The Reign of Greed - 21

sought he exclaimed: "I'm right, yes, I'm right! Right and Justice
are on my side, because my cause is that of the persecuted. Thanks,
young man, thanks! You've come to clear away my doubts, to end my
hesitation."
He had risen and his face was beaming. The zeal that had animated him
when four months before he had explained his plans to Basilio in the
wood of his ancestors reappeared in his countenance like a red sunset
after a cloudy day.
"Yes," he resumed, "the movement failed and many have deserted me
because they saw me disheartened and wavering at the supreme moment. I
still cherished something in my heart, I was not the master of all
my feelings, I still loved! Now everything is dead in me, no longer
is there even a corpse sacred enough for me to respect its sleep. No
longer will there be any vacillation, for you yourself, an idealistic
youth, a gentle dove, understand the necessity and come to spur me to
action. Somewhat late you have opened your eyes, for between you and
me together we might have executed marvelous plans, I above in the
higher circles spreading death amid perfume and gold, brutalizing the
vicious and corrupting or paralyzing the few good, and you below among
the people, among the young men, stirring them to life amid blood and
tears. Our task, instead of being bloody and barbarous, would have
been holy, perfect, artistic, and surely success would have crowned
our efforts. But no intelligence would support me, I encountered fear
or effeminacy among the enlightened classes, selfishness among the
rich, simplicity among the youth, and only in the mountains, in the
waste places, among the outcasts, have I found my men. But no matter
now! If we can't get a finished statue, rounded out in all its details,
of the rough block we work upon let those to come take charge!"
Seizing the arm of Basilio, who was listening without comprehending
all he said, he led him to the laboratory where he kept his chemical
mixtures. Upon the table was placed a large case made of dark shagreen,
similar to those that hold the silver plate exchanged as gifts among
the rich and powerful. Opening this, Simoun revealed to sight, upon
a bottom of red satin, a lamp of very peculiar shape, Its body was in
the form of a pomegranate as large as a man's head, with fissures in
it exposing to view the seeds inside, which were fashioned of enormous
carnelians. The covering was of oxidized gold in exact imitation of
the wrinkles on the fruit.
Simoun took it out with great care and, removing the burner,
exposed to view the interior of the tank, which was lined with
steel two centimeters in thickness and which had a capacity of over a
liter. Basilio questioned him with his eyes, for as yet he comprehended
nothing. Without entering upon explanations, Simoun carefully took from
a cabinet a flask and showed the young man the formula written upon it.
"Nitro-glycerin!" murmured Basilio, stepping backward and instinctively
thrusting his hands behind him. "Nitro-glycerin! Dynamite!" Beginning
now to understand, he felt his hair stand on end.
"Yes, nitro-glycerin!" repeated Simoun slowly, with his cold smile and
a look of delight at the glass flask. "It's also something more than
nitro-glycerin--it's concentrated tears, repressed hatred, wrongs,
injustice, outrage. It's the last resort of the weak, force against
force, violence against violence. A moment ago I was hesitating,
but you have come and decided me. This night the most dangerous
tyrants will be blown to pieces, the irresponsible rulers that hide
themselves behind God and the State, whose abuses remain unpunished
because no one can bring them to justice. This night the Philippines
will hear the explosion that will convert into rubbish the formless
monument whose decay I have fostered."
Basilio was so terrified that his lips worked without producing any
sound, his tongue was paralyzed, his throat parched. For the first
time he was looking at the powerful liquid which he had heard talked
of as a thing distilled in gloom by gloomy men, in open war against
society. Now he had it before him, transparent and slightly yellowish,
poured with great caution into the artistic pomegranate. Simoun looked
to him like the jinnee of the _Arabian Nights_ that sprang from the
sea, he took on gigantic proportions, his head touched the sky, he
made the house tremble and shook the whole city with a shrug of his
shoulders. The pomegranate assumed the form of a colossal sphere,
the fissures became hellish grins whence escaped names and glowing
cinders. For the first time in his life Basilio was overcome with
fright and completely lost his composure.
Simoun, meanwhile, screwed on solidly a curious and complicated
mechanism, put in place a glass chimney, then the bomb, and crowned
the whole with an elegant shade. Then he moved away some distance to
contemplate the effect, inclining his head now to one side, now to
the other, thus better to appreciate its magnificent appearance.
Noticing that Basilio was watching him with questioning and suspicious
eyes, he said, "Tonight there will be a fiesta and this lamp will
be placed in a little dining-kiosk that I've had constructed for
the purpose. The lamp will give a brilliant light, bright enough to
suffice for the illumination of the whole place by itself, but at
the end of twenty minutes the light will fade, and then when some
one tries to turn up the wick a cap of fulminate of mercury will
explode, the pomegranate will blow up and with it the dining-room,
in the roof and floor of which I have concealed sacks of powder,
so that no one shall escape."
There wras a moment's silence, while Simoun stared at his mechanism
and Basilio scarcely breathed.
"So my assistance is not needed," observed the young man.
"No, you have another mission to fulfill," replied Simoun
thoughtfully. "At nine the mechanism will have exploded and the report
will have been heard in the country round, in the mountains, in the
caves. The uprising that I had arranged with the artillerymen was
a failure from lack of plan and timeliness, but this time it won't
be so. Upon hearing the explosion, the wretched and the oppressed,
those who wander about pursued by force, will sally forth armed to
join Cabesang Tales in Santa Mesa, whence they will fall upon the city,
[70] while the soldiers, whom I have made to believe that the General
is shamming an insurrection in order to remain, will issue from their
barracks ready to fire upon whomsoever I may designate. Meanwhile,
the cowed populace, thinking that the hour of massacre has come,
will rush out prepared to kill or be killed, and as they have neither
arms nor organization, you with some others will put yourself at
their head and direct them to the warehouses of Quiroga, where I
keep my rifles. Cabesang Tales and I will join one another in the
city and take possession of it, while you in the suburbs will seize
the bridges and throw up barricades, and then be ready to come to
our aid to butcher not only those opposing the revolution but also
every man who refuses to take up arms and join us."
"All?" stammered Basilio in a choking voice.
"All!" repeated Simoun in a sinister tone. "All--Indians, mestizos,
Chinese, Spaniards, all who are found to be without courage, without
energy. The race must be renewed! Cowardly fathers will only breed
slavish sons, and it wouldn't be worth while to destroy and then try to
rebuild with rotten materials. What, do you shudder? Do you tremble,
do you fear to scatter death? What is death? What does a hecatomb of
twenty thousand wretches signify? Twenty thousand miseries less, and
millions of wretches saved from birth! The most timid ruler does not
hesitate to dictate a law that produces misery and lingering death
for thousands and thousands of prosperous and industrious subjects,
happy perchance, merely to satisfy a caprice, a whim, his pride,
and yet you shudder because in one night are to be ended forever the
mental tortures of many helots, because a vitiated and paralytic people
has to die to give place to another, young, active, full of energy!
"What is death? Nothingness, or a dream? Can its specters be compared
to the reality of the agonies of a whole miserable generation? The
needful thing is to destroy the evil, to kill the dragon and
bathe the new people in the blood, in order to make it strong and
invulnerable. What else is the inexorable law of Nature, the law of
strife in which the weak has to succumb so that the vitiated species
be not perpetuated and creation thus travel backwards? Away then with
effeminate scruples! Fulfill the eternal laws, foster them, and then
the earth will be so much the more fecund the more it is fertilized
with blood, and the thrones the more solid the more they rest upon
crimes and corpses. Let there be no hesitation, no doubtings! What is
the pain of death? A momentary sensation, perhaps confused, perhaps
agreeable, like the transition from waking to sleep. What is it that
is being destroyed? Evil, suffering--feeble weeds, in order to set in
their place luxuriant plants. Do you call that destruction? I should
call it creating, producing, nourishing, vivifying!"
Such bloody sophisms, uttered with conviction and coolness, overwhelmed
the youth, weakened as he was by more than three months in prison
and blinded by his passion for revenge, so he was not in a mood to
analyze the moral basis of the matter. Instead of replying that the
worst and cowardliest of men is always something more than a plant,
because he has a soul and an intelligence, which, however vitiated
and brutalized they may be, can be redeemed; instead of replying that
man has no right to dispose of one life for the benefit of another,
that the right to life is inherent in every individual like the right
to liberty and to light; instead of replying that if it is an abuse on
the part of governments to punish in a culprit the faults and crimes
to which they have driven him by their own negligence or stupidity,
how much more so would it be in a man, however great and however
unfortunate he might be, to punish in a wretched people the faults of
its governments and its ancestors; instead of declaring that God alone
can use such methods, that God can destroy because He can create,
God who holds in His hands recompense, eternity, and the future,
to justify His acts, and man never; instead of these reflections,
Basilio merely interposed a cant reflection.
"What will the world say at the sight of such butchery?"
"The world will applaud, as usual, conceding the right of
the strongest, the most violent!" replied Simoun with his cruel
smile. "Europe applauded when the western nations sacrificed millions
of Indians in America, and not by any means to found nations much more
moral or more pacific: there is the North with its egotistic liberty,
its lynch-law, its political frauds--the South with its turbulent
republics, its barbarous revolutions, civil wars, pronunciamientos,
as in its mother Spain! Europe applauded when the powerful Portugal
despoiled the Moluccas, it applauds while England is destroying the
primitive races in the Pacific to make room for its emigrants. Europe
will applaud as the end of a drama, the close of a tragedy, is
applauded, for the vulgar do not fix their attention on principles,
they look only at results. Commit the crime well, and you will be
admired and have more partizans than if you had carried out virtuous
actions with modesty and timidity."
"Exactly," rejoined the youth, "what does it matter to me, after all,
whether they praise or censure, when this world takes no care of the
oppressed, of the poor, and of weak womankind? What obligations have
I to recognize toward society when it has recognized none toward me?"
"That's what I like to hear," declared the tempter triumphantly. He
took a revolver from a case and gave it to Basilio, saying, "At
ten o'clock wait for me in front of the church of St. Sebastian to
receive my final instructions. Ah, at nine you must be far, very far
from Calle Anloague."
Basilio examined the weapon, loaded it, and placed it in the inside
pocket of his coat, then took his leave with a curt, "I'll see
you later."


CHAPTER XXXIV
THE WEDDING

Once in the street, Basilio began to consider how he might spend the
time until the fatal hour arrived, for it was then not later than seven
o'clock. It was the vacation period and all the students were back in
their towns, Isagani being the only one who had not cared to leave,
but he had disappeared that morning and no one knew his whereabouts--so
Basilio had been informed when after leaving the prison he had gone
to visit his friend and ask him for lodging. The young man did not
know where to go, for he had no money, nothing but the revolver. The
memory of the lamp filled his imagination, the great catastrophe that
would occur within two hours. Pondering over this, he seemed to see
the men who passed before his eyes walking without heads, and he felt a
thrill of ferocious joy in telling himself that, hungry and destitute,
he that night was going to be dreaded, that from a poor student and
servant, perhaps the sun would see him transformed into some one
terrible and sinister, standing upon pyramids of corpses, dictating
laws to all those who were passing before his gaze now in magnificent
carriages. He laughed like one condemned to death and patted the butt
of the revolver. The boxes of cartridges were also in his pockets.
A question suddenly occurred to him--where would the drama begin? In
his bewilderment he had not thought of asking Simoun, but the
latter had warned him to keep away from Calle Anloague. Then came a
suspicion: that afternoon, upon leaving the prison, he had proceeded
to the former house of Capitan Tiago to get his few personal effects
and had found it transformed, prepared for a fiesta--the wedding of
Juanito Pelaez! Simoun had spoken of a fiesta.
At this moment he noticed passing in front of him a long line of
carriages filled with ladies and gentlemen, conversing in a lively
manner, and he even thought he could make out big bouquets of flowers,
but he gave the detail no thought. The carriages were going toward
Calle Rosario and in meeting those that came down off the Bridge
of Spain had to move along slowly and stop frequently. In one he
saw Juanito Pelaez at the side of a woman dressed in white with a
transparent veil, in whom he recognized Paulita Gomez.
"Paulita!" he ejaculated in surprise, realizing that it was indeed
she, in a bridal gown, along with Juanito Pelaez, as though they
were just coming from the church. "Poor Isagani!" he murmured,
"what can have become of him?"
He thought for a while about his friend, a great and generous soul,
and mentally asked himself if it would not be well to tell him about
the plan, then answered himself that Isagani would never take part
in such a butchery. They had not treated Isagani as they had him.
Then he thought that had there been no imprisonment, he would have
been betrothed, or a husband, at this time, a licentiate in medicine,
living and working in some corner of his province. The ghost of
Juli, crushed in her fall, crossed his mind, and dark flames of
hatred lighted his eyes; again he caressed the butt of the revolver,
regretting that the terrible hour had not yet come. Just then he saw
Simoun come out of the door of his house, carrying in his hands the
case containing the lamp, carefully wrapped up, and enter a carriage,
which then followed those bearing the bridal party. In order not to
lose track of Simoun, Basilio took a good look at the cochero and
with astonishment recognized in him the wretch who had driven him to
San Diego, Sinong, the fellow maltreated by the Civil Guard, the same
who had come to the prison to tell him about the occurrences in Tiani.
Conjecturing that Calle Anloague was to be the scene of action, thither
the youth directed his steps, hurrying forward and getting ahead of
the carriages, which were, in fact, all moving toward the former house
of Capitan Tiago--there they were assembling in search of a ball,
but actually to dance in the air! Basilio smiled when he noticed the
pairs of civil-guards who formed the escort, and from their number he
could guess the importance of the fiesta and the guests. The house
overflowed with people and poured floods of light from its windows,
the entrance was carpeted and strewn with flowers. Upstairs there,
perhaps in his former solitary room, an orchestra was playing lively
airs, which did not completely drown the confused tumult of talk
and laughter.
Don Timoteo Pelaez was reaching the pinnacle of fortune, and the
reality surpassed his dreams. He was, at last, marrying his son to
the rich Gomez heiress, and, thanks to the money Simoun had lent him,
he had royally furnished that big house, purchased for half its value,
and was giving in it a splendid fiesta, with the foremost divinities
of the Manila Olympus for his guests, to gild him with the light of
their prestige. Since that morning there had been recurring to him,
with the persistence of a popular song, some vague phrases that he had
read in the communion service. "Now has the fortunate hour come! Now
draws nigh the happy moment! Soon there will be fulfilled in you the
admirable words of Simoun--'I live, and yet not I alone, but the
Captain-General liveth in me.'" The Captain-General the patron of
his son! True, he had not attended the ceremony, where Don Custodio
had represented him, but he would come to dine, he would bring a
wedding-gift, a lamp which not even Aladdin's--between you and me,
Simoun was presenting the lamp. Timoteo, what more could you desire?
The transformation that Capitan Tiago's house had undergone was
considerable--it had been richly repapered, while the smoke and
the smell of opium had been completely eradicated. The immense
sala, widened still more by the colossal mirrors that infinitely
multiplied the lights of the chandeliers, was carpeted throughout,
for the salons of Europe had carpets, and even though the floor
was of wide boards brilliantly polished, a carpet it must have too,
since nothing should be lacking. The rich furniture of Capitan Tiago
had disappeared and in its place was to be seen another kind, in the
style of Louis XV. Heavy curtains of red velvet, trimmed with gold,
with the initials of the bridal couple worked on them, and upheld by
garlands of artificial orange-blossoms, hung as portières and swept
the floor with their wide fringes, likewise of gold. In the corners
appeared enormous Japanese vases, alternating with those of Sèvres
of a clear dark-blue, placed upon square pedestals of carved wood.
The only decorations not in good taste were the screaming chromos
which Don Timoteo had substituted for the old drawings and pictures
of saints of Capitan Tiago. Simoun had been unable to dissuade him,
for the merchant did not want oil-paintings--some one might ascribe
them to Filipino artists! He, a patron of Filipino artists, never! On
that point depended his peace of mind and perhaps his life, and he
knew how to get along in the Philippines! It is true that he had heard
foreign painters mentioned--Raphael, Murillo, Velasquez--but he did
not know their addresses, and then they might prove to be somewhat
seditious. With the chromos he ran no risk, as the Filipinos did not
make them, they came cheaper, the effect was the same, if not better,
the colors brighter and the execution very fine. Don't say that Don
Timoteo did not know how to comport himself in the Philippines!
The large hallway was decorated with flowers, having been converted
into a dining-room, with a long table for thirty persons in the center,
and around the sides, pushed against the walls, other smaller ones for
two or three persons each. Bouquets of flowers, pyramids of fruits
among ribbons and lights, covered their centers. The groom's place
was designated by a bunch of roses and the bride's by another of
orange-blossoms and tuberoses. In the presence of so much finery and
flowers one could imagine that nymphs in gauzy garments and Cupids
with iridescent wings were going to serve nectar and ambrosia to
aerial guests, to the sound of lyres and Aeolian harps.
But the table for the greater gods was not there, being placed
yonder in the middle of the wide azotea within a magnificent kiosk
constructed especially for the occasion. A lattice of gilded wood
over which clambered fragrant vines screened the interior from the
eyes of the vulgar without impeding the free circulation of air to
preserve the coolness necessary at that season. A raised platform
lifted the table above the level of the others at which the ordinary
mortals were going to dine and an arch decorated by the best artists
would protect the august heads from the jealous gaze of the stars.
On this table were laid only seven plates. The dishes were of solid
silver, the cloth and napkins of the finest linen, the wines the
most costly and exquisite. Don Timoteo had sought the most rare and
expensive in everything, nor would he have hesitated at crime had he
been assured that the Captain-General liked to eat human flesh.


CHAPTER XXXV
THE FIESTA

"Danzar sobre un volcán."

By seven in the evening the guests had begun to arrive: first, the
lesser divinities, petty government officials, clerks, and merchants,
with the most ceremonious greetings and the gravest airs at the start,
as if they were parvenus, for so much light, so many decorations,
and so much glassware had some effect. Afterwards, they began to
be more at ease, shaking their fists playfully, with pats on the
shoulders, and even familiar slaps on the back. Some, it is true,
adopted a rather disdainful air, to let it be seen that they were
accustomed to better things--of course they were! There was one goddess
who yawned, for she found everything vulgar and even remarked that
she was ravenously hungry, while another quarreled with her god,
threatening to box his ears.
Don Timoteo bowed here and bowed there, scattered his best smiles,
tightened his belt, stepped backward, turned halfway round, then
completely around, and so on again and again, until one goddess could
not refrain from remarking to her neighbor, under cover of her fan:
"My dear, how important the old man is! Doesn't he look like a
jumping-jack?"
Later came the bridal couple, escorted by Doña Victorina and the rest
of the party. Congratulations, hand-shakings, patronizing pats for the
groom: for the bride, insistent stares and anatomical observations
on the part of the men, with analyses of her gown, her toilette,
speculations as to her health and strength on the part of the women.
"Cupid and Psyche appearing on Olympus," thought Ben-Zayb,
making a mental note of the comparison to spring it at some better
opportunity. The groom had in fact the mischievous features of the god
of love, and with a little good-will his hump, which the severity of
his frock coat did not altogether conceal, could be taken for a quiver.
Don Timoteo began to feel his belt squeezing him, the corns on his
feet began to ache, his neck became tired, but still the General
had not come. The greater gods, among them Padre Irene and Padre
Salvi, had already arrived, it was true, but the chief thunderer was
still lacking. The poor man became uneasy, nervous; his heart beat
violently, but still he had to bow and smile; he sat down, he arose,
failed to hear what was said to him, did not say what he meant. In
the meantime, an amateur god made remarks to him about his chromos,
criticizing them with the statement that they spoiled the walls.
"Spoil the walls!" repeated Don Timoteo, with a smile and a desire
to choke him. "But they were made in Europe and are the most costly
I could get in Manila! Spoil the walls!" Don Timoteo swore to himself
that on the very next day he would present for payment all the chits
that the critic had signed in his store.
Whistles resounded, the galloping of horses was heard--at last! "The
General! The Captain-General!"
Pale with emotion, Don Timoteo, dissembling the pain of his corns
and accompanied by his son and some of the greater gods, descended
to receive the Mighty Jove. The pain at his belt vanished before
the doubts that now assailed him: should he frame a smile or affect
gravity; should he extend his hand or wait for the General to offer
his? _Carambas!_ Why had nothing of this occurred to him before,
so that he might have consulted his good friend Simoun?
To conceal his agitation, he whispered to his son in a low, shaky
voice, "Have you a speech prepared?"
"Speeches are no longer in vogue, papa, especially on such an occasion
as this."
Jupiter arrived in the company of Juno, who was converted into a tower
of artificial lights--with diamonds in her hair, diamonds around her
neck, on her arms, on her shoulders, she was literally covered with
diamonds. She was arrayed in a magnificent silk gown having a long
train decorated with embossed flowers.
His Excellency literally took possession of the house, as Don Timoteo
stammeringly begged him to do. [71] The orchestra played the royal
march while the divine couple majestically ascended the carpeted
stairway.
Nor was his Excellency's gravity altogether affected. Perhaps for the
first time since his arrival in the islands he felt sad, a strain
of melancholy tinged his thoughts. This was the last triumph of
his three years of government, and within two days he would descend
forever from such an exalted height. What was he leaving behind? His
Excellency did not care to turn his head backwards, but preferred to
look ahead, to gaze into the future. Although he was carrying away a
fortune, large sums to his credit were awaiting him in European banks,
and he had residences, yet he had injured many, he had made enemies
at the Court, the high official was waiting for him there. Other
Generals had enriched themselves as rapidly as he, and now they were
ruined. Why not stay longer, as Simoun had advised him to do? No,
good taste before everything else. The bows, moreover, were not now
so profound as before, he noticed insistent stares and even looks of
dislike, but still he replied affably and even attempted to smile.
"It's plain that the sun is setting," observed Padre Irene in
Ben-Zayb's ear. "Many now stare him in the face."
The devil with the curate--that was just what he was going to remark!
"My dear," murmured into the ear of a neighbor the lady who had
referred to Don Timoteo as a jumping-jack, "did you ever see such
a skirt?"
"Ugh, the curtains from the Palace!"
"You don't say! But it's true! They're carrying everything away. You'll
see how they make wraps out of the carpets."
"That only goes to show that she has talent and taste," observed her
husband, reproving her with a look. "Women should be economical." This
poor god was still suffering from the dressmaker's bill.
"My dear, give me curtains at twelve pesos a yard, and you'll see if
I put on these rags!" retorted the goddess in pique. "Heavens! You
can talk when you have done something fine like that to give you
the right!"
Meanwhile, Basilio stood before the house, lost in the throng
of curious spectators, counting those who alighted from their
carriages. When he looked upon so many persons, happy and confident,
when he saw the bride and groom followed by their train of fresh
and innocent little girls, and reflected that they were going
to meet there a horrible death, he was sorry and felt his hatred
waning within him. He wanted to save so many innocents, he thought
of notifying the police, but a carriage drove up to set down Padre
Salvi and Padre Irene, both beaming with content, and like a passing
cloud his good intentions vanished. "What does it matter to me?" he
asked himself. "Let the righteous suffer with the sinners."
Then he added, to silence his scruples: "I'm not an informer, I mustn't