In the kiosks which we saw two days ago occupied by the schoolmaster and his pupils, there was now spread out a toothsome and abundant meal. Noteworthy is the fact that on the table prepared for the school children there was not a single bottle of wine but an abundance of fruits. In the arbors joining the two kiosks were the seats for the musicians and a table covered with sweetmeats and confections, with bottles of water for the thirsty public, all decorated with leaves and flowers. The schoolmaster had erected near by a greased pole and hurdles, and had hung up pots and pans for a number of games.

The crowd, resplendent in bright-colored garments, gathered as people fled from the burning sun, some into the shade of the trees, others under the arbor. The boys climbed up into the branches or on the stones in order to see the ceremony better, making up in this way for their short stature. They looked with envy at the clean and well-dressed school children, who occupied a place especially assigned to them and whose parents were overjoyed, as they, poor country folk, would see their children eat from a white tablecloth, almost the same as the curate or the alcalde. Thinking of this alone was enough to drive away hunger, and such an event would be recounted from father to son.

Soon were heard the distant strains of the band, which was preceded by a motley throng made up of persons of all ages, in clothing of all colors. The yellowish individual became uneasy and with a glance examined his whole apparatus. A curious countryman followed his glance and watched all his movements; this was Elias, who had also come to witness the ceremony, but in his salakot and rough attire he was almost unrecognizable. He had secured a very good position almost at the side of the windlass, on the edge of the excavation. With the music came the alcalde, the municipal officials, the friars, with the exception of Padre Damaso, and the Spanish employees. Ibarra was conversing with the alcalde, of whom he had made quite a friend since he had addressed to him some well-turned compliments over his decorations and ribbons, for aristocratic pretensions were the weakness of his Honor. Capitan Tiago, the alferez, and some other wealthy personages came in the gilded cluster of maidens displaying their silken parasols. Padre Salvi followed, silent and thoughtful as ever.

"Count upon my support always in any worthy enterprise," the alcalde was saying to Ibarra. "I will give you whatever appropriation you need or else see that it is furnished by others."

As they drew nearer the youth felt his heart beat faster. Instinctively he glanced at the strange scaffolding raised there. He saw the yellowish individual salute him respectfully and gaze at him fixedly for a moment. With surprise he noticed Elias, who with a significant wink gave him to understand that he should remember the warning in the church.

The curate put on his sacerdotal robes and commenced the ceremony, while the one-eyed sacristan held the book and an acolyte the hyssop and jar of holy water. The rest stood about him uncovered, and maintained such a profound silence that, in spite of his reading in a low tone, it was apparent that Padre Salvi's voice was trembling.

Meanwhile, there had been placed in the glass case the manuscripts, newspapers, medals, coins, and the like, and the whole enclosed in the leaden cylinder, which was then hermetically sealed.

"Senor Ibarra, will you put the box in its place? The curate is waiting," murmured the alcalde into the young man's ear.

"I would with great pleasure," answered the latter, "but that would be usurping the honorable duty of the escribano. The escribano must make affidavit of the act."

So the escribano gravely took the box, descended the carpeted stairway leading to the bottom of the excavation and with due solemnity placed it in the hole in the stone. The curate then took the hyssop and sprinkled the stones with holy water.

Now the moment had arrived for each one to place his trowelful of mortar on the face of the large stone lying in the trench, in order that the other might be fitted and fastened to it. Ibarra handed the alcalde a mason's trowel, on the wide silver Made of which was engraved the date. But the alcalde first gave a harangue in Spanish:

"People of San Diego! We have the honor to preside over a ceremony whose importance you will not understand unless We tell you of it. A school is being founded, and the school is the basis of society, the school is the book in which is written the future of the nations! Show us the schools of a people and We will show you what that people is.

"People of San Diego! Thank God, who has given you holy priests, and the government of the mother country, which untiringly spreads civilization through these fertile isles, protected beneath her glorious mantle! Thank God, who has taken pity on you and sent you these humble priests who enlighten you and teach you the divine word! Thank the government, which has made, is making, and will continue to make, so many sacrifices for you and your children!

"And now that the first stone of this important edifice is consecrated, We, alcalde-mayor of this province, in the name of his Majesty the King, whom God preserve, King of the Spains, in the name of the illustrious Spanish government and under the protection of its spotless and ever-victorious banner, We consecrate this act and begin the construction of this schoolhouse! People of San Diego, long live the King! Long live Spain! Long live the friars! Long live the Catholic Religion!"

Many voices were raised in answer, adding, "Long live the Senor Alcalde!"

He then majestically descended to the strains of the band, which began to play, deposited several trowelfuls of mortar on the stone, and with equal majesty reascended. The employees applauded.

Ibarra offered another trowel to the curate, who, after fixing his eyes on him for a moment, descended slowly. Half-way down the steps he raised his eyes to look at the stone, which hung fastened by the stout cables, but this was only for a second, and he then went on down. He did the same as the alcalde, but this time more applause was heard, for to the employees were added some friars and Capitan Tiago.

Padre Salvi then seemed to seek for some one to whom he might give the trowel. He looked doubtfully at Maria Clara, but changing his mind, offered it to the escribano. The latter in gallantry offered it to Maria Clara, who smilingly refused it. The friars, the employees, and the alferez went down one after another, nor was Capitan Tiago forgotten. Ibarra only was left, and the order was about to be given for the yellowish individual to lower the stone when the curate remembered the youth and said to him in a joking tone, with affected familiarity:

"Aren't you going to put on your trowelful, Senor Ibarra?"

"I should be a Juan Palomo, to prepare the meal and eat it myself," answered the latter in the same tone.

"Go on!" said the alcalde, shoving him forward gently. "Otherwise, I'll order that the stone be not lowered at all and we'll be here until doomsday."

Before such a terrible threat Ibarra had to obey. He exchanged the small silver trowel for a large iron one, an act which caused some of the spectators to smile, and went forward tranquilly. Elias gazed at him with such an indefinable expression that on seeing it one might have said that his whole life was concentrated in his eyes. The yellowish individual stared into the trench, which opened at his feet. After directing a rapid glance at the heavy stone hanging over his head and another at Elias and the yellowish individual, Ibarra said to Nor Juan in a somewhat unsteady voice, "Give me the mortar and get me another trowel up there."

The youth remained alone. Elias no longer looked at him, for his eyes were fastened on the hand of the yellowish individual, who, leaning over the trench, was anxiously following the movements of Ibarra. There was heard the noise of the trowel scraping on the stone in the midst of a feeble murmur among the employees, who were congratulating the alcalde on his speech.

Suddenly a crash was heard. The pulley tied at the base of the derrick jumped up and after it the windlass, which struck the heavy posts like a battering-ram. The timbers shook, the fastenings flew apart, and the whole apparatus fell in a second with a frightful crash. A cloud of dust arose, while a cry of horror from a thousand voices filled the air. Nearly all fled; only a few dashed toward the trench. Maria Clara and Padre Salvi remained in their places, pale, motionless, and speechless.

When the dust had cleared away a little, they saw Ibarra standing among beams, posts, and cables, between the windlass and the heavy stone, which in its rapid descent had shaken and crushed everything. The youth still held the trowel in his hand and was staring with frightened eyes at the body of a man which lay at his feet half-buried among the timbers.

"You're not killed! You're still alive! For God's sake, speak!" cried several employees, full of terror and solicitude.

"A miracle! A miracle!" shouted some.

"Come and extricate the body of this poor devil!" exclaimed Ibarra like one arousing himself from sleep.

On hearing his voice Maria Clara felt her strength leave her and fell half-fainting into the arms of her friends.

Great confusion prevailed. All were talking, gesticulating, running about, descending into the trench, coming up again, all amazed and terrified.

"Who is the dead man? Is he still alive?" asked the alferez.

The corpse was identified as that of the yellowish individual who had been operating the windlass.

"Arrest the foreman on the work!" was the first thing that the alcalde was able to say.

They examined the corpse, placing their hands on the chest, but the heart had ceased to beat. The blow had struck him on the head, and blood was flowing from his nose, mouth, and ears. On his neck were to be noticed some peculiar marks, four deep depressions toward the back and one more somewhat larger on the other side, which induced the belief that a hand of steel had caught him as in a pair of pincers.

The priests felicitated the youth warmly and shook his hand. The Franciscan of humble aspect who had served as holy ghost for Padre Damaso exclaimed with tearful eyes, "God is just, God is good!"

"When I think that a few moments before I was down there!" said one of the employees to Ibarra. "What if I had happened to be the last!"

"It makes my hair stand on end!" remarked another partly bald individual.

"I'm glad that it happened to you and not to me," murmured an old man tremblingly.

"Don Pascual!" exclaimed some of the Spaniards.

"I say that because the young man is not dead. If I had not been crushed, I should have died afterwards merely from thinking about it."

But Ibarra was already at a distance informing himself as to Maria Clara's condition.

"Don't let this stop the fiesta, Senor Ibarra," said the alcalde. "Praise God, the dead man is neither a priest nor a Spaniard! We must rejoice over your escape! Think if the stone had caught you!"

"There are presentiments, there are presentiments!" exclaimed the escribano. "I've said so before! Senor Ibarra didn't go down willingly. I saw it!"

"The dead man is only an Indian!"

"Let the fiesta go on! Music! Sadness will never resuscitate the dead!"

"An investigation shall be made right here!"

"Send for the directorcillo!"

"Arrest the foreman on the work! To the stocks with him!"

"To the stocks! Music! To the stocks with the foreman!"

"Senor Alcalde," said Ibarra gravely, "if mourning will not resuscitate the dead, much less will arresting this man about whose guilt we know nothing. I will be security for his person and so I ask his liberty for these days at least."

"Very well! But don't let him do it again!"

All kinds of rumors began to circulate. The idea of a miracle was soon an accepted fact, although Fray Salvi seemed to rejoice but little over a miracle attributed to a saint of his Order and in his parish. There were not lacking those who added that they had seen descending into the trench, when everything was tumbling down, a figure in a dark robe like that of the Franciscans. There was no doubt about it; it was San Diego himself! It was also noted that Ibarra had attended mass and that the yellowish individual had not—it was all as clear as the sun!

"You see! You didn't want to go to mass!" said a mother to her son. "If I hadn't whipped you to make you go you would now be on your way to the town hall, like him, in a cart!"

The yellowish individual, or rather his corpse, wrapped up in a mat, was in fact being carried to the town hall. Ibarra hurried home to change his clothes.

"A bad beginning, huh!" commented old Tasio, as he moved away.



CHAPTER XXXIII

Free Thought

Ibarra was just putting the finishing touches to a change of clothing when a servant informed him that a countryman was asking for him. Supposing it to be one of his laborers, he ordered that he be brought into his office, or study, which was at the same time a library and a chemical laboratory. Greatly to his surprise he found himself face to face with the severe and mysterious figure of Elias.

"You saved my life," said the pilot in Tagalog, noticing Ibarra's start of surprise. "I have partly paid the debt and you have nothing to thank me for, but quite the opposite. I've come to ask a favor of you."

"Speak!" answered the youth in the same language, puzzled by the pilot's gravity.

Elias stared into Ibarra's eyes for some seconds before he replied, "When human courts try to clear up this mystery, I beg of you not to speak to any one of the warning that I gave you in the church."

"Don't worry," answered the youth in a rather disgusted tone. "I know that you're wanted, but I'm no informer."

"Oh, it's not on my account, not on my account!" exclaimed Elias with some vigor and haughtiness. "It's on your own account. I fear nothing from men."

Ibarra's surprise increased. The tone in which this rustics—formerly a pilot—spoke was new and did not seem to harmonize with either his condition or his fortune. "What do you mean?" he asked, interrogating that mysterious individual with his looks.

"I do not talk in enigmas but try to express myself clearly; for your greater security, it is better that your enemies think you unsuspecting and unprepared."

Ibarra recoiled. "My enemies? Have I enemies?"

"All of us have them, sir, from the smallest insect up to man, from the poorest and humblest to the richest and most powerful! Enmity is the law of life!"

Ibarra gazed at him in silence for a while, then murmured, "You are neither a pilot nor a rustic!"

"You have enemies in high and low places," continued Elias, without heeding the young man's words. "You are planning a great undertaking, you have a past. Your father and your grandfather had enemies because they had passions, and in life it is not the criminal who provokes the most hate but the honest man."

"Do you know who my enemies are?"

Elias meditated for a moment. "I knew one—him who is dead," he finally answered. "Last night I learned that a plot against you was being hatched, from some words exchanged with an unknown person who lost himself in the crowd. 'The fish will not eat him, as they did his father; you'll see tomorrow,' the unknown said. These words caught my attention not only by their meaning but also on account of the person who uttered them, for he had some days before presented himself to the foreman on the work with the express request that he be allowed to superintend the placing of the stone. He didn't ask for much pay but made a show of great knowledge. I hadn't sufficient reason for believing in his bad intentions, but something within told me that my conjectures were true and therefore I chose as the suitable occasion to warn you a moment when you could not ask me any questions. The rest you have seen for yourself."

For a long time after Elias had become silent Ibarra remained thoughtful, not answering him or saying a word. "I'm sorry that that man is dead!" he exclaimed at length. "From him something more might have been learned."

"If he had lived, he would have escaped from the trembling hand of blind human justice. God has judged him, God has killed him, let God be the only Judge!"

Crisostomo gazed for a moment at the man, who, while he spoke thus, exposed his muscular arms covered with lumps and bruises. "Do you also believe in the miracle?" he asked with a smile. "You know what a miracle the people are talking about."

"Were I to believe in miracles, I should not believe in God. I should believe in a deified man, I should believe that man had really created a god in his own image and likeness," the mysterious pilot answered solemnly. "But I believe in Him, I have felt His hand more than once. When the whole apparatus was falling down and threatening destruction to all who happened to be near it, I, I myself, caught the criminal, I placed myself at his side. He was struck and I am safe and sound."

"You! So it was you—"

"Yes! I caught him when he tried to escape, once his deadly work had begun. I saw his crime, and I say this to you: let God be the sole judge among men, let Him be the only one to have the right over life, let no man ever think to take His place!"

"But you in this instance—"

"No!" interrupted Elias, guessing the objection. "It's not the same. When a man condemns others to death or destroys their future forever he does it with impunity and uses the strength of others to execute his judgments, which after all may be mistaken or erroneous. But I, in exposing the criminal to the same peril that he had prepared for others, incurred the same risk as he did. I did not kill him, but let the hand of God smite him."

"Then you don't believe in accidents?"

"Believing in accidents is like believing in miracles; both presuppose that God does not know the future. What is an accident? An event that no one has at all foreseen. What is a miracle? A contradiction, an overturning of natural laws. Lack of foresight and contradiction in the Intelligence that rules the machinery of the world indicate two great defects."

"Who are you?" Ibarra again asked with some awe.

"Have you ever studied?"

"I have had to believe greatly in God, because I have lost faith in men," answered the pilot, avoiding the question.

Ibarra thought he understood this hunted youth; he rejected human justice, he refused to recognize the right of man to judge his fellows, he protested against force and the superiority of some classes over others.

"But nevertheless you must admit the necessity of human justice, however imperfect it may be," he answered. "God, in spite of the many ministers He may have on earth, cannot, or rather does not, pronounce His judgments clearly to settle the million conflicts that our passions excite. It is proper, it is necessary, it is just, that man sometimes judge his fellows."

"Yes, to do good, but not to do ill, to correct and to better, but not to destroy, for if his judgments are wrong he hasn't the power to remedy the evil he has done. But," he added with a change of tone, "this discussion is beyond my powers and I'm detaining you, who are being waited for. Don't forget what I've just told you—you have enemies. Take care of yourself for the good of our country." Saying this, he turned to go.

"When shall I see you again?" asked Ibarra.

"Whenever you wish and always when I can be of service to you. I am still your debtor."



CHAPTER XXXIV

The Dinner

There in the decorated kiosk the great men of the province were dining. The alcalde occupied one end of the table and Ibarra the other. At the young man's right sat Maria Clara and at his left the escribano. Capitan Tiago, the alferez, the gobernadorcillo, the friars, the employees, and the few young ladies who had remained sat, not according to rank, but according to their inclinations. The meal was quite animated and happy.

When the dinner was half over, a messenger came in search of Capitan Tiago with a telegram, to open which he naturally requested the permission of the others, who very naturally begged him to do so. The worthy capitan at first knitted his eyebrows, then raised them; his face became pale, then lighted up as he hastily folded the paper and arose.

"Gentlemen," he announced in confusion, "his Excellency the Captain-General is coming this evening to honor my house." Thereupon he set off at a run, hatless, taking with him the message and his napkin.

He was followed by exclamations and questions, for a cry of "Tulisanes!" would not have produced greater effect. "But, listen!" "When is he coming?" "Tell us about it!" "His Excellency!" But Capitan Tiago was already far away.

"His Excellency is coming and will stay at Capitan Tiago's!" exclaimed some without taking into consideration the fact that his daughter and future son-in-law were present.

"The choice couldn't be better," answered the latter.

The friars gazed at one another with looks that seemed to say: "The Captain-General is playing another one of his tricks, he is slighting us, for he ought to stay at the convento," but since this was the thought of all they remained silent, none of them giving expression to it.

"I was told of this yesterday," said the alcalde, "but at that time his Excellency had not yet fully decided."

"Do you know, Senor Alcalde, how long the Captain-General thinks of staying here?" asked the alferez uneasily.

"With certainty, no. His Excellency likes to give surprises."

"Here come some more messages." These were for the alcalde, the alferez, and the gobernadorcillo, and contained the same announcement. The friars noted well that none came directed to the curate.

"His Excellency will arrive at four this afternoon, gentlemen!" announced the alcalde solemnly. "So we can finish our meal in peace." Leonidas at Thermopylae could not have said more cheerfully, "Tonight we shall sup with Pluto!"

The conversation again resumed its ordinary course.

"I note the absence of our great preacher," timidly remarked an employee of inoffensive aspect who had not opened his mouth up to the time of eating, and who spoke now for the first time in the whole morning.

All who knew the history of Crisostomo's father made a movement and winked, as if to say, "Get out! Fools rush in—" But some one more charitably disposed answered, "He must be rather tired."

"Rather?" exclaimed the alferez. "He must be exhausted, and as they say here, all fagged out. What a sermon it was!"

"A splendid sermon—wonderful!" said the escribano.

"Magnificent—profound!" added the correspondent.

"To be able to talk so much, it's necessary to have the lungs that he has," observed Padre Manuel Martin. The Augustinian did not concede him anything more than lungs.

"And his fertility of expression!" added Padre Salvi.

"Do you know that Senor Ibarra has the best cook in the province?" remarked the alcalde, to cut short such talk.

"You may well say that, but his beautiful neighbor doesn't wish to honor the table, for she is scarcely eating a bite," observed one of the employees.

Maria Clara blushed. "I thank the gentleman, he troubles himself too much on my account," she stammered timidly, "but—"

"But you honor it enough merely by being present," concluded the gallant alcalde as he turned to Padre Salvi.

"Padre," he said in a loud voice, "I've observed that during the whole day your Reverence has been silent and thoughtful."

"The alcalde is a great observer," remarked Fray Sibyla in a meaning tone.

"It's a habit of mine," stammered the Franciscan. "It pleases me more to listen than to talk."

"Your Reverence always takes care to win and not to lose," said the alferez in a jesting tone.

Padre Salvi, however, did not take this as a joke, for his gaze brightened a moment as he replied, "The alferez knows very well these days that I'm not the one who is winning or losing most."

The alferez turned the hit aside with a forced laugh, pretending not to take it to himself.

"But, gentlemen, I don't understand how it is possible to talk of winnings and losses," interposed the alcalde. "What will these amiable and discreet young ladies who honor us with their company think of us? For me the young women are like the AEolian harps in the middle of the night—it is necessary to listen with close attention in order that their ineffable harmonies may elevate the soul to the celestial spheres of the infinite and the ideal!"

"Your Honor is becoming poetical!" exclaimed the escribano gleefully, and both emptied their wine-glasses.

"I can't help it," said the alcalde as he wiped his lips. "Opportunity, while it doesn't always make the thief, makes the poet. In my youth I composed verses which were really not bad."

"So your Excellency has been unfaithful to the Muses to follow Themis," emphatically declared our mythical or mythological correspondent.

"Pshaw, what would you have? To run through the entire social scale was always my dream. Yesterday I was gathering flowers and singing songs, today I wield the rod of justice and serve Humanity, tomorrow—"

"Tomorrow your Honor will throw the rod into the fire to warm yourself by it in the winter of life, and take an appointment in the cabinet," added Padre Sibyla.

"Pshaw! Yes—no—to be a cabinet official isn't exactly my beau-ideal: any upstart may become one. A villa in the North in which to spend the summer, a mansion in Madrid, and some property in Andalusia for the winter—there we shall live remembering our beloved Philippines. Of me Voltaire would not say, 'We have lived among these people only to enrich ourselves and to calumniate them.'"

The alcalde quoted this in French, so the employees, thinking that his Honor had cracked a joke, began to laugh in appreciation of it. Some of the friars did likewise, since they did not know that the Voltaire mentioned was the same Voltaire whom they had so often cursed and consigned to hell. But Padre Sibyla was aware of it and became serious from the belief that the alcalde had said something heretical or impious.

In the other kiosk the children were eating under the direction of their teacher. For Filipino children they were rather noisy, since at the table and in the presence of other persons their sins are generally more of omission than of commission. Perhaps one who was using the tableware improperly would be corrected by his neighbor and from this there would arise a noisy discussion in which each would have his partisans. Some would say the spoon, others the knife or the fork, and as no one was considered an authority there would arise the contention that God is Christ or, more clearly, a dispute of theologians. Their fathers and mothers winked, made signs, nudged one another, and showed their happiness by their smiles.

"Ya!" exclaimed a countrywoman to an old man who was mashing buyo in his kalikut, "in spite of the fact that my husband is opposed to it, my Andoy shall be a priest. It's true that we're poor, but we'll work, and if necessary we'll beg alms. There are not lacking those who will give money so that the poor may take holy orders. Does not Brother Mateo, a man who does not lie, say that Pope Sextus was a herder of carabaos in Batangas? Well then, look at my Andoy, see if he hasn't already the face of a St. Vincent!" The good mother watered at the mouth to see her son take hold of a fork with both hands.

"God help us!" added the old man, rolling his quid of buyo. "If Andoy gets to be Pope we'll go to Rome he, he! I can still walk well, and if I die—he, he!"

"Don't worry, granddad! Andoy won't forget that you taught him how to weave baskets."

"You're right, Petra. I also believe that your son will be great, at least a patriarch. I have never seen any one who learned the business in a shorter time. Yes, he'll remember me when as Pope or bishop he entertains himself in making baskets for his cook. He'll then say masses for my soul—he, he!" With this hope the good old man again filled his kalikut with buyo.

"If God hears my prayers and my hopes are fulfilled, I'll say to Andoy, 'Son, take away all our sins and send us to Heaven!' Then we shan't need to pray and fast and buy indulgences. One whose son is a blessed Pope can commit sins!"

"Send him to my house tomorrow, Petra," cried the old man enthusiastically, "and I'll teach him to weave the nito!"

"Huh! Get out! What are you dreaming about, grand-dad? Do you still think that the Popes even move their hands? The curate, being nothing more than a curate, only works in the mass—when he turns around! The Archbishop doesn't even turn around, for he says mass sitting down. So the Pope—the Pope says it in bed with a fan! What are you thinking about?"

"Of nothing more, Petra, than that he know how to weave the nito. It would be well for him to be able to sell hats and cigar-cases so that he wouldn't have to beg alms, as the curate does here every year in the name of the Pope. It always fills me with compassion to see a saint poor, so I give all my savings."

Another countryman here joined in the conversation, saying, "It's all settled, cumare, [95] my son has got to be a doctor, there's nothing like being a doctor!"

"Doctor! What are you talking about, cumpare?" retorted Petra. "There's nothing like being a curate!"

"A curate, pish! A curate? The doctor makes lots of money, the sick people worship him, cumare!"

"Excuse me! The curate, by making three or four turns and saying deminos pabiscum, [96] eats God and makes money. All, even the women, tell him their secrets."

"And the doctor? What do you think a doctor is? The doctor sees all that the women have, he feels the pulses of the dalagas! I'd just like to be a doctor for a week!"

"And the curate, perhaps the curate doesn't see what your doctor sees? Better still, you know the saying, 'the fattest chicken and the roundest leg for the curate!'"

"What of that? Do the doctors eat dried fish? Do they soil their fingers eating salt?"

"Does the curate dirty his hands as your doctors do? He has great estates and when he works he works with music and has sacristans to help him."

"But the confessing, cumare? Isn't that work?"

"No work about that! I'd just like to be confessing everybody! While we work and sweat to find out what our own neighbors are doing, the curate does nothing more than take a seat and they tell him everything. Sometimes he falls asleep, but he lets out two or three blessings and we are again the children of God! I'd just like to be a curate for one evening in Lent!"

"But the preaching? You can't tell me that it's not work. Just look how the fat curate was sweating this morning," objected the rustic, who felt himself being beaten into retreat.

"Preaching! Work to preach! Where's your judgment? I'd just like to be talking half a day from the pulpit, scolding and quarreling with everybody, without any one daring to reply, and be getting paid for it besides. I'd just like to be the curate for one morning when those who are in debt to me are attending mass! Look there now, how Padre Damaso gets fat with so much scolding and beating."

Padre Damaso was, indeed, approaching with the gait of a heavy man. He was half smiling, but in such a malignant way that Ibarra, upon seeing him, lost the thread of his talk. The padre was greeted with some surprise but with signs of pleasure on the part of all except Ibarra. They were then at the dessert and the champagne was foaming in the glasses.

Padre Damaso's smile became nervous when he saw Maria Clara seated at Crisostomo's right. He took a seat beside the alcalde and said in the midst of a significant silence, "Were you discussing something, gentlemen? Go ahead!"

"We were at the toasts," answered the alcalde. "Senor Ibarra was mentioning all who have helped him in his philanthropic enterprise and was speaking of the architect when your Reverence—"

"Well, I don't know anything about architecture," interrupted Padre Damaso, "but I laugh at architects and the fools who employ them. Here you have it—I drew the plan of this church and it's perfectly constructed, so an English jeweler who stopped in the convento one day assured me. To draw a plan one needs only to have two fingers' breadth of forehead."

"Nevertheless," answered the alcalde, seeing that Ibarra was silent, "when we consider certain buildings, as, for example, this schoolhouse, we need an expert."

"Get out with your experts!" exclaimed the priest with a sneer. "Only a fool needs experts! One must be more of a brute than the Indians, who build their own houses, not to know how to construct four walls and put a roof on top of them. That's all a schoolhouse is!"

The guests gazed at Ibarra, who had turned pale, but he continued as if in conversation with Maria Clara.

"But your Reverence should consider—"

"See now," went on the Franciscan, not allowing the alcalde to continue, "look how one of our lay brothers, the most stupid that we have, has constructed a hospital, good, pretty, and cheap. He made them work hard and paid only eight cuartos a day even to those who had to come from other towns. He knew how to handle them, not like a lot of cranks and little mestizos who are spoiling them by paying three or four reals."

"Does your Reverence say that he paid only eight cuartos? Impossible!" The alcalde was trying to change the course of the conversation.

"Yes, sir, and those who pride themselves on being good Spaniards ought to imitate him. You see now, since the Suez Canal was opened, the corruption that has come in here. Formerly, when we had to double the Cape, neither so many vagabonds came here nor so many others went from here to become vagabonds."

"But, Padre Damaso—"

"You know well enough what the Indian is—just as soon as he gets a little learning he sets himself up as a doctor! All these little fellows that go to Europe—"

"But, listen, your Reverence!" interrupted the alcalde, who was becoming nervous over the aggressiveness of such talk.

"Every one ends up as he deserves," the friar continued. "The hand of God is manifest in the midst of it all, and one must be blind not to see it. Even in this life the fathers of such vipers receive their punishment, they die in jail ha, ha! As we might say, they have nowhere—"

But he did not finish the sentence. Ibarra, livid, had been following him with his gaze and upon hearing this allusion to his father jumped up and dropped a heavy hand on the priest's head, so that he fell back stunned. The company was so filled with surprise and fright that no one made any movement to interfere.

"Keep off!" cried the youth in a terrible voice, as he caught up a sharp knife and placed his foot on the neck of the friar, who was recovering from the shock of his fall. "Let him who values his life keep away!"

The youth was beside himself. His whole body trembled and his eyes rolled threateningly in their sockets. Fray Damaso arose with an effort, but the youth caught him by the neck and shook him until he again fell doubled over on his knees.

"Senor Ibarra! Senor Ibarra!" stammered some. But no one, not even the alferez himself, dared to approach the gleaming knife, when they considered the youth's strength and the condition of his mind. All seemed to be paralyzed.

"You, here! You have been silent, now it is my turn! I have tried to avoid this, but God brings me to it—let God be the judge!" The youth was breathing laboriously, but with a hand of iron he held down the Franciscan, who was struggling vainly to free himself.

"My heart beats tranquilly, my hand is sure," he began, looking around him. "First, is there one among you, one who has not loved his father, who was born in such shame and humiliation that he hates his memory? You see? You understand this silence? Priest of a God of peace, with your mouth full of sanctity and religion and your heart full of evil, you cannot know what a father is, or you might have thought of your own! In all this crowd which you despise there is not one like you! You are condemned!"

The persons surrounding him, thinking that he was about to commit murder, made a movement.

"Away!" he cried again in a threatening voice. "What, do you fear that I shall stain my hands with impure blood? Have I not told you that my heart beats tranquilly? Away from us! Listen, priests and judges, you who think yourselves other men and attribute to yourselves other rights: my father was an honorable man,—ask these people here, who venerate his memory. My father was a good citizen and he sacrificed himself for me and for the good of his country. His house was open and his table was set for the stranger and the outcast who came to him in distress! He was a Christian who always did good and who never oppressed the unprotected or afflicted those in trouble. To this man here he opened his doors, he made him sit at his table and called him his friend. And how has this man repaid him? He calumniated him, persecuted him, raised up against him all the ignorant by availing himself of the sanctity of his position; he outraged his tomb, dishonored his memory, and persecuted him even in the sleep of death! Not satisfied with this, he persecutes the son now! I have fled from him, I have avoided his presence. You this morning heard him profane the pulpit, pointing me out to popular fanaticism, and I held my peace! Now he comes here to seek a quarrel with me. To your surprise, I have suffered in silence, but he again insults the most sacred memory that there is for a son. You who are here, priests and judges, have you seen your aged father wear himself out working for you, separating himself from you for your welfare, have you seen him die of sorrow in a prison sighing for your embrace, seeking some one to comfort him, alone, sick, when you were in a foreign land? Have you afterwards heard his name dishonored, have you found his tomb empty when you went to pray beside it? No? You are silent, you condemn him!"

He raised his hand, but with the swiftness of light a girlish form put itself between them and delicate fingers restrained the avenging arm. It was Maria Clara. Ibarra stared at her with a look that seemed to reflect madness. Slowly his clenched fingers relaxed, letting fall the body of the Franciscan and the knife. Covering his face, he fled through the crowd.



CHAPTER XXXV

Comments

News of the incident soon spread throughout the town. At first all were incredulous, but, having to yield to the fact, they broke out into exclamations of surprise. Each one, according to his moral lights, made his comments.

"Padre Damaso is dead," said some. "When they picked him up his face was covered with blood and he wasn't breathing."

"May he rest in peace! But he hasn't any more than settled his debts!" exclaimed a young man. "Look what he did this morning in the convento—there isn't any name for it."

"What did he do? Did he beat up the coadjutor again?"

"What did he do? Tell us about it!"

"You saw that Spanish mestizo go out through the sacristy in the midst of the sermon?"

"Yes, we saw him. Padre Damaso took note of him."

"Well, after the sermon he sent for the young man and asked him why he had gone out. 'I don't understand Tagalog, Padre,' was the reply. 'And why did you joke about it, saying that it was Greek?' yelled Padre Damaso, slapping the young man in the face. The latter retorted and the two came to blows until they were separated."

"If that had happened to me—" hissed a student between his teeth.

"I don't approve of the action of the Franciscan," said another, "since Religion ought not to be imposed on any one as a punishment or a penance. But I am almost glad of it, for I know that young man, I know that he's from San Pedro Makati and that he talks Tagalog well. Now he wants to be taken for a recent arrival from Russia and prides himself on appearing not to know the language of his fathers."

"Then God makes them and they rush together!" [97]

"Still we must protest against such actions," exclaimed another student. "To remain silent would be to assent to the abuse, and what has happened may be repeated with any one of us. We're going back to the times of Nero!"

"You're wrong," replied another. "Nero was a great artist, while Padre Damaso is only a tiresome preacher."

The comments of the older persons were of a different kind. While they were waiting for the arrival of the Captain-General in a hut outside the town, the gobernadorcillo was saying, "To tell who was right and who was wrong, is not an easy matter. Yet if Senor Ibarra had used more prudence—"

"If Padre Damaso had used half the prudence of Senor Ibarra, you mean to say, perhaps!" interrupted Don Filipo. "The bad thing about it is that they exchanged parts—the youth conducted himself like an old man and the old man like a youth."

"Did you say that no one moved, no one went near to separate them, except Capitan Tiago's daughter?" asked Capitan Martin. "None of the friars, nor the alcalde? Ahem! Worse and worse! I shouldn't like to be in that young man's skin. No one will forgive him for having been afraid of him. Worse and worse, ahem!"

"Do you think so?" asked Capitan Basilio curiously.

"I hope," said Don Filipo, exchanging a look with the latter, "that the people won't desert him. We must keep in mind what his family has done and what he is trying to do now. And if, as may happen, the people, being intimidated, are silent, his friends—"

"But, gentlemen," interrupted the gobernadorcillo, "what can we do? What can the people do? Happen what will, the friars are always right!"

"They are always right because we always allow them to be," answered Don Filipo impatiently, putting double stress on the italicized word. "Let us be right once and then we'll talk."

The gobernadorcillo scratched his head and stared at the roof while he replied in a sour tone, "Ay! the heat of the blood! You don't seem to realize yet what country we're in, you don't know your countrymen. The friars are rich and united, while we are divided and poor. Yes, try to defend yourself and you'll see how the people will leave you in the lurch."

"Yes!" exclaimed Don Filipo bitterly. "That will happen as long as you think that way, as long as fear and prudence are synonyms. More attention is paid to a possible evil than to a necessary good. At once fear, and not confidence, presents itself; each one thinks only of himself, no one thinks of the rest, and therefore we are all weak!"

"Well then, think of others before yourself and you'll see how they'll leave you in the lurch. Don't you know the proverb, 'Charity begins at home'?"

"You had better say," replied the exasperated teniente-mayor, "that cowardice begins in selfishness and ends in shame! This very day I'm going to hand in my resignation to the alcalde. I'm tired of passing for a joke without being useful to anybody. Good-by!"

The women had opinions of still another kind.

"Ay!" sighed one woman of kindly expression. "The young men are always so! If his good mother were alive, what would she say? When I think that the like may happen to my son, who has a violent temper, I almost envy his dead mother. I should die of grief!"

"Well, I shouldn't," replied another. "It wouldn't cause me any shame if such a thing should happen to my two sons."

"What are you saying, Capitana Maria!" exclaimed the first, clasping her hands.

"It pleases me to see a son defend the memory of his parents, Capitana Tinay. What would you say if some day when you were a widow you heard your husband spoken ill of and your son Antonio should hang his head and remain silent?"

"I would deny him my blessing!" exclaimed a third, Sister Rufa, "but—"

"Deny him my blessing, never!" interrupted the kind Capitana Tinay. "A mother ought not to say that! But I don't know what I should do—I don't know—I believe I'd die—but I shouldn't want to see him again. But what do you think about it, Capitana Maria?"

"After all," added Sister Rufa, "it must not be forgotten that it's a great sin to place your hand on a sacred person."

"A father's memory is more sacred!" replied Capitana Maria. "No one, not even the Pope himself, much less Padre Damaso, may profane such a holy memory."

"That's true!" murmured Capitana Tinay, admiring the wisdom of both. "Where did you get such good ideas?"

"But the excommunication and the condemnation?" exclaimed Sister Rufa. "What are honor and a good name in this life if in the other we are damned? Everything passes away quickly—but the excommunication—to outrage a minister of Christ! No one less than the Pope can pardon that!"

"God, who commands honor for father and mother, will pardon it, God will not excommunicate him! And I tell you that if that young man comes to my house I will receive him and talk with him, and if I had a daughter I would want him for a son-in-law; he who is a good son will be a good husband and a good father—believe it, Sister Rufa!"

"Well, I don't think so. Say what you like, and even though you may appear to be right, I'll always rather believe the curate. Before everything else, I'll save my soul. What do you say, Capitana Tinny?"

"Oh, what do you want me to say? You're both right the curate is right, but God must also be right. I don't know, I'm only a foolish woman. What I'm going to do is to tell my son not to study any more, for they say that persons who know anything die on the gallows. Maria Santisima, my son wants to go to Europe!"

"What are you thinking of doing?"

"Tell him to stay with me—why should he know more? Tomorrow or the next day we shall die, the learned and the ignorant alike must die, and the only question is to live in peace." The good old woman sighed and raised her eyes toward the sky.

"For my part," said Capitana Maria gravely, "if I were rich like you I would let my sons travel; they are young and will some day be men. I have only a little while to live, we should see one another in the other life, so sons should aspire to be more than their fathers, but at our sides we only teach them to be children."

"Ay, what rare thoughts you have!" exclaimed the astonished Capitana Tinay, clasping her hands. "It must be that you didn't suffer in bearing your twin boys."

"For the very reason that I did bear them with suffering, that I have nurtured and reared them in spite of our poverty, I do not wish that, after the trouble they're cost me, they be only half-men."

"It seems to me that you don't love your children as God commands," said Sister Rufa in a rather severe tone.

"Pardon me, every mother loves her sons in her own way. One mother loves them for her own sake and another loves them for their sake. I am one of the latter, for my husband has so taught me."

"All your ideas, Capitana Maria," said Sister Rufa, as if preaching, "are but little religious. Become a sister of the Holy Rosary or of St. Francis or of St. Rita or of St. Clara."

"Sister Rufa, when I am a worthy sister of men then I'll try to be a sister of the saints," she answered with a smile.

To put an end to this chapter of comments and that the reader may learn in passing what the simple country folk thought of the incident, we will now go to the plaza, where under the large awning some rustics are conversing, one of them—he who dreamed about doctors of medicine—being an acquaintance of ours.

"What I regret most," said he, "is that the schoolhouse won't be finished."

"What's that?" asked the bystanders with interest.

"My son won't be a doctor but a carter, nothing more! Now there won't be any school!"

"Who says there won't be any school?" asked a rough and robust countryman with wide cheeks and a narrow head.

"I do! The white padres have called Don Crisostomo plibastiero. [98] Now there won't be any school."

All stood looking questioningly at each other; that was a new term to them.

"And is that a bad name?" the rough countryman made bold to ask.

"The worst thing that one Christian can say to another!"

"Worse than tarantado and sarayate?" [99]

"If it were only that! I've been called those names several times and they didn't even give me a bellyache."

"Well, it can't be worse than 'indio,' as the alferez says."

The man who was to have a carter for a son became gloomier, while the other scratched his head in thought.

"Then it must be like the betelapora [100] that the alferez's old woman says. Worse than that is to spit on the Host."

"Well, it's worse than to spit on the Host on Good Friday," was the grave reply. "You remember the word ispichoso [101] which when applied to a man is enough to have the civil-guards take him into exile or put him in jail well, plibustiero is much worse. According to what the telegrapher and the directorcillo said, plibustiero, said by a Christian, a curate, or a Spaniard to another Christian like us is a santusdeus with requimiternam, [102] for if they ever call you a plibustiero then you'd better get yourself shriven and pay your debts, since nothing remains for you but to be hanged. You know whether the telegrapher and the directorcillo ought to be informed; one talks with wires and the other knows Spanish and works only with a pen." All were appalled.

"May they force me to wear shoes and in all my life to drink nothing but that vile stuff they call beer, if I ever let myself be called pelbistero!" swore the countryman, clenching his fists. "What, rich as Don Crisostomo is, knowing Spanish as he does, and able to eat fast with a knife and spoon, I'd laugh at five curates!"

"The next civil-guard I catch stealing my chickens I'm going to call palabistiero, then I'll go to confession at once," murmured one of the rustics in a low voice as he withdrew from the group.



CHAPTER XXXVI

The First Cloud

In Capitan Tiago's house reigned no less disorder than in the people's imagination. Maria Clara did nothing but weep and would not listen to the consoling words of her aunt and of Andeng, her foster-sister. Her father had forbidden her to speak to Ibarra until the priests should absolve him from the excommunication. Capitan Tiago himself, in the midst of his preparations for receiving the Captain-General properly, had been summoned to the convento.

"Don't cry, daughter," said Aunt Isabel, as she polished the bright plates of the mirrors with a piece of chamois. "They'll withdraw the excommunication, they'll write now to the Pope, and we'll make a big poor-offering. Padre Damaso only fainted, he's not dead."

"Don't cry," whispered Andeng. "I'll manage it so that you may talk with him. What are confessionals for if not that we may sin? Everything is forgiven by telling it to the curate."

At length Capitan Tiago returned. They sought in his face the answer to many questions, and it announced discouragement. The poor fellow was perspiring; he rubbed his hand across his forehead, but was unable to say a single word.

"What has happened, Santiago?" asked Aunt Isabel anxiously.

He answered by sighing and wiping away a tear.

"For God's sake, speak! What has happened?"

"Just what I feared," he broke out at last, half in tears. "All is lost! Padre Damaso has ordered me to break the engagement, otherwise he will damn me in this life and in the next. All of them told me the same, even Padre Sibyla. I must close the doors of my house against him, and I owe him over fifty thousand pesos! I told the padres this, but they refused to take any notice of it. 'Which do you prefer to lose,' they asked me, 'fifty thousand pesos or your life and your soul?' Ay, St. Anthony, if I had only known, if I had only known! Don't cry, daughter," he went on, turning to the sobbing girl. "You're not like your mother, who never cried except just before you were born. Padre Damaso told me that a relative of his has just arrived from Spain and you are to marry him."

Maria Clara covered her ears, while Aunt Isabel screamed, "Santiago, are you crazy? To talk to her of another sweetheart now! Do you think that your daughter changes sweethearts as she does her camisa?"

"That's just the way I felt, Isabel. Don Crisostomo is rich, while the Spaniards marry only for love of money. But what do you want me to do? They've threatened me with another excommunication. They say that not only my soul but also my body is in great danger—my body, do you hear, my body!"

"But you're only making your daughter more disconsolate! Isn't the Archbishop your friend? Why don't you write to him?"

"The Archbishop is also a friar, the Archbishop does only what the friars tell him to do. But, Maria, don't cry. The Captain-General is coming, he'll want to see you, and your eyes are all red. Ay, I was thinking to spend a happy evening! Without this misfortune I should be the happiest of men—every one would envy me! Be calm, my child, I'm more unfortunate than you and I'm not crying. You can have another and better husband, while I—I've lost fifty thousand pesos! Ay, Virgin of Antipolo, if tonight I may only have luck!"

Salvos, the sound of carriage wheels, the galloping of horses, and a band playing the royal march, announced the arrival of his Excellency, the Captain-General of the Philippines. Maria Clara ran to hide herself in her chamber. Poor child, rough hands that knew not its delicate chords were playing with her heart! While the house became filled with people and heavy steps, commanding voices, and the clank of sabers and spurs resounded on all sides, the afflicted maiden reclined half-kneeling before a picture of the Virgin represented in that sorrowful loneliness perceived only by Delaroche, as if he had surprised her returning from the sepulcher of her Son. But Maria Clara was not thinking of that mother's sorrow, she was thinking of her own. With her head hanging down over her breast and her hands resting on the floor she made the picture of a lily bent by the storm. A future dreamed of and cherished for years, whose illusions, born in infancy and grown strong throughout youth, had given form to the very fibers of her being, to be wiped away now from her mind and heart by a single word! It was enough to stop the beating of one and to deprive the other of reason.

Maria Clara was a loving daughter as well as a good and pious Christian, so it was not the excommunication alone that terrified her, but the command and the ominous calmness of her father demanding the sacrifice of her love. Now she felt the whole force of that affection which until this moment she had hardly suspected. It had been like a river gliding along peacefully with its banks carpeted by fragrant flowers and its bed covered with fine sand, so that the wind hardly ruffled its current as it moved along, seeming hardly to flow at all; but suddenly its bed becomes narrower, sharp stones block the way, hoary logs fall across it forming a barrier—then the stream rises and roars with its waves boiling and scattering clouds of foam, it beats against the rocks and rushes into the abyss!

She wanted to pray, but who in despair can pray? Prayers are for the hours of hope, and when in the absence of this we turn to God it is only with complaints. "My God," cried her heart, "why dost Thou thus cut a man off, why dost Thou deny him the love of others? Thou dost not deny him thy sunlight and thy air nor hide from him the sight of thy heaven! Why then deny him love, for without a sight of the sky, without air or sunlight, one can live, but without love—never!"

Would these cries unheard by men reach the throne of God or be heard by the Mother of the distressed? The poor maiden who had never known a mother dared to confide these sorrows of an earthly love to that pure heart that knew only the love of daughter and of mother. In her despair she turned to that deified image of womanhood, the most beautiful idealization of the most ideal of all creatures, to that poetical creation of Christianity who unites in herself the two most beautiful phases of womanhood without its sorrows: those of virgin and mother,—to her whom we call Mary!

"Mother, mother!" she moaned.

Aunt Isabel came to tear her away from her sorrow since she was being asked for by some friends and by the Captain-General, who wished to talk with her.

"Aunt, tell them that I'm ill," begged the frightened girl. "They're going to make me play on the piano and sing."

"Your father has promised. Are you going to put your father in a bad light?"

Maria Clara rose, looked at her aunt, and threw back her shapely arms, murmuring, "Oh, if I only had—"

But without concluding the phrase she began to make herself ready for presentation.



CHAPTER XXXVII

His Excellency

"I Want to talk with that young man," said his Excellency to an aide. "He has aroused all my interest."

"They have already gone to look for him, General. But here is a young man from Manila who insists on being introduced. We told him that your Excellency had no time for interviews, that you had not come to give audiences, but to see the town and the procession, and he answered that your Excellency always has time to dispense justice—"

His Excellency turned to the alcalde in wonder. "If I am not mistaken," said the latter with a slight bow, "he is the young man who this morning had a quarrel with Padre Damaso over the sermon."

"Still another? Has this friar set himself to stir up the whole province or does he think that he governs here? Show the young man in." His Excellency paced nervously from one end of the sala to the other.

In the hall were gathered various Spaniards mingled with soldiers and officials of San Diego and neighboring towns, standing in groups conversing or disputing. There were also to be seen all the friars, with the exception of Padre Damaso, and they wanted to go in to pay their respects to his Excellency.

"His Excellency the Captain-General begs your Reverences to wait a moment," said the aide. "Come in, young man!" The Manilan who had confounded Greek with Tagalog entered the room pale and trembling.

All were filled with surprise; surely his Excellency must be greatly irritated to dare to make the friars wait! Padre Sibyla remarked, "I haven't anything to say to him, I'm wasting my time here."

"I say the same," added an Augustinian. "Shall we go?"

"Wouldn't it be better that we find out how he stands?" asked Padre Salvi. "We should avoid a scandal, and should be able to remind him of his duties toward—religion."

"Your Reverences may enter, if you so desire," said the aide as he ushered out the youth who did not understand Greek and whose countenance was now beaming with satisfaction.

Fray Sibyla entered first, Padre Salvi, Padre Martin, and the other priests following. They all made respectful bows with the exception of Padre Sibyla, who even in bending preserved a certain air of superiority. Padre Salvi on the other hand almost doubled himself over the girdle.

"Which of your Reverences is Padre Damaso?" asked the Captain-General without any preliminary greeting, neither asking them to be seated nor inquiring about their health nor addressing them with the flattering speeches to which such important personages are accustomed.

"Padre Damaso is not here among us, sir," replied Fray Sibyla in the same dry tone as that used by his Excellency.

"Your Excellency's servant is in bed sick," added Padre Salvi humbly. "After having the pleasure of welcoming you and of informing ourselves concerning your Excellency's health, as is the duty of all good subjects of the King and of every person of culture, we have come in the name of the respected servant of your Excellency who has had the misfortune—"

"Oh!" interrupted the Captain-General, twirling a chair about on one leg and smiling nervously, "if all the servants of my Excellency were like his Reverence, Padre Damaso, I should prefer myself to serve my Excellency!"

The reverend gentlemen, who were standing up physically, did so mentally at this interruption.

"Won't your Reverences be seated?" he added after a brief pause, moderating his tone a little.

Capitan Tiago here appeared in full dress, walking on tiptoe and leading by the hand Maria Clara, who entered timidly and with hesitation. Still she bowed gracefully and ceremoniously.

"Is this young lady your daughter?" asked the Captain-General in surprise.

"And your Excellency's, General," answered Capitan Tiago seriously. [103]

The alcalde and the aides opened their eyes wide, but his Excellency lost none of his gravity as he took the girl's hand and said affably, "Happy are the fathers who have daughters like you, senorita! I have heard you spoken of with respect and admiration and have wanted to see you and thank you for your beautiful action of this afternoon. I am informed of everything and when I make my report to his Majesty's government I shall not forget your noble conduct. Meanwhile, permit me to thank you in the name of his Majesty, the King, whom I represent here and who loves peace and tranquillity in his loyal subjects, and for myself, a father who has daughters of your age, and to propose a reward for you."

"Sir—" answered the trembling Maria Clara.

His Excellency guessed what she wanted to say, and so continued: "It is well, senorita, that you are at peace with your conscience and content with the good opinion of your fellow-countrymen, with the faith which is its own best reward and beyond which we should not aspire. But you must not deprive me of an opportunity to show that if Justice knows how to punish she also knows how to reward and that she is not always blind!" The italicized words were all spoken in a loud and significant tone.

"Senor Don Juan Crisostomo Ibarra awaits the orders of your Excellency!" announced the aide in a loud voice.

Maria Clara shuddered.

"Ah!" exclaimed the Captain-General. "Allow me, senorita, to express my desire to see you again before leaving the town, as I still have some very important things to say to you. Senor Alcalde, you will accompany me during the walk which I wish to take after the conference that I will hold alone with Senor Ibarra."

"Your Excellency will permit us to inform you," began Padre Salvi humbly, "that Senor Ibarra is excommunicated."

His Excellency cut short this speech, saying, "I am happy that I have only to regret the condition of Padre Damaso, for whom I sincerely desire a complete recovery, since at his age a voyage to Spain on account of his health may not be very agreeable. But that depends on him! Meanwhile, may God preserve the health of your Reverences!"

"And so much depends on him," murmured Padre Salvi as they retired. "We'll see who makes that voyage soonest!" remarked another Franciscan.

"I shall leave at once," declared the indignant Padre Sibyla.

"And we shall go back to our province," said the Augustinians. Neither the Dominican nor the Augustinians could endure the thought that they had been so coldly received on a Franciscan's account.

In the hall they met Ibarra, their amphitryon of a few hours before, but no greetings were exchanged, only looks that said many things. But when the friars had withdrawn the alcalde greeted him familiarly, although the entrance of the aide looking for the young man left no time for conversation. In the doorway he met Maria Clara; their looks also said many things but quite different from what the friars' eyes had expressed.

Ibarra was dressed in deep mourning, but presented himself serenely and made a profound bow, even though the visit of the friars had not appeared to him to be a good augury. The Captain-General advanced toward him several steps.

"I take pleasure, Senor Ibarra, in shaking your hand. Permit me to receive you in all confidence." His Excellency examined the youth with marked satisfaction.

"Sir, such kindness—"

"Your surprise offends me, signifying as it does that you had not expected to be well received. That is casting a doubt on my sense of justice!"

"A cordial reception, sir, for an insignificant subject of his Majesty like myself is not justice but a favor."

"Good, good," exclaimed his Excellency, seating himself and waving Ibarra to a chair. "Let us enjoy a brief period of frankness. I am very well satisfied with your conduct and have already recommended you to his Majesty for a decoration on account of your philanthropic idea of erecting a schoolhouse. If you had let me know, I would have attended the ceremony with pleasure, and perhaps might have prevented a disagreeable incident."

"It seemed to me such a small matter," answered the youth, "that I did not think it worth while troubling your Excellency with it in the midst of your numerous cares. Besides, my duty was to apply first to the chief authority of my province."

His Excellency nodded with a satisfied air and went on in an even more familiar tone: "In regard to the trouble you're had with Padre Damaso, don't hold any fear or rancor, for they won't touch a hair of your head while I govern the islands. As for the excommunication, I'll speak to the Archbishop, since it is necessary for us to adjust ourselves to circumstances. Here we can't laugh at such things in public as we can in the Peninsula and in enlightened Europe. Nevertheless, be more prudent in the future. You have placed yourself in opposition to the religious orders, who must be respected on account of their influence and their wealth. But I will protect you, for I like good sons, I like to see them honor the memory of their fathers. I loved mine, and, as God lives, I don't know what I would have done in your place!"

Then, changing the subject of conversation quickly, he asked, "I'm told that you have just returned from Europe; were you in Madrid?"

"Yes, sir, several months."

"Perhaps you heard my family spoken of?"

"Your Excellency had just left when I had the honor of being introduced to your family."

"How is it, then, that you came without bringing any recommendations to me?"

"Sir," replied Ibarra with a bow, "because I did not come direct from Spain and because I have heard your Excellency so well spoken of that I thought a letter of recommendation might not only be valueless but even offensive; all Filipinos are recommended to you."

A smile played about the old soldier's lips and he replied slowly, as though measuring and weighing his words, "You flatter me by thinking so, and—so it ought to be. Nevertheless, young man, you must know what burdens weigh upon our shoulders here in the Philippines. Here we, old soldiers, have to do and to be everything: King, Minister of State, of War, of Justice, of Finance, of Agriculture, and of all the rest. The worst part of it too is that in every matter we have to consult the distant mother country, which accepts or rejects our proposals according to circumstances there—and at times blindly. As we Spaniards say, 'He who attempts many things succeeds in none.' Besides, we generally come here knowing little about the country and leave it when we begin to get acquainted with it. With you I can be frank, for it would be useless to try to be otherwise. Even in Spain, where each department has its own minister, born and reared in the locality, where there are a press and a public opinion, where the opposition frankly opens the eyes of the government and keeps it informed, everything moves along imperfectly and defectively; thus it is a miracle that here things are not completely topsyturvy in the lack of these safeguards, and having to live and work under the shadow of a most powerful opposition. Good intentions are not lacking to us, the governing powers, but we find ourselves obliged to avail ourselves of the eyes and arms of others whom ordinarily we do not know and who perhaps, instead of serving their country, serve only their own private interests. This is not our fault but the fault of circumstances—the friars aid us not a little in getting along, but they are not sufficient. You have aroused my interest and it is my desire that the imperfections of our present system of government be of no hindrance to you. I cannot look after everybody nor can everybody come to me. Can I be of service to you in any way? Have you no request to make?"

Ibarra reflected a moment before he answered. "Sir, my dearest wish is the happiness of my country, a happiness which I desire to see owed to the mother country and to the efforts of my fellow-citizens, the two united by the eternal bonds of common aspirations and common interests. What I would request can only be given by the government after years of unceasing toil and after the introduction of definite reforms."

His Excellency gazed at him for a few seconds with a searching look, which Ibarra sustained with naturalness. "You are the first man that I've talked to in this country!" he finally exclaimed, extending his hand.

"Your Excellency has seen only those who drag themselves about in the city; you have not visited the slandered huts of our towns or your Excellency would have been able to see real men, if to be a man it is sufficient to have a generous heart and simple customs."

The Captain-General rose and began to walk back and forth in the room. "Senor Ibarra," he exclaimed, pausing suddenly, and the young man also rose, "perhaps within a month I shall leave. Your education and your mode of thinking are not for this country. Sell what you have, pack your trunk, and come with me to Europe; the climate there will be more agreeable to you."

"I shall always while I live preserve the memory of your Excellency's kindness," replied Ibarra with emotion, "but I must remain in this country where my fathers have lived."

"Where they have died you might say with more exactness! Believe me, perhaps I know your country better than you yourself do. Ah, now I remember," he exclaimed with a change of tone, "you are going to marry an adorable young woman and I'm detaining you here! Go, go to her, and that you may have greater freedom send her father to me," this with a smile. "Don't forget, though, that I want you to accompany me in my walk."

Ibarra bowed and withdrew. His Excellency then called to his aide. "I'm satisfied," he said, slapping the latter lightly on the shoulder. "Today I've seen for the first time how it is possible for one to be a good Spaniard without ceasing to be a good Filipino and to love his country. Today I showed their Reverences that we are not all puppets of theirs. This young man gave me the opportunity and I shall soon have settled all my accounts with the friars. It's a pity that some day or other this young man—But call the alcalde."

The alcalde presented himself immediately. As he entered, the Captain-General said to him, "Senor Alcalde, in order to avoid any repetition of scenes such as you witnessed this afternoon, scenes that I regret, as they hurt the prestige of the government and of all good Spaniards, allow me to recommend to your especial care Senor Ibarra, so that you may afford him means for carrying out his patriotic intentions and also that in the future you prevent his being molested by persons of any class whatsoever, under any pretext at all."

The alcalde understood the reprimand and bowed to conceal his confusion.

"Have the same order communicated to the alferez who commands in the district here. Also, investigate whether that gentleman has affairs of his own that are not sanctioned by the regulations. I've heard more than one complaint in regard to that."

Capitan Tiago presented himself stiff and formal. "Don Santiago," said his Excellency in an affable tone, "a little while ago I felicitated you on the happiness of having a daughter such as the Senorita de los Santos; now let me congratulate you on your future son-in-law. The most virtuous of daughters is certainly worthy of the best citizen of the Philippines. Is it permitted to know when the wedding will occur?"

"Sir!" stammered Capitan Tiago, wiping the perspiration from his forehead.

"Come now, I see that there is nothing definitely arranged. If persons are lacking to stand up with them, I shall take the greatest pleasure in being one of them. That's for the purpose of ridding myself of the feeling of disgust which the many weddings I've heretofore taken part in have given me," he added, turning to the alcalde.

"Yes, sir," answered Capitan Tiago with a smile that would move to pity.

Ibarra almost ran in search of Maria Clara—he had so many things to tell her. Hearing merry voices in one of the rooms, he knocked lightly on the door.

"Who's there?" asked the voice of Maria Clara.

"I!"

The voices became hushed and the door—did not open.

"It's I, may I come in?" called the young man, his heart beating violently.

The silence continued. Then light footsteps approached the door and the merry voice of Sinang murmured through the keyhole, "Crisostomo, we're going to the theater tonight. Write what you have to say to Maria."

The footsteps retreated again as rapidly as they approached.

"What does this mean?" murmured Ibarra thoughtfully as he retired slowly from the door.



CHAPTER XXXVIII

The Procession

At nightfall, when all the lanterns in the windows had been lighted, for the fourth time the procession started amid the ringing of bells and the usual explosions of bombs. The Captain-General, who had gone out on foot in company with his two aides, Capitan Tiago, the alcalde, the alferez, and Ibarra, preceded by civil-guards and officials who opened the way and cleared the street, was invited to review the procession from the house of the gobernadorcillo, in front of which a platform had been erected where a loa [104] would be recited in honor of the Blessed Patron.

Ibarra would gladly have renounced the pleasure of hearing this poetical composition, preferring to watch the procession from Capitan Tiago's house, where Maria Clara had remained with some of her friends, but his Excellency wished to hear the loa, so he had no recourse but to console himself with the prospect of seeing her at the theater.

The procession was headed by the silver candelabra borne by three begloved sacristans, behind whom came the school children in charge of their teacher, then boys with paper lanterns of varied shapes and colors placed on the ends of bamboo poles of greater or less length and decorated according to the caprice of each boy, since this illumination was furnished by the children of the barrios, who gladly performed this service, imposed by the matanda sa nayon, [105] each one designing and fashioning his own lantern, adorning it as his fancy prompted and his finances permitted with a greater or less number of frills and little streamers, and lighting it with a piece of candle if he had a friend or relative who was a sacristan, or if he could buy one of the small red tapers such as the Chinese burn before their altars.

In the midst of the crowd came and went alguazils, guardians of justice to take care that the lines were not broken and the people did not crowd together. For this purpose they availed themselves of their rods, with blows from which, administered opportunely and with sufficient force, they endeavored to add to the glory and brilliance of the procession—all for the edification of souls and the splendor of religious show. At the same time that the alguazils were thus distributing free their sanctifying blows, other persons, to console the recipients, distributed candles and tapers of different sizes, also free.

"Senor Alcalde," said Ibarra in a low voice, "do they administer those blows as a punishment for sin or simply because they like to do so?"

"You're right, Senor Ibarra," answered the Captain-General, overhearing the question. "This barbarous sight is a wonder to all who come here from other countries. It ought to be forbidden."

Without any apparent reason, the first saint that appeared was St. John the Baptist. On looking at him it might have been said that the fame of Our Savior's cousin did not amount to much among the people, for while it is true that he had the feet and legs of a maiden and the face of an anchorite, yet he was placed on an old wooden andas, and was hidden by a crowd of children who, armed with candles and unlighted lanterns, were engaging in mock fights.

"Unfortunate saint!" muttered the Sage Tasio, who was watching the procession from the street, "it avails you nothing to have been the forerunner of the Good Tidings or that Jesus bowed before you! Your great faith and your austerity avail you nothing, nor the fact that you died for the truth and your convictions, all of which men forget when they consider nothing more than their own merits. It avails more to preach badly in the churches than to be the eloquent voice crying in the desert, this is what the Philippines teaches you! If you had eaten turkey instead of locusts and had worn garments of silk rather than hides, if you had joined a Corporation—"

But the old man suspended his apostrophe at the approach of St. Francis. "Didn't I say so?" he then went on, smiling sarcastically. "This one rides on a ear, and, good Heavens, what a car! How many lights and how many glass lanterns! Never did I see you surrounded by so many luminaries, Giovanni Bernardone! [106] And what music! Other tunes were heard by your followers after your death! But, venerable and humble founder, if you were to come back to life now you would see only degenerate Eliases of Cortona, and if your followers should recognize you, they would put you in jail, and perhaps you would share the fate of Cesareus of Spyre."

After the music came a banner on which was pictured the same saint, but with seven wings, carried by the Tertiary Brethren dressed in guingon habits and praying in high, plaintive voices. Rather inexplicably, next came St. Mary Magdalene, a beautiful image with abundant hair, wearing a panuelo of embroidered pina held by fingers covered with rings, and a silk gown decorated with gilt spangles. Lights and incense surrounded her while her glass tears reflected the colors of the Bengal lights, which, while giving a fantastic appearance to the procession, also made the saintly sinner weep now green, now red, now blue tears. The houses did not begin to light up until St. Francis was passing; St. John the Baptist did not enjoy this honor and passed hastily by as if ashamed to be the only one dressed in hides in such a crowd of folk covered with gold and jewels.

"There goes our saint!" exclaimed the daughter of the gobernadorcillo to her visitors. "I've lent him all my rings, but that's in order to get to heaven."

The candle-bearers stopped around the platform to listen to the loa and the blessed saints did the same; either they or their bearers wished to hear the verses. Those who were carrying St. John, tired of waiting, squatted down on their heels and agreed to set him on the ground.

"The alguazil may scold!" objected one of them.

"Huh, in the sacristy they leave him in a corner among the cobwebs!"

So St. John, once on the ground, became one of the townsfolk.

As the Magdalene set out the women joined the procession, only that instead of beginning with the children, as among the men, the old women came first and the girls filled up the lines to the car of the Virgin, behind which came the curate under his canopy. This practise they had from Padre Damaso, who said: "To the Virgin the maidens and not the old women are pleasing!" This statement had caused wry faces on the part of many saintly old ladies, but the Virgin did not change her tastes.

San Diego followed the Magdalene but did not seem to be rejoicing over this fact, since he moved along as repentantly as he had in the morning when he followed St. Francis. His float was drawn by six Tertiary Sisters—whether because of some vow or on account of some sickness, the fact is that they dragged him along, and with zeal. San Diego stopped in front of the platform and waited to be saluted.

But it was necessary to wait for the float of the Virgin, which was preceded by persons dressed like phantoms, who frightened the little children so that there were heard the cries and screams of terrified babies. Yet in the midst of that dark mass of gowns, hoods, girdles, and nuns' veils, from which arose a monotonous and snuffling prayer, there were to be seen, like white jasmines or fresh sampaguitas among old rags, twelve girls dressed in white, crowned with flowers, their hair curled, and flashing from their eyes glances as bright as their necklaces. Like little genii of light who were prisoners of specters they moved along holding to the wide blue ribbons tied to the Virgin's car and suggesting the doves that draw the car of Spring.

Now all the images were in attitudes of attention, crowded one against the other to listen to the verses. Everybody kept his eyes fixed on the half-drawn curtain until at length a sigh of admiration escaped from the lips of all. Deservedly so, too, for it was a boy with wings, riding-boots, sash, belt, and plumed hat.

"It's the alcalde!" cried some one, but this prodigy of creation began to recite a poem like himself and took no offense at the comparison.

But why record here what he said in Latin, Tagalog, and Spanish, all in verse—this poor victim of the gobernadorcillo? Our readers have enjoyed Padre Damaso's sermon of the morning and we do not wish to spoil them by too many wonders. Besides, the Franciscan might feel hard toward us if we were to put forward a competitor, and this is far from being the desire of such peaceful folk as we have the good fortune to be.

Afterwards, the procession moved on, St. John proceeding along his vale of tears. When the Virgin passed the house of Capitan Tiago a heavenly song greeted her with the words of the archangel. It was a voice tender, melodious, pleading, sighing out the Ave Maria of Gounod to the accompaniment of a piano that prayed with it. The music of the procession became hushed, the praying ceased, and even Padre Salvi himself paused. The voice trembled and became plaintive, expressing more than a salutation—rather a prayer and a protest.

Terror and melancholy settled down upon Ibarra's heart as he listened to the voice from the window where he stood. He comprehended what that suffering soul was expressing in a song and yet feared to ask himself the cause of such sorrow. Gloomy and thoughtful, he turned to the Captain-General.

"You will join me at the table," the latter said to him. "There we'll talk about those boys who disappeared."

"Could I be the cause?" murmured the young man, staring without seeing the Captain-General, whom he was following mechanically.



CHAPTER XXXIX

Dona Consolacion

Why were the windows closed in the house of the alferez? Where were the masculine features and the flannel camisa of the Medusa or Muse of the Civil Guard while the procession was passing? Had Dona Consolacion realized how disagreeable were her forehead seamed with thick veins that appeared to conduct not blood but vinegar and gall, and the thick cigar that made a fit ornament for her purple lips, and her envious leer, and yielding to a generous impulse had she wished not to disturb the pleasure of the populace by her sinister appearance? Ah, for her generous impulses existed in the Golden Age! The house, showed neither lanterns nor banners and was gloomy precisely because the town was making merry, as Sinang said, and but for the sentinel walking before the door appeared to be uninhabited.

A dim light shone in the disordered sala, rendering transparent the dirty concha-panes on which the cobwebs had fastened and the dust had become incrusted. The lady of the house, according to her indolent custom, was dozing on a wide sofa. She was dressed as usual, that is, badly and horribly: tied round her head a panuelo, from beneath which escaped thin locks of tangled hair, a camisa of blue flannel over another which must once have been white, and a faded skirt which showed the outlines of her thin, flat thighs, placed one over the other and shaking feverishly. From her mouth issued little clouds of smoke which she puffed wearily in whatever direction she happened to be looking when she opened her eyes. If at that moment Don Francisco de Canamaque [107] could have seen her, he would have taken her for a cacique of the town or the mankukulam, and then decorated his discovery with commentaries in the vernacular of the markets, invented by him for her particular use.