it with much mystery and no little menace. +Meanwhile the private accounts, coming out of the convents, had gone from mouth to mouth, to the great alarm of those who +heard them. The fact, distorted in countless versions, was accepted as true with more or less readiness, according to its +fitness to the passions and ideas of the different hearers. + +</p> +<p>Though public tranquillity was not disturbed, the peace of the hearthstones became like that of a fish-pond, all on top; underneath +was commotion. Crosses, gold lace, office, power, honors of all kinds began to hover over one part of the population, like +butterflies in a golden sunshine. For the others a dark cloud rose on the horizon, and against this ashy background stood +in relief bars, chains, and the fateful arms of the gibbet. Destiny presented the event to the Manila imagination, like certain +Chinese fans: one face painted black, the other gilded, and gorgeous with birds and flowers. + +</p> +<p>There was great agitation in the convents. The provincials ordered their carriages, and held secret conferences; then presented +themselves at the palace, to offer their support to the imperiled government. + +</p> +<p>“A Te Deum, a Te Deum!” said a monk in one convent. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e5262" href="#xd0e5262">242</a>]</span>“Through the goodness of God, our worth is made manifest in these perilous times!” + +</p> +<p>“This petty general, this prophet of evil, will gnaw his moustaches after this little lesson,” said another. + +</p> +<p>“What would have become of him without the religious orders?” + +</p> +<p>“The papers almost go to the point of demanding a mitre for Brother Salvi.” + +</p> +<p>“And he will get it! He’s consumed with desire for it!” + +</p> +<p>“Do you think so?” + +</p> +<p>“Why shouldn’t he be? In these days mitres are given for the asking.” + +</p> +<p>“If mitres had eyes, and could see on what craniums——” + +</p> +<p>We spare our readers other comments of this nature. Let us enter the home of a private citizen, and as we know few people +at Manila, we will knock at the door of Captain Tinong, the friendly and hospitable gentleman whom we saw inviting Ibarra, +with so much insistence, to honor his house with a visit. + +</p> +<p>In his rich and spacious drawing-room, at Tondo, Captain Tinong is seated in a great arm-chair, passing his hand despairingly +across his brow; while his weeping wife, the Capitana Tinchang, reads him a sermon, listened to by their two daughters, who +are seated in a corner, mute with stupefaction. + +</p> +<p>“Ah, Virgin of Antipolo!” cried the wife. “Ah, Virgin of the Rosary; I told you so! I told you so! Ah, Virgin of Carmel! Ah!” + +</p> +<p>“Why, no! You didn’t tell me anything,” Captain Tinong finally ventured to reply. “On the contrary, you said I did well to +keep up the friendship with Captain Tiago, and to go to his house, because—because he was rich; and you said——” +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e5286" href="#xd0e5286">243</a>]</span></p> +<p>“What did I say? I didn’t say it! I didn’t say anything! Ah, if you had listened to me!” + +</p> +<p>“Now you throw the blame back on me!” said the captain bitterly, striking the arm of his chair with his fist. “Didn’t you +say I did well to invite him to dinner, because, as he was rich——” + +</p> +<p>“It is true I said that, because—because it couldn’t be helped; you had already invited him; and you did nothing but praise +him. Don Ibarra here, and Don Ibarra there, and Don Ibarra on all sides. But I didn’t advise you to see him or to speak to +him at the dinner. That you cannot deny!” + +</p> +<p>“Did I know, for instance, that he was to be there?” + +</p> +<p>“You ought to have known it!” + +</p> +<p>“How, if I wasn’t even acquainted with him?” + +</p> +<p>“You ought to have been acquainted with him!” + +</p> +<p>“But, Tinchang, if it was the first time I had ever seen him or heard him spoken of?” + +</p> +<p>“You ought to have seen him before, you ought to have heard him spoken of; that’s what you are a man for! And now, you will +be sent into exile, our goods will be confiscated——Oh, if I were a man! if I were a man!” + +</p> +<p>“And if you were a man,” asked the vexed husband, “what would you do?” + +</p> +<p>“What? Why, to-day, this very day, I should present myself to the captain-general, and offer to fight against the rebels, +this very day!” + +</p> +<p>“But didn’t you read what the Diario says? Listen! ‘The infamous and abortive treason has been repressed with energy, force, +and vigor, and the rebellious enemies of the country and their accomplices will promptly feel all the weight and all the severity +of the laws!’ You see, there is no rebellion!” + +</p> +<p>“That makes no difference, you should present yourself; many did it in 1872, and so nobody harmed them.” +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e5313" href="#xd0e5313">244</a>]</span></p> +<p>“Yes! it was done also by Father Bug——” But his wife’s hands were over his mouth. + +</p> +<p>“Say it! Speak that name, so you may be hung to-morrow at Bagumbayan! Don’t you know it is enough to get you executed without +so much as a trial? Go on, say it!” + +</p> +<p>But though Captain Tinong had wished, he couldn’t have done it. His wife held his mouth with both her hands, squeezing his +little head against the back of the chair. Perhaps the poor man would have died of asphyxia, had not a new person come on +the stage. + +</p> +<p>It was their cousin, Don Primitivo, who knew Amat by heart; a man of forty, large and corpulent, and dressed with the utmost +care. + +</p> +<p>“Quid video?” he cried, upon entering; “what is going on?” + +</p> +<p>“Ah, cousin!” said the wife, weeping, and running to him, “I had you sent for, for I don’t know what will become of us! What +do you advise—you who have studied Latin and understand reasoning——” + +</p> +<p>“But <span lang="la">quid quæritis? Nihil est in intellectu quod prius non fuerit in sensu</span>.” And he sat down sedately. The Latin phrases seemed to have a tranquillizing effect; the husband and wife ceased to lament, +and came nearer, awaiting the counsel of their cousin’s lips, as once the Greeks awaited the saving phrase of the oracle. + +</p> +<p>“Why are you mourning? <span lang="la">Ubinam gentium sumus?</span>” + +</p> +<p>“You know the story of the uprising——” + +</p> +<p>“Well, what of it? Don Crisóstomo owes you?” + +</p> +<p>“No! but do you know that Tinong invited him to dinner, and that he bowed to him on the bridge——in the middle of the day? +They will say he was a friend of ours!” + +</p> +<p>“Friend?” cried the Latin, in alarm, rising; “tell me who your friends are, and I’ll tell you who you are yourself! <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e5344" href="#xd0e5344">245</a>]</span><span lang="la">Malum est negotium et est timendum rerum istarum horrendissimum resultatum. Hum!</span>” + +</p> +<p>So many words in um terrified Captain Tinong. He became frightfully pale. His wife joined her hands in supplication. + +</p> +<p>“Cousin, you speak to us now in Latin, but you know we haven’t studied philosophy like you. Speak to us in Tagal or Castilian; +give us your advice.” + +</p> +<p>“It is deplorable that you do not know Latin, my cousin: Latin verities are lies in Tagalo. <span lang="la">Contra principi negantem fustibus est arguendum</span>, is, in Latin, a truth as veritable as Noah’s ark. I once put it in practice in Tagalo, and it was I who got beaten. It is +indeed a misfortune that you do not know Latin! In Latin it might all be arranged. You have done wrong, very wrong, cousins, +to make friends with this young man. The just pay the dues of sinners. I feel almost like advising you to make your will!” +and he moved his head gloomily from side to side. + +</p> +<p>“Saturnino, what ails you?” cried Capitana Tinchang, terrified. “Ah! Heaven! he is dead! A doctor! Tinong, Tinongy!” + +</p> +<p>“He has only fainted, cousin; bring some water.” Don Primitivo sprinkled his face, and the unfortunate man revived. + +</p> +<p>“Come, come! don’t weep! I’ve found a remedy. Put him in bed. Come, come! courage! I am with you, and all the wisdom of the +ancients! Call a doctor, and this very day, cousin, go present yourself to the captain-general, and take him a present, a +gold chain, a ring; say it’s a Christmas present. Shut the windows and doors, and if any one asks for your husband, say he +is seriously ill. Meanwhile I’ll burn all the letters, papers, and books, as Don Crisóstomo did. Scripti testes sunt! Go on +to the captain’s. Leave me to myself. In extremis extrema. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e5363" href="#xd0e5363">246</a>]</span>Give me the power of a Roman dictator, and see whether I save the coun—What am I saying—the cousin!” + +</p> +<p>He commenced to upset the shelves of the library, and tear papers and letters. Then he lighted a fire on the kitchen hearth, +and the <i>auto-da-fé</i> began. “‘Revolutions of the Celestial Spheres,’ by Copernicus. Whew! <span lang="la">ite, maledicte, in ignem kalanis!</span>” he cried, throwing it to the flames. “Revolution and Copernicus! Crime upon crime! If I don’t get through soon enough! ‘Liberty +in the Philippines!’ What books! Into the fire with them!” The most innocent works did not escape the common fate. Cousin +Primitivo was right. The just pay for sinners. + +</p> +<p>Four or five hours later, at a fashionable gathering, the events of the day were being discussed. There were present a number +of elderly married ladies and spinsters, together with the wives and daughters of clerks of the <span class="corr" id="xd0e5375" title="Source: adminstration">administration</span>, all in European costume, fanning and yawning. Among the men, who, by their manners, showed their position, as did the women, +was a man advanced in age, small and one-armed, who was treated with distinction, and who kept a reserved distance. + +</p> +<p>“I could never before suffer the monks and civil guards, because of their want of manners,” a portly lady was saying, “but +now that I see of what service they are, I could almost marry one of them. I am patriotic.” + +</p> +<p>“I am of the very same mind,” said a very prim spinster. “But what a pity the former governor isn’t with us!” + +</p> +<p>“He would put an end to the race of filibusterillos!” + +</p> +<p>“Don’t they say there are many islands yet uninhabited?<span class="corr" id="xd0e5386" title="Not in source">”</span> + +</p> +<p>“If I were the captain-general——” + +</p> +<p>“<span class="corr" id="xd0e5393" title="Source: Senoras">Señoras</span>,” said the one-armed man, “the captain-general knows his duty. I understand he is greatly irritated, for he had loaded this +Ibarra with favors.” + +</p> +<p>“Loaded him with favors!” repeated the slim gentlewoman, <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e5398" href="#xd0e5398">247</a>]</span>fanning furiously. “What ingrates these Indians are! Is it possible to treat them like human beings?” + +</p> +<p>“Do you know what I’ve heard?” asked an officer. + +</p> +<p>“No! What is it? What do they say?” + +</p> +<p>“People worthy of confidence say that all this noise about building a school was a pure pretext; what he meant to make was +a fort for his own defence when he had been attacked.” + +</p> +<p>“What infamy! Would any one but an Indian be capable of it?” + +</p> +<p>“But they say this filibustero is the son of a Spaniard,” said the one-armed man, without looking at anybody. + +</p> +<p>“There it is again,” cried the portly lady; “always these creoles! No Indian understands anything about revolution. Train +crows, and they’ll pick your eyes out!” + +</p> +<p>“Do you know what I’ve heard?” asked a pretty creole, to turn the conversation. “The wife of Captain Tinong—you remember? +We danced and dined at his house at the fête of Tondo—well, the wife of Captain Tinong gave the captain-general, this afternoon, +a ring worth a thousand pesos. She said it was a Christmas present.” + +</p> +<p>“Christmas doesn’t come for a month.” + +</p> +<p>“She must have feared a downpour,” said the stout lady. + +</p> +<p>“And so got under cover,” said the slim. + +</p> +<p>“That is evident,” said the one-armed man, thoughtfully. “I fear there is something back of this.” + +</p> +<p>“I also,” said the portly lady. “The wife of Captain Tinong is very parsimonious—she has never sent us presents, though we +have been to her house. When such a person lets slip a little present of a thousand little pesos——” + +</p> +<p>“But is it certain?” demanded the one-armed man. + +</p> +<p>“Absolutely! His excellency’s aide-de-camp told my cousin, to whom he is engaged. I’m tempted to believe it’s <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e5428" href="#xd0e5428">248</a>]</span>a ring she wore the day of the fête. She’s always covered with diamonds.” + +</p> +<p>“That’s one way of advertising! Instead of buying a lay-figure or renting a shop——” + +</p> +<p>The one-armed man found a pretext for leaving. + +</p> +<p>Two hours later, when all the city was asleep, certain inhabitants of Tondo received an invitation through the medium of soldiers. +Authority could not permit people of position and property to sleep in houses so ill guarded. In the fortress of Santiago, +and in other government buildings, their sleep would be more tranquil and refreshing. Among these people was the unfortunate +Captain Tinong. + + + +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e5436" href="#xd0e5436">249</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div id="ch52" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">LII.</h2> +<h2 class="normal">Maria Clara Marries.</h2> +<p>Captain Tiago was very happy. During these troublous times, no one had paid any attention to him. He had not been arrested, +he had not been subjected to cross-examination, to electrical machines, to repeated foot-baths in subterranean habitations, +nor to any other of these pleasantries, well known to certain people who call themselves civilized. His friends, that is to +say, those who had been—for he had repudiated his Filipino friends as soon as they had become suspects in the eyes of the +Government—had returned home after several days of vacation in the edifices of the State. The captain-general had ordered +them out of his possessions, to the great displeasure of the one-armed man, who would have liked to celebrate the approaching +Christmas in so numerous a company of the rich. + +</p> +<p>Captain Tinong returned to his home, ill, pale, another man. The excursion had not been for his good. He said nothing, not +even to greet his family, who laughed and wept over him, mad with joy. The poor man no longer left the house, for fear of +saluting a filibuster. Cousin Primitivo himself, with all the wisdom of the ancients, could not draw him out of his mutism. + +</p> +<p>Stories like that of Captain Tinong’s were numerous, and Captain Tiago was not ignorant of them. He overflowed with gratitude, +without knowing exactly to whom he owed these signal favors. Aunt Isabel attributed the miracle to the Virgin of Antipolo. +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e5448" href="#xd0e5448">250</a>]</span></p> +<p>“I too, Isabel,” said Captain Tiago, “but the Virgin of Antipolo has probably not done it alone; my friends have helped, and +my future son-in-law, Señor Linares.” + +</p> +<p>It was whispered that Ibarra would be hung; that in spite of lack of proofs of his guilt, one thing had been found that confirmed +the accusation; the experts had declared the school was so designed that it might pass for a rampart, faulty enough, to be +sure, but what one might expect of ignorant Indians. + +</p> +<p>In the midst of affairs, Doña Victorina, Don Tiburcio, and Linares arrived. As usual, Doña Victorina talked for the three +men and herself; and her speech had undergone a remarkable change. She now claimed to have naturalized herself an Andalusian +by suppressing d’s and replacing the sound of s by that of z. No one had been able to get the idea out of her head; one would +certainly have needed to get her frizzes off the outside first. She talked of visits of Linares to the captain-general, and +made continual insinuations as to advantages a relative of position would bring. + +</p> +<p>“As we say,” she concluded, “he who sleeps in a good shade, leans on a good staff.” + +</p> +<p>“It’s—it’s the opposite, wife.” + +</p> +<p>Maria Clara was yet pale, though she had almost recovered from her illness. She kissed Doña Victorina, smiling rather sadly. + +</p> +<p>“You have been saved, thanks to your connections!” said the doctora, with a significant look toward Linares. + +</p> +<p>“God has protected my father,” said Maria, in a low voice. + +</p> +<p>“Yes, Clarita, but the time of miracles is past. We, the Spaniards say, trust not in the Virgin, and save yourself by running.” + +</p> +<p>“It’s—it’s—the contrary, wife!” + +</p> +<p>“We must talk business,” said Doña Victorina, glancing <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e5471" href="#xd0e5471">251</a>]</span>at Maria. Maria found a pretext for leaving, and went out, steadying herself by the furniture. + +</p> +<p>What was said in this conference was so sordid and mean, that we prefer not to report it. Suffice it to say that when they +parted, they were all satisfied. Captain Tiago said a little after to Aunt Isabel: + +</p> +<p>“Have the caterer notified that we give a reception to-morrow. Maria must get ready for her marriage at once. When Señor Linares +is our son-in-law, all the palaces will be open to us; and every one will die of envy.” + +</p> +<p>And so, toward eight o’clock the next evening, the house of Captain Tiago was once more full. This time, however, he had invited +only Spaniards, peninsular and Philippine, and Chinese. Yet many of our acquaintances were there. Father Sibyla and Father +Salvi, among numerous Franciscans and Dominicans; the old lieutenant of the Municipal Guard, more sombre than ever; the alférez, +recounting his victory for the thousandth time, looking over the heads of everybody, now that he is lieutenant with grade +of commandant; Dr. Espadaña, who looks upon him with respect and fear, and avoids his glance; Doña Victorina, who cannot see +him without anger. Linares had not yet arrived; as a person of importance, he must arouse expectation. There are beings so +simple, that an hour’s waiting for a man suffices to make him great in their eyes. + +</p> +<p>Maria Clara was the object of interest to all the women, and the subject of unveiled comments. She had received these ceremoniously, +without losing her air of sadness. + +</p> +<p>“Bah! the proud little thing!” said one. + +</p> +<p>“Rather pretty,” said another, “but he might have chosen some one with a more intelligent face.” + +</p> +<p>“But the money, my dear! The good fellow is selling himself.” + +</p> +<p>In another group some one was saying: +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e5489" href="#xd0e5489">252</a>]</span></p> +<p>“To marry when one’s first fiancé is going to be hung!” + +</p> +<p>“That is what is called prudent; having a substitute at hand.” + +</p> +<p>“Then, when one becomes a widow——” + +</p> +<p>Possibly some of these remarks reached the ears of Maria Clara. She grew paler, her hand trembled, her lips seemed to move. + +</p> +<p>In the circles of men the talk was loud, and naturally the recent events were the subject of conversation. Everybody talked, +even Don Tiburcio. + +</p> +<p>“I hear that your reverence is about to leave the pueblo,” said the new lieutenant, whom his new star had made more amiable. + +</p> +<p>“I have no more to do there; I am to be placed permanently at Manila. And you?” asked Father Salvi. + +</p> +<p>“I also leave the pueblo,” said he, throwing back his shoulders; “I am going with a flying column to rid the province of filibusters.” + +</p> +<p>Father Salvi surveyed his old enemy from top to toe, and turned away with a disdainful smile. + +</p> +<p>“Is it known certainly what is to be done with the chief filibuster?” asked a clerk. + +</p> +<p>“You are speaking of Don Crisóstomo Ibarra,” replied another. “It is very probable that he will be hung, like those of 1872, +and it will be very just.” + +</p> +<p>“He is to be exiled,” said the old lieutenant dryly. + +</p> +<p>“Exile! Nothing but exile?” cried numerous voices at once. “Then it must be for life!” + +</p> +<p>“If the young man had been more prudent,” went on Lieutenant Guevara, speaking so that all might hear, “if he had confided +less in certain persons to whom he wrote, if our attorney-generals did not interpret too subtly what they read, it is certain +he would have been released.” + +</p> +<p>This declaration of the old lieutenant’s, and the tone of <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e5520" href="#xd0e5520">253</a>]</span>his voice, produced a great surprise among his auditors. No one knew what to say. Father Salvi looked away, perhaps to avoid +the dark look the lieutenant gave him. Maria Clara dropped some flowers she had in her hand, and became a statue. Father Sibyla, +who knew when to be silent, seemed the only one who knew how to question. + +</p> +<p>“You speak of letters, Señor Guevara.” + +</p> +<p>“I speak of what I am told by Don Crisóstomo’s advocate, who is greatly interested in his case, and defended him with zeal. +Outside of a few ambiguous lines in a letter addressed to a woman before he left for Europe, in which the procurator found +a project against the Government, and which the young man acknowledged as his, there was no evidence against him.” + +</p> +<p>“And the declaration made by the tulisan before he died?” + +</p> +<p>“The defence destroyed that testimony. According to the witness himself, none of them had any communication with Ibarra, except +one named José, who was his enemy, as was proven, and who afterward committed suicide, probably from remorse. It was shown +that the papers found on his body were forgeries, for the writing was like Ibarra’s seven years ago, but not like his hand +of to-day. For this it was supposed that the accusing letter served as a model.” + +</p> +<p>“You tell us,” said a Franciscan, “that Ibarra addressed this letter to a woman. How did it come into the hands of the attorney-general?” + +</p> +<p>The lieutenant did not reply. He looked a moment at Father Salvi, and moved off, twisting the point of his gray beard. The +others continued to discuss the matter. + +</p> +<p>“Even women seem to have hated him,” said one. + +</p> +<p>“He burned his house, thinking to save himself, but he counted without his hostess!” said another, laughing. + +</p> +<p>Meanwhile the old soldier approached Maria Clara. She <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e5540" href="#xd0e5540">254</a>]</span>had heard the whole conversation, sitting motionless, the flowers lying at her feet. + +</p> +<p>“You are a prudent young woman,” he said in a low voice; “by giving over the letter, you assured yourself a peaceful future.” +And he moved on, leaving Maria with blank eyes and a face rigid. Fortunately Aunt Isabel passed. Maria had strength to take +her by the dress. + +</p> +<p>“What is the matter?” cried the old lady, terrified at the face of her niece. “You are ill, my child. You are ready to faint. +What is it?” + +</p> +<p>“My heart—it’s the crowd—so much light—I must rest. Tell my father I’ve gone to rest,” and steadying herself by her aunt’s +arm, she went to her room. + +</p> +<p>“You are cold! Do you want some tea?” asked Aunt Isabel at the door. + +</p> +<p>Maria shook her head. “Go back, dear aunt, I only need to rest,” she said. She locked the door of her little room, and at +the end of her strength, threw herself down before a statue, sobbing: + +</p> +<p>“Mother, mother, my mother!” + +</p> +<p>The moonlight came in through the window, and through the door leading to the balcony. The joyous music of the dance, peals +of laughter and the hum of conversation, made their way to the chamber. Many times they knocked at her door—her father, her +aunt, Doña Victorina, even Linares. Maria did not move or speak; now and then a hoarse sob escaped her. + +</p> +<p>Hours passed. After the feast had come the ball. Maria’s candle had burned out, and she lay in the moonlight at the foot of +the statue. She had not moved. Little by little the house became quiet. Aunt Isabel came to knock once again at the door. + +</p> +<p>“She must have gone to bed,” the old lady called back to her brother. “At her age one sleeps like the dead.” +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e5560" href="#xd0e5560">255</a>]</span></p> +<p>When all was still again, Maria rose slowly, and looked out on the terrace with its vines bathed in the white moonlight. + +</p> +<p>“A peaceful future!—Sleep like the dead!” she said aloud; and she went out. + +</p> +<p>The city was mute; only now and then a carriage could be heard crossing the wooden bridge. The girl raised her eyes toward +the sky; then slowly she took off her rings, the pendants in her ears, the comb and jewelled pins in her hair, and put them +on the balustrade of the terrace; then she looked toward the river. + +</p> +<p>A little bark, loaded with zacate, drew up to the landing-place below the terrace. One of the two men in it climbed the stone +steps, sprang over the wall, and in a moment was mounting the stairway of the terrace. At sight of Maria, he stopped, then +approached slowly. + +</p> +<p>Maria drew back. + +</p> +<p>“Crisóstomo!” she said, speaking low. She was terrified. + +</p> +<p>“Yes, I am Crisóstomo,” replied the young man gravely. “An enemy, a man who has reason to hate me, Elias, has rescued me from +the prison where my friends put me.” + +</p> +<p>A sad silence followed his words. Maria Clara bent her head. Ibarra went on: + +</p> +<p>“By the dead body of my mother, I pledged myself, whatever my future, to try to make you happy. I have risked all that remains +to me, to come and fulfil that promise. Chance lets me speak to you, Maria; we shall never see each other again. You are young +now; some day your conscience may upbraid you. Before I go away forever, I have come to say that I forgive you. Be happy—farewell!” +And he began to move away; she held him back. + +</p> +<p>“Crisóstomo!” she said, “God has sent you to save me from despair. Listen and judge me!” + +</p> +<p>Ibarra tried gently to release himself. +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e5583" href="#xd0e5583">256</a>]</span></p> +<p>“I did not come to call you to account; I came to bring you peace.” + +</p> +<p>“I want none of the peace you bring me. I shall find peace for myself. You scorn me and your scorn will make even death bitter.” + +</p> +<p>He saw despair in her poor, young face, and asked what she wished. + +</p> +<p>“I wish you to believe that I have always loved you.” + +</p> +<p>He smiled bitterly. + +</p> +<p>“Ah! you doubt me! you doubt your childhood’s friend, who has never hidden a single thought from you! When you know my history, +the sad story that was told me in my illness, you will pity me; you will no longer wear that smile. Why did they not let me +die in the hands of my ignorant doctor! You and I should both have been happier!” + +</p> +<p>She stopped a moment, then went on: + +</p> +<p>“You force me to this, by your doubts; may my mother forgive me! In one of the most painful of my nights of suffering, a man +revealed to me the name of my real father. If he had not been my father, this man said, he might have pardoned the injury +you had done him.” + +</p> +<p>Crisóstomo looked at Maria in amazement. + +</p> +<p>“What was I to do?” she went on. “Ought I to sacrifice to my love the memory of my mother, the honor of him who was supposed +to be my father, and the good name of him who is? And could I have done this without bringing dishonor upon you too?” + +</p> +<p>“But the proof—have you had proof? There must be proof!” said Crisóstomo, staggered. + +</p> +<p>Maria drew from her breast two papers. + +</p> +<p>“Here are two letters of my mother’s,” she said, “written in her remorse. Take them! Read them! My father left them in the +house where he lived so many years. This man found them and kept them, and only gave them up to me in <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e5610" href="#xd0e5610">257</a>]</span>exchange for your letter, as assurance, he said, that I would not marry you without my father’s consent. I sacrificed my love! +Who would not for a mother dead and two fathers living? Could I foresee what use they would make of your letter? Could I know +I was sacrificing you too?” + +</p> +<p>Ibarra was speechless. Maria went on: + +</p> +<p>“What remained for me to do? Could I tell you who my father was? Could I bid you ask his pardon, when he had so made your +father suffer? Could I say to my father, who perhaps would have pardoned you—could I say I was his daughter? Nothing remained +but to suffer, to guard my secret, and die suffering! Now, my friend, now that you know the sad story of your poor Maria, +have you still for her that disdainful smile?” + +</p> +<p>“Maria, you are a saint!” + +</p> +<p>“I am blessed, because you believe in me——” + +</p> +<p>“And yet,” said Crisóstomo, remembering, “I heard you were to marry——” + +</p> +<p>“Yes,” sobbed the poor child, “my father demands this sacrifice; he has loved me, nourished me, and it did not belong to him +to do it. I shall pay him my debt of gratitude by assuring him peace through this new connection, but——” + +</p> +<p>“But?” + +</p> +<p>“I shall not forget my vows to you.” + +</p> +<p>“What is your thought?” asked Ibarra, trying to read in her clear eyes. + +</p> +<p>“The future is obscure. I do not know what I shall do; but I know this, that I can love but once, and that I shall not belong +to one I do not love. And you? What will you do?” + +</p> +<p>“I am no longer anything but a fugitive—I shall fly, and my flight will soon be overtaken, Maria——” + +</p> +<p>Maria took his head in her hands, kissed his lips again and again, then pushed him away with all her strength. +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e5636" href="#xd0e5636">258</a>]</span></p> +<p>“Fly, fly!” she said. “Adieu!” + +</p> +<p>Ibarra looked at her with shining eyes, but she made a sign, and he went, reeling for an instant like a drunken man. He leaped +the wall again, and was back in the little bark. Maria Clara, leaning on the balustrade, watched till it disappeared in the +distance. + + + +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e5641" href="#xd0e5641">259</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div id="ch53" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">LIII.</h2> +<h2 class="normal">The Chase on the Lake.</h2> +<p>“Listen, señor, to the plan I have made,” said Elias, as he pulled toward San Gabriel. “I will hide you, for the present, +at the house of a friend of mine at Mandaluyong. I will bring you there your gold, that I hid in the tomb of your great-grandfather. +You will leave the country——” + +</p> +<p>“To live among strangers?” interrupted Ibarra. + +</p> +<p>“To live in peace. You have friends in Spain; you may get amnesty.” + +</p> +<p>Crisóstomo did not reply; he reflected in silence. + +</p> +<p>They arrived at the Pasig, and the little bark began to go up stream. On the bridge was a horseman, hastening his course, +and a whistle long and shrill was heard. + +</p> +<p>“Elias,” said Ibarra at length, “your misfortunes are due to my family, and you have twice saved my life. I owe you both gratitude +and restitution of property. You advise me to leave the country; well, come with me. We will live as brothers.” + +</p> +<p>Elias shook his head. + +</p> +<p>“It is true that I can never be happy in my country, but I can live and die there, perhaps die for my country. That is always +something. But you can do nothing for her, here and now. Perhaps some day——” + +</p> +<p>“Unless I, too, should become a tulisan,” mused Ibarra. + +</p> +<p>“Señor, a month ago we sat in this same boat, under the light of this same moon. You could not have said such a thing then.” +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e5667" href="#xd0e5667">260</a>]</span></p> +<p>“No, Elias. Man seems to be an animal who varies with circumstances. I was blind then, unreasonable, I know not what. Now +the bandage has been torn from my eyes; the wretchedness and solitude of my prison has taught me better. I see the cancer +that is eating into our society; perhaps, after all, it must be torn out by violence.” + +</p> +<p>They came in sight of the governor-general’s palace, and thought they saw unusual movement among the guards. + +</p> +<p>“Your escape must have been discovered,” said Elias. “Lie down, señor, so I can cover you with the zacate, for the sentinel +at the magazine may stop us.” + +</p> +<p>As Elias had anticipated, the sentinel challenged him, and asked him where he came from. + +</p> +<p>“From Manila, with zacate for the iodores and curates,” said he, imitating the accent of the people of Pandakan. + +</p> +<p>A sergeant came out. + +</p> +<p>“Sulung,” said he to Elias, “I warn you not to take any one into your boat. A prisoner has just escaped. If you capture him +and bring him to me, I will give you a fine reward.” + +</p> +<p>“Good, señor; what is his description?” + +</p> +<p>“He wears a long coat, and speaks Spanish. Look out for him!” + +</p> +<p>The bark moved off. Elias turned and saw the sentinel still standing by the bank. + +</p> +<p>“We shall lose a few minutes,” he said; “we shall have to go into the rio Beata, to make him think I’m from Peña Francia. +You shall see the rio of which Francisco Baltazar sang.” + +</p> +<p>The pueblo was asleep in the moonlight. Crisóstomo sat up to admire the death-like peace of nature. The rio was narrow, and +its banks were plains strewn with zacate. Elias discharged his cargo, and from the grass where they were hidden, drew some +of those sacks of palm leaves that <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e5692" href="#xd0e5692">261</a>]</span>are called bayones. Then they pushed off again, and soon were back on the Pasig. From time to time they talked of indifferent +things. + +</p> +<p>“Santa Ana!” said Ibarra, speaking low; “do you know that building?” They were passing the country house of the Jesuits. + +</p> +<p>“I’ve spent many happy days there,” said Elias. “When I was a child, we came here every month. Then I was like other people; +had a family, a fortune; dreamed, thought I saw a future.” + +</p> +<p>They were silent until they came to Malapad-na-batô. Those who have sometimes cut a wake in the Pasig, on one of these magnificent +nights of the Philippines, when from the limpid azure the moon pours out a poetic melancholy, when shadows hide the miseries +of men and silence puts out their sordid words—those who have done this will know some of the thoughts of these two young +men. + +</p> +<p>At Malapad-na-batô, the rifleman was sleepy, and seeing no hope of plunder in the little bark, according to the tradition +of his corps and the habit of this post, he let it pass. The guard at Pasig was no more disquieting. + +</p> +<p>The moonlight was growing pale, and dawn was beginning to tint the east with roses, when they arrived at the lake, smooth +and placid as a great mirror. At a distance they saw a gray mass, advancing little by little. + +</p> +<p>“It’s the falúa,” said Elias under his breath. “Lie down, señor, and I will cover you with these bags.” + +</p> +<p>The outlines of the government boat grew more and more distinct. + +</p> +<p>“She’s getting between us and the shore,” said Elias, uneasily; and very gradually he changed the direction of his bark. To +his terror he saw the falúa make the same change, and heard a voice hailing him. He stopped and thought. The shore was yet +some distance away; they <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e5710" href="#xd0e5710">262</a>]</span>would soon be within range of the ship’s guns. He thought he would go back to Pasig, his boat could escape the other in that +direction; but fate was against him. Another boat was coming from Pasig, and in it glittered the helmets and bayonets of the +Civil Guards. + +</p> +<p>“We are caught!” he said, and the color left his face. He looked at his sturdy arms, and took the only resolution possible; +he began to row with all his might toward the island of Talim. The sun was coming up. The bark shot rapidly over the water; +on the falúa, which changed its tack, Elias saw men signalling. + +</p> +<p>“Do you know how to manage a bark?” he demanded of Ibarra. + +</p> +<p>“Yes. Why?” + +</p> +<p>“Because we are lost unless I take to the water to throw them off the track. They will pursue me. I swim and dive well. That +will turn them away from you, and you must try to save yourself.” + +</p> +<p>“No, stay, and let us sell our lives dear!” + +</p> +<p>“It is useless; we have no arms; they would shoot us down like birds.” + +</p> +<p>As he spoke, they heard a hiss in the water, followed by a report. + +</p> +<p>“You see!” said Elias, laying down his oar. “We will meet, Christmas night, at the tomb of your grandfather. Save yourself! +God has drawn me out of greater perils than this!” + +</p> +<p>He took off his shirt; a ball picked it out of his hands, and two reports followed. Without showing alarm, he grasped the +hand Ibarra stretched up from the bottom of the boat, then stood upright and leaped into the water, pushing off the little +craft with his foot. + +</p> +<p>Outcries were heard from the falúa. Promptly, and at some distance, appeared the head of the young man, returning <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e5732" href="#xd0e5732">263</a>]</span>to the surface to breathe, then disappearing immediately. + +</p> +<p>“There, there he is,” cried several voices, and balls whistled. + +</p> +<p>The falúa and the bark from Pasig set out in pursuit of the swimmer. A slight wake showed his direction, more and more removed +from Ibarra’s little bark, which drifted as if abandoned. Every time Elias raised his head to breathe, the guards and the +men of the falúa fired on him. + +</p> +<p>The chase went on. The little bark with Ibarra was left far behind. Elias was not more than a hundred yards from the shore. +The rowers were getting tired, but so was Elias, for he repeatedly raised his head above the water, but always in a new direction, +to disconcert his pursuers. The deceiving wake no longer told the place of the swimmer. For the last time they saw him, sixty +feet from the shore. The soldiers fired—minutes and minutes passed. Nothing again disturbed the tranquil surface of the lake. + +</p> +<p>A half hour later, one of the rowers claimed to have seen traces of blood near the shore, but his comrades shook their heads +in doubt. + + + + +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e5742" href="#xd0e5742">264</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div id="ch54" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">LIV.</h2> +<h2 class="normal">Father Dámaso Explains Himself.</h2> +<p>In vain the precious wedding presents heaped up; not the brilliants in their velvet cases, not embroideries of piña nor pieces +of silk, drew the eyes of Maria Clara. She saw nothing but the journal in which was told the death of Ibarra, drowned in the +lake. + +</p> +<p>Suddenly she felt two hands over her eyes, clasping her head, while a merry voice said to her: + +</p> +<p>“Who is it? Who is it?” + +</p> +<p>Maria sprang up in fright. + +</p> +<p>“Little goose! Did I scare you, eh? You weren’t expecting me, eh? Why, I’ve come from the province to be at your marriage——” +And with a satisfied smile, Father Dámaso gave her his hand to kiss. She took it, trembling, and carried it respectfully to +her lips. + +</p> +<p>“What is it, Maria?” demanded the Franciscan, troubled, and losing his gay smile. “Your hand is cold, you are pale—are you +ill, little girl?” And he drew her tenderly to him, took both her hands and questioned her with his eyes. + +</p> +<p>“Won’t you confide in your godfather?” he asked in a tone of reproach. “Come, sit down here and tell me your griefs, as you +used to do when you were little, and wanted some tapers to make wax dolls. You know I’ve always loved you—never scolded you——” +and his voice became very tender. Maria began to cry. +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e5762" href="#xd0e5762">265</a>]</span></p> +<p>“Why do you cry, my child? Have you quarrelled with Linares?” + +</p> +<p>Maria put her hands over her eyes. + +</p> +<p>“No; it’s not about him—now!” + +</p> +<p>Father Dámaso looked startled. “And you won’t tell me your secrets? Have I not always tried to satisfy your slightest wish?” + +</p> +<p>Maria raised to him her eyes full of tears, looked at him a moment, then sobbed afresh. + +</p> +<p>“My child!” + +</p> +<p>Maria came slowly to him, fell on her knees at his feet, and raising her face wet with tears, asked in a voice scarcely audible: + +</p> +<p>“Do you still love me?” + +</p> +<p>“Child!” + +</p> +<p>“Then—protect my father and make him break off my marriage.” And she told him of her last interview with Ibarra, omitting +everything about the secret of her birth. + +</p> +<p>Father Dámaso could scarcely believe what he heard. She was talking calmly now, without tears. + +</p> +<p>“So long as he lived,” she went on, “I could struggle, I could hope, I had confidence; I wished to live to hear about him; +but now—that they have killed him, I have no longer any reason to live and suffer.” + +</p> +<p>“And—Linares——” + +</p> +<p>“If he had lived, I might have married—for my father’s sake; but now that he is dead, I want the convent—or the grave.” + +</p> +<p>“You loved him so?” stammered Father Dámaso. Maria did not reply. The father bent his head on his breast. + +</p> +<p>“My child,” he said at last in a broken voice, “forgive me for having made you <span class="corr" id="xd0e5795" title="Source: unhapppy">unhappy</span>; I did not know I was doing it! I thought of your future. How could I let you <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e5798" href="#xd0e5798">266</a>]</span>marry a man of this country, to see you, later on, an unhappy wife and mother? I set myself with all my strength to get this +love out of your mind, I used all means—for you, only for you. If you had been his wife, you would have wept for the unfortunate +position of your husband, exposed to all sorts of dangers, and without defence; a mother, you would have wept for your children; +had you educated them, you would have prepared them a sad future; they would have become enemies of religion; the gallows +or exile would have been their portion; had you left them in ignorance, you would have seen them tyrannized over and degraded. +I could not consent to this. That is why I found for you a husband whose children should command, not obey; punish, not suffer—I +knew your childhood’s friend was good, and I liked him, as I did his father; but I hated them both for your sake, because +I love you as one loves a daughter, because I idolize you—I have no other love; I have seen you grow up, there isn’t an hour +in which I do not think of you, you are my one joy——” And Father Dámaso began to cry like a child. + +</p> +<p>“Then if you love me, do not make me forever miserable; he is dead, I wish to be a nun.” + +</p> +<p>The old man rested his forehead in his hand. + +</p> +<p>“A nun, a nun!” he repeated. “You do not know, my child, all that is hidden behind the walls of a convent, you do not know! +I would a thousand times rather see you unhappy in the world than in the cloister. Here your complaints can be heard; there +you have only the walls! You are beautiful, very beautiful; you were not made to renounce the world. Believe me, my child, +time alters all things; later you will forget, you will love, you will love your husband—Linares.” + +</p> +<p>“Either the convent or—death,” repeated Maria, with no sign of yielding. +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e5808" href="#xd0e5808">267</a>]</span></p> +<p>“Maria,” said the father, “I am not young. I cannot watch over you always; choose something else, find another love, another +husband, anything, what you will!” + +</p> +<p>“I choose the convent.” + +</p> +<p>“My God, my God!” cried the priest, burying his face in his hands. “You punish me, be it so! But watch over my daughter!—Maria, +you shall be a nun. I cannot have you die.” + +</p> +<p>Maria took his hands, pressed them, kissed them as she knelt. + +</p> +<p>“Godfather, my godfather,” she said. + +</p> +<p>“Oh, God!” cried the heart of the father, “thou dost exist, because thou dost chastise! Take vengeance upon me, but do not +strike the innocent; save my daughter!” + + + +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e5821" href="#xd0e5821">268</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div id="ch55" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">LV.</h2> +<h2 class="normal">The Nochebuena.</h2> +<p>Up on the side of the mountain, where a torrent springs, a cabin hides under the trees, <span class="corr" id="xd0e5829" title="Source: builded">built</span> on their gnarled trunks. Over its thatched roof creep the branches of the gourd, heavy with fruit and flowers. Antlers and +wild boars’ heads, some of them bearing their long tusks, ornament the rustic hearth. It is the home of a Tagalo family living +from the chase and the cup of the woods. + +</p> +<p>Under the shade of a tree, the grandfather is making brooms from the veins of palm leaves, while a girl fills a basket with +eggs, lemons, and vegetables. Two children, a boy and a girl, are playing beside another boy, pale and serious, with great, +deep eyes. We know him. It is Sisa’s son, Basilio. + +</p> +<p>“When your foot is well,” said the little boy, “you will go with us to the top of the mountain and drink deer’s blood and +lemon juice; then you’ll grow fat; then I’ll show you how to jump from one rock to another, over the torrent.” + +</p> +<p>Basilio smiled sadly, examined the wound in his foot, and looked at the sun, which was shining splendidly. + +</p> +<p>“Sell these brooms, Lucia,” said the grandfather to the young girl, “and buy something for your brothers. To-day is Christmas.” + +</p> +<p>“Fire-crackers, I want fire-crackers!” cried the little boy. + +</p> +<p>“And what do you want?” the grandfather asked Basilio. The boy got up and went to the old man. + +</p> +<p>“Señor,” he said, “have I been ill more than a month?” +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e5846" href="#xd0e5846">269</a>]</span></p> +<p>“Since we found you, faint and covered with wounds, two moons have passed. We thought you were going to die——” + +</p> +<p>“May God reward you; we are very poor,” said Basilio; “but as to-day is Christmas, I want to go to the pueblo to see my mother +and my little brother. They must have been looking everywhere for me.” + +</p> +<p>“But, son, you aren’t well yet, and it is far to your pueblo. You would not get there till midnight. My sons will want to +see you when they come from the forest.” + +</p> +<p>“You have many children, but my mother has only us two; perhaps she thinks me dead already. I want to give her a present to-night—a +son!” + +</p> +<p>The grandfather felt his eyes grow dim. + +</p> +<p>“You are as sensible as an old man! Go, find your mother, give her her present! Go, my son. God and the Lord Jesus go with +you!” + +</p> +<p>“What, you’re not going to stay and see my fire-crackers?” said the little boy. + +</p> +<p>“I want you to play hide and seek!” pouted the little girl; “nothing else is so much fun.” + +</p> +<p>Basilio smiled and his eyes filled with tears. + +</p> +<p>“I shall come back soon,” he said, “and bring my little brother; then you can play with him. But I must go away now with Lucia.” + +</p> +<p>“Don’t forget us!” said the old man, “and come back when you are well.” The children all accompanied him to the bridge of +bamboo over the rushing torrent. Lucia, who was going to the first pueblo with her basket, made him lean on her arm; the other +children watched them both out of sight. +</p> +<hr class="tb"><p> + +</p> +<p>The north wind was blowing, and the dwellers in San Diego were trembling with cold. It was the Nochebuena, <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e5873" href="#xd0e5873">270</a>]</span>and yet the pueblo was sad. Not a paper lantern hung in the windows, no noise in the houses announcing the joyful time, as +in other years. + +</p> +<p>At the home of Captain Basilio, the master of the house is talking with Don Filipo; the troubles of these times have made +them friends. + +</p> +<p>“You are in rare luck, to be released at just this moment,” Captain Basilio was saying to his guest. “They’ve burned your +books, that’s true; but others have fared worse.” + +</p> +<p>A woman came up to the window and looked in. Her eyes were brilliant, her face haggard, her hair loose; the moon made her +uncanny. + +</p> +<p>“Sisa?” asked Don Filipo, in surprise. “I thought she was with a physician.” + +</p> +<p>Captain Basilio smiled bitterly. + +</p> +<p>“The doctor feared he might be taken for a friend of Don Crisóstomo’s, so he drove her out!” + +</p> +<p>“What else has happened since I went away? I know we have a new curate and a new alférez——” + +</p> +<p>“Well, the head sacristan was found dead, hung in the garret of his house. And old Tasio is dead. They buried him in the Chinese +cemetery.” + +</p> +<p>“Poor Don Astasio!” sighed Don Filipo. “And his books?” + +</p> +<p>“The devout thought it would be pleasing to God if they should burn them; nothing escaped, not even the works of Cicero. The +gobernadorcillo was no check whatsoever.” + +</p> +<p>They were both silent. At that moment, the melancholy song of Sisa was heard. A child passed, limping, and running toward +the place from which the song came; it was Basilio. The little fellow had found his home deserted and in ruins. He had been +told about his mother; of Crispin he had not heard a word. He had dried his tears, smothered his grief, and without resting, +started out to find Sisa. +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e5897" href="#xd0e5897">271</a>]</span></p> +<p>She had come to the house of the new alférez. As usual, a sentinel was pacing up and down. When she saw the soldier, she took +to flight, and ran as only a wild thing can. Basilio saw her, and fearing to lose sight of her, forgot his wounded foot, and +followed in hot pursuit. Dogs barked, geese cackled, windows opened here and there, to give passage to the heads of the curious; +others banged to, from fear of a new night of trouble. At this rate, the runners were soon outside the pueblo, and Sisa began +to moderate her speed. There was a long distance between her and her pursuer. + +</p> +<p>“Mother!” he cried, when he could distinguish her. + +</p> +<p>No sooner did Sisa hear the voice than she again began to run madly. + +</p> +<p>“Mother, it’s I,” cried the child in despair. Sisa paid no attention. The poor little fellow followed breathless. They were +now on the border of the wood. + +</p> +<p>Bushes, thorny twigs, and the roots of trees hindered their progress. The child followed the vision of his mother, made clear +now and then by the moon’s rays across the heavy foliage. They were in the mysterious wood of the family of Ibarra. Basilio +often stumbled and fell, but he got up again, without feeling his hurts, or remembering his lameness. All his life was concentrated +in his eyes, which never lost the beloved figure from view. + +</p> +<p>They crossed the brook, which was singing gently, and to his great surprise, Basilio saw his mother press through the thicket +and enter the wooden door that closed the tomb of the old Spaniard. He tried to follow her, but the door was fast. Sisa was +defending the entrance—holding the door closed with all her strength. + +</p> +<p>“Mother, it’s I, it’s I, Basilio, your son!” cried the child, falling from fatigue. But Sisa would not budge. Her feet braced +against the ground, she offered an energetic resistance. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e5912" href="#xd0e5912">272</a>]</span>Basilio examined the wall, but could not scale it. Then he made the tour of the grave. He saw a branch of the great tree, +crossed by a branch of another. He began to climb, and his filial love did miracles. He went from branch to branch, and came +over the tomb at last. + +</p> +<p>The noise he made in the branches startled Sisa. She turned and would have fled, but her son, letting himself drop from the +tree, seized her in his arms and covered her with kisses; then, worn out, he fainted away. + +</p> +<p>Sisa saw his forehead bathed in blood. She bent over him, and her eyes, almost out of their sockets, were fixed on his face, +which stirred the sleeping cells of her brain. Then something like a spark flashed through them. Sisa recognized her son, +and with a cry fell on his senseless body, pressing it to her heart, kissing him and weeping. Then mother and son were both +motionless. + +</p> +<p>When Basilio came to himself, he found his mother without consciousness. He called her, lavished tender names on her, and +seeing she did not wake, ran for water and sprinkled her pale face. But the eyes remained closed. In terror, Basilio put his +ear to her heart, but her heart no longer beat. The poor child embraced the dead body of his mother, weeping bitterly. + +</p> +<p>On this night of joy for so many children, who, by the warm hearth, celebrate the feast which recalls the first loving look +Heaven gave to earth; on this night when all good Christian families eat, laugh, and dance, ’mid love and kisses; on this +night which, for the children of cold countries, is magical with its Christmas trees, Basilio sits in solitude and grief. +Who knows? Perhaps around the hearth of the silent Father Salvi are children playing; perhaps they are singing: + + +</p> +<div class="
 poem
 "> +<p class="line" style=""><span>“Christmas comes, +</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>And Christmas goes.”</span></p> +</div><span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e5927" href="#xd0e5927">273</a>]</span><p>The child was sobbing. When he raised his head, a man was looking silently down at him. + +</p> +<p>“You are her son?” he asked. + +</p> +<p>Basilio nodded his head. + +</p> +<p>“What are you going to do?” + +</p> +<p>“Bury her.” + +</p> +<p>“In the cemetery?” + +</p> +<p>“I have no money—if you would help me——” + +</p> +<p>“I am too weak,” said the man, sinking gradually to the ground. “I am wounded. For two days I have not eaten or slept. Has +no one been here to-night?” And the man sat still, watching the child’s attractive face. + +</p> +<p>“Listen,” said he, in a voice growing feebler, “I too shall be dead before morning. Twenty paces from here, beyond the spring, +is a pile of wood; put our two bodies on it, and light the fire.” + +</p> +<p>Basilio listened. + +</p> +<p>“Then, if nobody comes, you are to dig here; you will find a lot of gold, and it will be all yours. Study!” + +</p> +<p>The voice of the unknown man sank lower and lower. Then he turned his head toward the east, and said softly, as though praying: + +</p> +<p>“I die without seeing the light of dawn on my country. You who shall see it and greet it, do not forget those who fell in +the night!” + + + + + + + +</p> +</div> +</div><span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e5954" href="#xd0e5954">274</a>]</span><div class="back"> +<div class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>] +</span><p><b>The Archbishop and the Lady</b> + +</p> +<p>By <span class="smallcaps">Mrs. Schuyler Crowninshield</span> + +</p> +<p>A story of modern society which only a writer of very wide and very exceptional social experience could have written. It is +cosmopolitan, yet full of romance; modern, yet informed with a delicate old-world charm. The characters are put before us +with a consummate knowledge of the world and a penetrating insight into human nature. + +</p> +<p>Cloth. <span class="smallcaps">12</span>mo; 5⅛ × 7¾. About $1.50. +</p> +<hr class="tb"><p> + +</p> +<p><b>April’s Sowing</b> + +</p> +<p>By GERTRUDE HALL + +</p> +<p>Miss Gertrude Hall is known to the world as a poet and as a teller of tales, but with her first novel she reveals new gifts, +for it is a modern story tuned to a note of light comedy that she has never struck before. “April’s Sowing” is that most widely +appreciated thing in letters, a young love story. + +</p> +<p>Illustrated by Orson Lowell. With decorative cover, frontispiece, title page in color, and ornamental head and tail pieces. +Cloth. <span class="smallcaps">12</span>mo; 5⅛ × 7¾. $1.50. +</p> +<hr class="tb"><p> + +</p> +<p><b>The Darlingtons</b> + +</p> +<p>By ELMORE ELLIOTT PEAKE + +</p> +<p>A novel of American life in the middle West which deals principally with the fortunes of a family whose members are the social +and financial leaders of their section. The heroine is a girl whose education is broad enough to enable her to assist her +father in managing a railroad. The hero is a Methodist minister of liberal tendencies. The story is told with remarkable fidelity +and unusual dramatic interest. + +</p> +<p>Cloth. <span class="smallcaps">12</span>mo; 5⅛ × 7¾. About $1.50. + + + + +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e6003" href="#xd0e6003">275</a>]</span> + +</p> +<p>Two Unknown Phases of Life Made Known in Fiction + + +</p> +<p><b>The Powers That Prey</b> + +</p> +<p>By <span class="smallcaps">Josiah Flynt</span> and <span class="smallcaps">Francis Walton</span> + +</p> +<p>The authors of the ten closely related stories which make up this volume have spent most of their lives studying the sociological +problems of tramp and criminal life. Mr. Flynt writes: “So far as I am concerned, the book is the result of ten years of wandering +with tramps and two years spent with various police organizations.” The stories are a decided contribution to sociology, and +yet, viewed as stories, they have unusual interest because of their remarkable vigor and their intense realism. + +</p> +<p>Fully Illustrated. Cloth. 12mo; 5⅛ × 7¾. $1.25. +</p> +<hr class="tb"><p> + +</p> +<p>The Soul of the Street + +</p> +<p>By NORMAN DUNCAN + +</p> +<p>“The Soul of the Street” has a unity lacking in many volumes of short stories. They deal with Syrians and Turks, queer folk +with queer ways, and Mr. Duncan has gotten at them with such sympathetic insight as only the poetic heart and the story-teller’s +eye can possess. Character, humor, poignant pathos, and the sad grotesque conjunctions of old and new civilizations are expressed +through the medium of a style that has distinction, and strikes a note of rare personality. + +</p> +<p>Cloth. 12mo; 5⅛ × 7¾. About $1.00. + + + + +</p> +</div> +<div class="transcribernote"> +<h2>Colophon</h2> +<h3>Availability</h3> +<p>This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give +it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/">www.gutenberg.org</a>. + +</p> +<p>This eBook is produced by Jeroen Hellingman and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at <a href="https://www.pgdp.net/">www.pgdp.net</a>. + +</p> +<p>This book is an abbreviated translation of José Rizal’s novel <i>Noli me Tángere</i>, which appeared in 1901. This important work was translated from Spanish to English several times. An unabbreviated translation, +by Charles E. Derbyshire was published in 1912, and is available under the title <i><a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/etext/6737">The Social Cancer</a></i>. A Tagalog translation, <i><a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/etext/20228">Noli me Tangere</a></i> was made by Pascual Hicaro Poblete (1857–1921). Finally, Project Gutenberg holds a Dutch translation, made by A. A. Fokker +under the title <i lang="nl"><a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/etext/21848">Noli me tangere: Filippijnsche roman</a></i>. Further translations are in preparation. + + +</p> +<h3>Encoding</h3> +<p></p> +<h3>Revision History</h3> +<ol class="lsoff"> +<li>2008-12-20 Started. + +</li> +</ol> +<h3>External References</h3> +<p>This Project Gutenberg eBook contains external references. These links may not work for you.</p> +<h3>Corrections</h3> +<p>The following corrections have been applied to the text:</p> +<table width="75%"> +<tr> +<th>Page</th> +<th>Source</th> +<th>Correction</th> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a class="pageref" href="#xd0e944">23</a></td> +<td width="40%">Pulfernicht</td> +<td width="40%">Pulfer nicht</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a class="pageref" href="#xd0e961">24</a></td> +<td width="40%">Crisostomo</td> +<td width="40%">Crisóstomo</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a class="pageref" href="#xd0e966">24</a></td> +<td width="40%">Crisostomo</td> +<td width="40%">Crisóstomo</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a class="pageref" href="#xd0e984">24</a></td> +<td width="40%">Crisostomo</td> +<td width="40%">Crisóstomo</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a class="pageref" href="#xd0e1034">26</a></td> +<td width="40%">Crisostomo</td> +<td width="40%">Crisóstomo</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a class="pageref" href="#xd0e1099">29</a></td> +<td width="40%">Crisostomo</td> +<td width="40%">Crisóstomo</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a class="pageref" href="#xd0e1107">30</a></td> +<td width="40%">Crisostomo</td> +<td width="40%">Crisóstomo</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a class="pageref" href="#xd0e1134">30</a></td> +<td width="40%">Crisostomo</td> +<td width="40%">Crisóstomo</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a class="pageref" href="#xd0e1199">36</a></td> +<td width="40%">Crisostomo</td> +<td width="40%">Crisóstomo</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a class="pageref" href="#xd0e1210">37</a></td> +<td width="40%">Crisostomo</td> +<td width="40%">Crisóstomo</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a class="pageref" href="#xd0e1334">43</a></td> +<td width="40%">Crisostomo</td> +<td width="40%">Crisóstomo</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a class="pageref" href="#xd0e1378">45</a></td> +<td width="40%">Malacanan</td> +<td width="40%">Malacañang</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a class="pageref" href="#xd0e1422">48</a></td> +<td width="40%">Crisostomo</td> +<td width="40%">Crisóstomo</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a class="pageref" href="#xd0e1523">54</a></td> +<td width="40%">gave</td> +<td width="40%">grave</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a class="pageref" href="#xd0e1574">55</a></td> +<td width="40%">Crisostomo’s</td> +<td width="40%">Crisóstomo’s</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a class="pageref" href="#xd0e1577">55</a></td> +<td width="40%">Crisostomo</td> +<td width="40%">Crisóstomo</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a class="pageref" href="#xd0e1643">59</a></td> +<td width="40%"> +[<i>Not in source</i>] + +</td> +<td width="40%">“</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a class="pageref" href="#xd0e1938">72</a></td> +<td width="40%"> +[<i>Not in source</i>] + +</td> +<td width="40%">”</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a class="pageref" href="#xd0e2717">110</a></td> +<td width="40%">sacrified</td> +<td width="40%">sacrificed</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a class="pageref" href="#xd0e3305">141</a></td> +<td width="40%">sacrified</td> +<td width="40%">sacrificed</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a class="pageref" href="#xd0e3961">177</a></td> +<td width="40%">senora</td> +<td width="40%">señora</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a class="pageref" href="#xd0e3997">178</a></td> +<td width="40%">Españada</td> +<td width="40%">Espadaña</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a class="pageref" href="#xd0e4009">179</a></td> +<td width="40%"> +[<i>Not in source</i>] + +</td> +<td width="40%">“</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a class="pageref" href="#xd0e4015">179</a></td> +<td width="40%"> +[<i>Not in source</i>] + +</td> +<td width="40%">“</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a class="pageref" href="#xd0e4395">198</a></td> +<td width="40%">archibshop</td> +<td width="40%">archbishop</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a class="pageref" href="#xd0e4400">198</a></td> +<td width="40%">Crisòstomo</td> +<td width="40%">Crisóstomo</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a class="pageref" href="#xd0e4523">205</a></td> +<td width="40%"> +[<i>Not in source</i>] + +</td> +<td width="40%">“</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a class="pageref" href="#xd0e4526">205</a></td> +<td width="40%"> +[<i>Not in source</i>] + +</td> +<td width="40%">”</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a class="pageref" href="#xd0e4536">206</a></td> +<td width="40%"> +[<i>Not in source</i>] + +</td> +<td width="40%">“</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a class="pageref" href="#xd0e4540">206</a></td> +<td width="40%"> +[<i>Not in source</i>] + +</td> +<td width="40%">“</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a class="pageref" href="#xd0e4900">223</a></td> +<td width="40%">havn’t</td> +<td width="40%">haven’t</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a class="pageref" href="#xd0e5048">231</a></td> +<td width="40%">Capain</td> +<td width="40%">Captain</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a class="pageref" href="#xd0e5375">246</a></td> +<td width="40%">adminstration</td> +<td width="40%">administration</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a class="pageref" href="#xd0e5386">246</a></td> +<td width="40%"> +[<i>Not in source</i>] + +</td> +<td width="40%">”</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a class="pageref" href="#xd0e5393">246</a></td> +<td width="40%">Senoras</td> +<td width="40%">Señoras</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a class="pageref" href="#xd0e5795">265</a></td> +<td width="40%">unhapppy</td> +<td width="40%">unhappy</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a class="pageref" href="#xd0e5829">268</a></td> +<td width="40%">builded</td> +<td width="40%">built</td> +</tr> +</table> +</div> +</div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of An Eagle Flight, by José Rizal + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AN EAGLE FLIGHT *** + +***** This file should be named 27594-h.htm or 27594-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + 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