The Social Cancer - 17

tell me to lower my head before grotesque idols!"
"Yes, I repeat it, because here you must either lower your head or
lose it."
"Either lower my head or lose it!" repeated Ibarra thoughtfully. "The
dilemma is hard! But why? Is love for my country incompatible with love
for Spain? Is it necessary to debase oneself to be a good Christian,
to prostitute one's conscience in order to carry out a good purpose? I
love my native land, the Philippines, because to it I owe my life and
my happiness, because every man should love his country. I love Spain,
the fatherland of my ancestors, because in spite of everything the
Philippines owes to it, and will continue to owe, her happiness and
her future. I am a Catholic, I preserve pure the faith of my fathers,
and I do not see why I have to lower my head when I can raise it,
to give it over to my enemies when I can humble them!"
"Because the field in which you wish to sow is in possession of your
enemies and against them you are powerless. It is necessary that you
first kiss the hand that--"
But the youth let him go no farther, exclaiming passionately, "Kiss
their hands! You forget that among them they killed my father and
threw his body from the tomb! I who am his son do not forget it,
and that I do not avenge it is because I have regard for the good
name of the Church!"
The old Sage bowed his head as he answered slowly: "Señor Ibarra, if
you preserve those memories, which I cannot counsel you to forget,
abandon the enterprise you are undertaking and seek in some other
way the welfare of your countrymen. The enterprise needs another man,
because to make it a success zeal and money alone are not sufficient;
in our country are required also self-denial, tenacity of purpose,
and faith, for the soil is not ready, it is only sown with discord."
Ibarra appreciated the value of these observations, but still would
not be discouraged. The thought of Maria Clara was in his mind and
his promise must be fulfilled.
"Doesn't your experience suggest any other than this hard means?" he
asked in a low voice.
The old man took him by the arm and led him to the window. A fresh
breeze, the precursor of the north wind, was blowing, and before their
eyes spread out the garden bounded by the wide forest that was a kind
of park.
"Why can we not do as that weak stalk laden with flowers and buds
does?" asked the Sage, pointing to a beautiful jasmine plant. "The wind
blows and shakes it and it bows its head as if to hide its precious
load. If the stalk should hold itself erect it would be broken,
its flowers would be scattered by the wind, and its buds would be
blighted. The wind passes by and the stalk raises itself erect,
proud of its treasure, yet who will blame it for having bowed before
necessity? There you see that gigantic _kupang_, which majestically
waves its light foliage wherein the eagle builds his nest. I brought
it from the forest as a weak sapling and braced its stem for months
with slender pieces of bamboo. If I had transplanted it large and
full of life, it is certain that it would not have lived here,
for the wind would have thrown it down before its roots could have
fixed themselves in the soil, before it could have become accustomed
to its surroundings, and before it could have secured sufficient
nourishment for its size and height. So you, transplanted from Europe
to this stony soil, may end, if you do not seek support and do not
humble yourself. You are among evil conditions, alone, elevated, the
ground shakes, the sky presages a storm, and the top of your family
tree has shown that it draws the thunderbolt. It is not courage, but
foolhardiness, to fight alone against all that exists. No one censures
the pilot who makes for a port at the first gust of the whirlwind. To
stoop as the bullet passes is not cowardly--it is worse to defy it
only to fall, never to rise again."
"But could this sacrifice produce the fruit that I hope for?" asked
Ibarra. "Would the priest believe in me and forget the affront? Would
they aid me frankly in behalf of the education that contests with the
conventos the wealth of the country? Can they not pretend friendship,
make a show of protection, and yet underneath in the shadows fight it,
undermine it, wound it in the heel, in order to weaken it quicker
than by attacking it in front? Granted the previous actions which
you surmise, anything may be expected!"
The old man remained silent from inability to answer these
questions. After meditating for some time, he said: "If such should
happen, if the enterprise should fail, you would be consoled by
the thought that you had done what was expected of you and thus
something would be gained. You would have placed the first stone,
you would have sown the seed, and after the storm had spent itself
perhaps some grain would have survived the catastrophe to grow and
save the species from destruction and to serve afterwards as the seed
for the sons of the dead sower. The example may encourage others who
are only afraid to begin."
Weighing these reasons, Ibarra realized the situation and saw that
with all the old man's pessimism there was a great deal of truth in
what he said.
"I believe you!" he exclaimed, pressing the old man's hand. "Not in
vain have I looked to you for advice. This very day I'll go and reach
an understanding with the curate, who, after all is said, has done
me no wrong and who must be good, since all of them are not like the
persecutor of my father. I have, besides, to interest him in behalf of
that unfortunate madwoman and her sons. I put my trust in God and men!"
After taking leave of the old man he mounted his horse and rode
away. As the pessimistic Sage followed him with his gaze, he muttered:
"Now let's watch how Destiny will unfold the drama that began in the
cemetery." But for once he was greatly mistaken--the drama had begun
long before!


CHAPTER XXVI
The Eve of the Fiesta

It is now the tenth of November, the eve of the fiesta. Emerging from
its habitual monotony, the town has given itself over to unwonted
activity in house, church, cockpit, and field. Windows are covered
with banners and many-hued draperies. All space is filled with noise
and music, and the air is saturated with rejoicings.
On little tables with embroidered covers the _dalagas_ arrange in
bright-hued glass dishes different kinds of sweetmeats made from
native fruits. In the yard the hens cackle, the cocks crow, and the
hogs grunt, all terrified by this merriment of man. Servants move
in and out carrying fancy dishes and silver cutlery. Here there is a
quarrel over a broken plate, there they laugh at the simple country
girl. Everywhere there is ordering, whispering, shouting. Comments and
conjectures are made, one hurries the other,--all is commotion, noise,
and confusion. All this effort and all this toil are for the stranger
as well as the acquaintance, to entertain every one, whether he has
been seen before or not, or whether he is expected to be seen again, in
order that the casual visitor, the foreigner, friend, enemy, Filipino,
Spaniard, the poor and the rich, may go away happy and contented. No
gratitude is even asked of them nor is it expected that they do no
damage to the hospitable family either during or after digestion! The
rich, those who have ever been to Manila and have seen a little more
than their neighbors, have bought beer, champagne, liqueurs, wines,
and food-stuffs from Europe, of which they will hardly taste a bite
or drink a drop.
Their tables are luxuriously furnished. In the center is a well-modeled
artificial pineapple in which are arranged toothpicks elaborately
carved by convicts in their rest-hours. Here they have designed a
fan, there a bouquet of flowers, a bird, a rose, a palm leaf, or a
chain, all wrought from a single piece of wood, the artisan being a
forced laborer, the tool a dull knife, and the taskmaster's voice the
inspiration. Around this toothpick-holder are placed glass fruit-trays
from which rise pyramids of oranges, lansons, ates, chicos, and even
mangos in spite of the fact that it is November. On wide platters
upon bright-hued sheets of perforated paper are to be seen hams from
Europe and China, stuffed turkeys, and a big pastry in the shape of
an Agnus Dei or a dove, the Holy Ghost perhaps. Among all these are
jars of appetizing _acharas_ with fanciful decorations made from
the flowers of the areca palm and other fruits and vegetables, all
tastefully cut and fastened with sirup to the sides of the flasks.
Glass lamp globes that have been handed down from father to son are
cleaned, the copper ornaments polished, the kerosene lamps taken out
of the red wrappings which have protected them from the flies and
mosquitoes during the year and which have made them unserviceable;
the prismatic glass pendants shake to and fro, they clink together
harmoniously in song, and even seem to take part in the fiesta as
they flash back and break up the rays of light, reflecting them on
the white walls in all the colors of the rainbow. The children play
about amusing themselves by chasing the colors, they stumble and break
the globes, but this does not interfere with the general merriment,
although at other times in the year the tears in their round eyes
would be taken account of in a different way.
Along with these venerated lamps there also come forth from their
hiding-places the work of the girls: crocheted scarfs, rugs, artificial
flowers. There appear old glass trays, on the bottoms of which are
sketched miniature lakes with little fishes, caymans, shell-fish,
seaweeds, coral, and glassy stones of brilliant hues. These are heaped
with cigars, cigarettes, and diminutive buyos prepared by the delicate
fingers of the maidens. The floor of the house shines like a mirror,
curtains of piña and husi festoon the doorways, from the windows
hang lanterns covered with glass or with paper, pink, blue, green, or
red. The house itself is filled with plants and flower-pots on stands
of Chinese porcelain. Even the saints bedeck themselves, the images
and relics put on a festive air, the dust is brushed from them and
on the freshly-washed glass of their cases are hung flowery garlands.
In the streets are raised at intervals fanciful bamboo arches, known as
_sinkában_, constructed in various ways and adorned with _kaluskús_,
the curling bunches of shavings scraped on their sides, at the sight
of which alone the hearts of the children rejoice. About the front
of the church, where the procession is to pass, is a large and costly
canopy upheld on bamboo posts. Beneath this the children run and play,
climbing, jumping, and tearing the new camisas in which they should
shine on the principal day of the fiesta.
There on the plaza a platform has been erected, the scenery being
of bamboo, nipa, and wood; there the Tondo comedians will perform
wonders and compete with the gods in improbable miracles, there
will sing and dance Marianito, Chananay, Balbino, Ratia, Carvajal,
Yeyeng, Liceria, etc. The Filipino enjoys the theater and is a deeply
interested spectator of dramatic representations, but he listens in
silence to the song, he gazes delighted at the dancing and mimicry,
he never hisses or applauds.
If the show is not to his liking, he chews his buyo or withdraws
without disturbing the others who perhaps find pleasure in it. Only
at times the commoner sort will howl when the actors embrace or kiss
the actresses, but they never go beyond that. Formerly, dramas only
were played; the local poet composed a piece in which there must
necessarily be a fight every second minute, a clown, and terrifying
transformations. But since the Tondo artist have begun to fight every
fifteen seconds, with two clowns, and even greater marvels than before,
they have put to rout their provincial compeers. The gobernadorcillo
was very fond of this sort of thing, so, with the approval of the
curate, he chose a spectacle with magic and fireworks, entitled, "The
Prince Villardo or the Captives Rescued from the Infamous Cave." [78]
From time to time the bells chime out merrily, those same bells that
ten days ago were tolling so mournfully. Pin-wheels and mortars rend
the air, for the Filipino pyrotechnist, who learned the art from
no known instructor, displays his ability by preparing fire bulls,
castles of Bengal lights, paper balloons inflated with hot air, bombs,
rockets, and the like.
Now distant strains of music are heard and the small boys rush headlong
toward the outskirts of the town to meet the bands of music, five
of which have been engaged, as well as three orchestras. The band of
Pagsanhan belonging to the escribano must not be lacking nor that of
San Pedro de Tunasan, at that time famous because it was directed by
the maestro Austria, the vagabond "Corporal Mariano" who, according to
report, carried fame and harmony in the tip of his baton. Musicians
praise his funeral march, "El Sauce," [79] and deplore his lack of
musical education, since with his genius he might have brought glory
to his country. The bands enter the town playing lively airs, followed
by ragged or half-naked urchins, one in the camisa of his brother,
another in his father's pantaloons. As soon as the band ceases, the
boys know the piece by heart, they hum and whistle it with rare skill,
they pronounce their judgment upon it.
Meanwhile, there are arriving in conveyances of all kinds relatives,
friends, strangers, the gamblers with their best game-cocks and their
bags of gold, ready to risk their fortune on the green cloth or within
the arena of the cockpit.
"The alferez has fifty pesos for each night," murmurs a small,
chubby individual into the ears of the latest arrivals. "Capitan
Tiago's coming and will set up a bank; Capitan Joaquin's bringing
eighteen thousand. There'll be _liam-pó_: Carlos the Chinaman will
set it up with ten thousand. Big stakes are coming from Tanawan, Lipa,
and Batangas, as well as from Santa Cruz. [80] It's going to be on a
big scale, yes, sir, on a grand scale! But have some chocolate! This
year Capitan Tiago won't break us as he did last, since he's paid
for only three thanksgiving masses and I've got a cacao _mutyâ_. And
how's your family?"
"Well, thank you," the visitors respond, "and Padre Damaso?"
"Padre Damaso will preach in the morning and sit in with us at night."
"Good enough! Then there's no danger."
"Sure, we're sure! Carlos the Chinaman will loosen up also." Here
the chubby individual works his fingers as though counting out pieces
of money.
Outside the town the hill-folk, the _kasamá_, are putting on their
best clothes to carry to the houses of their landlords well-fattened
chickens, wild pigs, deer, and birds. Some load firewood on the heavy
carts, others fruits, ferns, and orchids, the rarest that grow in
the forests, others bring broad-leafed caladiums and flame-colored
_tikas-tikas_ blossoms to decorate the doors of the houses.
But the place where the greatest activity reigns, where it is converted
into a tumult, is there on a little plot of raised ground, a few
steps from Ibarra's house. Pulleys screech and yells are heard amid
the metallic sound of iron striking upon stone, hammers upon nails,
of axes chopping out posts. A crowd of laborers is digging in the
earth to open a wide, deep trench, while others place in line the
stones taken from the town quarries. Carts are unloaded, piles of
sand are heaped up, windlasses and derricks are set in place.
"Hey, you there! Hurry up!" cries a little old man with lively and
intelligent features, who has for a cane a copper-bound rule around
which is wound the cord of a plumb-bob. This is the foreman of the
work, Ñor Juan, architect, mason, carpenter, painter, locksmith,
stonecutter, and, on occasions, sculptor. "It must be finished right
now! Tomorrow there'll be no work and the day after tomorrow is the
ceremony. Hurry!"
"Cut that hole so that this cylinder will fit it exactly," he says
to some masons who are shaping a large square block of stone. "Within
that our names will be preserved."
He repeats to every newcomer who approaches the place what he
has already said a thousand times: "You know what we're going to
build? Well, it's a schoolhouse, a model of its kind, like those in
Germany, and even better. A great architect has drawn the plans,
and I--I am bossing the job! Yes, sir, look at it, it's going to
be a palace with two wings, one for the boys and the other for the
girls. Here in the middle a big garden with three fountains, there on
the sides shaded walks with little plots for the children to sow and
cultivate plants in during their recess-time, that they may improve
the hours and not waste them. Look how deep the foundations are,
three meters and seventy-five centimeters! This building is going
to have storerooms, cellars, and for those who are not diligent
students dungeons near the playgrounds so that the culprits may hear
how the studious children are enjoying themselves. Do you see that
big space? That will be a lawn for running and exercising in the
open air. The little girls will have a garden with benches, swings,
walks where they can jump the rope, fountains, bird-cages, and so
on. It's going to be magnificent!"
Then Ñor Juan would rub his hands together as he thought of the
fame that he was going to acquire. Strangers would come to see it
and would ask, "Who was the great artisan that built this?" and all
would answer, "Don't you know? Can it be that you've never heard
of Ñor Juan? Undoubtedly you've come from a great distance!" With
these thoughts he moved from one part to the other, examining and
reexamining everything.
"It seems to me that there's too much timber for one derrick," he
remarked to a yellowish man who was overseeing some laborers. "I
should have enough with three large beams for the tripod and three
more for the braces."
"Never mind!" answered the yellowish man, smiling in a peculiar
way. "The more apparatus we use in the work, so much the greater effect
we'll get. The whole thing will look better and of more importance,
so they'll say, 'How hard they've worked!' You'll see, you'll see
what a derrick I'll put up! Then I'll decorate it with banners, and
garlands of leaves and flowers. You'll say afterwards that you were
right in hiring me as one of your laborers, and Señor Ibarra couldn't
ask for more!" As he said this the man laughed and smiled. Ñor Juan
also smiled, but shook his head.
Some distance away were seen two kiosks united by a kind of arbor
covered with banana leaves. The schoolmaster and some thirty boys
were weaving crowns and fastening banners upon the frail bamboo posts,
which were wrapped in white cloth.
"Take care that the letters are well written," he admonished the boys
who were preparing inscriptions. "The alcalde is coming, many curates
will be present, perhaps even the Captain-General, who is now in the
province. If they see that you draw well, maybe they'll praise you."
"And give us a blackboard?"
"Perhaps, but Señor Ibarra has already ordered one from
Manila. Tomorrow some things will come to be distributed among you
as prizes. Leave those flowers in the water and tomorrow we'll make
the bouquets. Bring more flowers, for it's necessary that the table
be covered with them--flowers please the eye."
"My father will bring some water-lilies and a basket of sampaguitas
tomorrow."
"Mine has brought three cartloads of sand without pay."
"My uncle has promised to pay a teacher," added a nephew of Capitan
Basilio.
Truly, the project was receiving help from all. The curate had asked to
stand sponsor for it and himself bless the laying of the corner-stone,
a ceremony to take place on the last day of the fiesta as one of its
greatest solemnities. The very coadjutor had timidly approached Ibarra
with an offer of all the fees for masses that the devout would pay
until the building was finished. Even more, the rich and economical
Sister Rufa had declared that if money should be lacking she would
canvass other towns and beg for alms, with the mere condition that she
be paid her expenses for travel and subsistence. Ibarra thanked them
all, as he answered, "We aren't going to have anything very great,
since I am not rich and this building is not a church. Besides,
I didn't undertake to erect it at the expense of others."
The younger men, students from Manila, who had come to take part
in the fiesta, gazed at him in admiration and took him for a model;
but, as it nearly always happens, when we wish to imitate great men,
that we copy only their foibles and even their defects, since we are
capable of nothing else, so many of these admirers took note of the
way in which he tied his cravat, others of the style of his collar,
and not a few of the number of buttons on his coat and vest.
The funereal presentiments of old Tasio seemed to have been dissipated
forever. So Ibarra observed to him one day, but the old pessimist
answered: "Remember what Baltazar says:

Kung ang isalúbong sa iyong pagdating
Ay masayang maukha't may pakitang giliw,
Lalong pag-iñgata't kaaway na lihim [81]--

Baltazar was no less a thinker than a poet."
Thus in the gathering shadows before the setting of the sun events
were shaping themselves.


CHAPTER XXVII
In the Twilight

In Capitan Tiago's house also great preparations had been made. We
know its owner, whose love of ostentation and whose pride as a
Manilan imposed the necessity of humiliating the provincials with his
splendor. Another reason, too, made it his duty to eclipse all others:
he had his daughter Maria Clara with him, and there was present his
future son-in-law, who was attracting universal attention.
In fact one of the most serious newspapers in Manila had devoted to
Ibarra an article on its front page, entitled, "Imitate him!" heaping
him with praise and giving him some advice. It had called him, "The
cultivated young gentleman and rich capitalist;" two lines further
on, "The distinguished philanthropist;" in the following paragraph,
"The disciple of Minerva who had gone to the mother country to
pay his respects to the true home of the arts and sciences;" and
a little further on, "The Filipino Spaniard." Capitan Tiago burned
with generous zeal to imitate him and wondered whether he ought not
to erect a convento at his own expense.
Some days before there had arrived at the house where Maria Clara
and Aunt Isabel were staying a profusion of eases of European wines
and food-stuffs, colossal mirrors, paintings, and Maria Clara's
piano. Capitan Tiago had arrived on the day before the fiesta and as
his daughter kissed his hand, had presented her with a beautiful locket
set with diamonds and emeralds, containing a sliver from St. Peter's
boat, in which Our Savior sat during the fishing. His first interview
with his future son-in-law could not have been more cordial. Naturally,
they talked about the school, and Capitan Tiago wanted it named
"School of St. Francis." "Believe me," he said, "St. Francis is a good
patron. If you call it 'School of Primary Instruction,' you will gain
nothing. Who is Primary Instruction, anyhow?"
Some friends of Maria Clara came and asked her to go for a walk. "But
come back quickly," said Capitan Tiago to his daughter, when she asked
his permission, "for you know that Padre Damaso, who has just arrived,
will dine with us."
Then turning to Ibarra, who had become thoughtful, he said, "You dine
with us also, you'll be all alone in your house."
"I would with the greatest pleasure, but I have to be at home in
case visitors come," stammered the youth, as he avoided the gaze of
Maria Clara.
"Bring your friends along," replied Capitan Tiago heartily. "In my
house there's always plenty to eat. Also, I want you and Padre Damaso
to get on good terms."
"There'll be time enough for that," answered Ibarra with a forced
smile, as he prepared to accompany the girls.
They went downstairs, Maria Clara in the center between Victoria
and Iday, Aunt Isabel following. The people made way for them
respectfully. Maria Clara was startling in her beauty; her pallor
was all gone, and if her eyes were still pensive, her mouth on the
contrary seemed to know only smiles. With maiden friendliness the
happy young woman greeted the acquaintances of her childhood, now
the admirers of her promising youth. In less than a fortnight she had
succeeded in recovering that frank confidence, that childish prattle,
which seemed to have been benumbed between the narrow walls of the
nunnery. It might be said that on leaving the cocoon the butterfly
recognized all the flowers, for it seemed to be enough for her to
spread her wings for a moment and warm herself in the sun's rays to
lose all the stiffness of the chrysalis. This new life manifested
itself in her whole nature. Everything she found good and beautiful,
and she showed her love with that maiden modesty which, having never
been conscious of any but pure thoughts, knows not the meaning of false
blushes. While she would cover her face when she was teased, still her
eyes smiled, and a light thrill would course through her whole being.
The houses were beginning to show lights, and in the streets where
the music was moving about there were lighted torches of bamboo and
wood made in imitation of those in the church. From the streets
the people in the houses might be seen through the windows in an
atmosphere of music and flowers, moving about to the sounds of piano,
harp, or orchestra. Swarming in the streets were Chinese, Spaniards,
Filipinos, some dressed in European style, some in the costumes
of the country. Crowding, elbowing, and pushing one another, walked
servants carrying meat and chickens, students in white, men and women,
all exposing themselves to be knocked down by the carriages which,
in spite of the drivers' cries, made their way with difficulty.
In front of Capitan Basilio's house some young women called to our
acquaintances and invited them to enter. The merry voice of Sinang as
she ran down the stairs put an end to all excuses. "Come up a moment
so that I may go with you," she said. "I'm bored staying here among
so many strangers who talk only of game-cocks and cards."
They were ushered into a large room filled with people, some of whom
came forward to greet Ibarra, for his name was now well known. All
gazed in ecstasy at the beauty of Maria Clara and some old women
murmured, as they chewed their buyo, "She looks like the Virgin!"
There they had to have chocolate, as Capitan Basilio had become a warm
friend and defender of Ibarra since the day of the picnic. He had
learned from the half of the telegram given to his daughter Sinang
that Ibarra had known beforehand about the court's decision in the
latter's favor, so, not wishing to be outdone in generosity, he had
tried to set aside the decision of the chess-match. But when Ibarra
would not consent to this, he had proposed that the money which would
have been spent in court fees should be used to pay a teacher in the
new school. In consequence, the orator employed all his eloquence to
the end that other litigants should give up their extravagant claims,
saying to them, "Believe me, in a lawsuit the winner is left without
a camisa." But he had succeeded in convincing no one, even though he
cited the Romans.
After drinking the chocolate our young people had to listen to
piano-playing by the town organist. "When I listen to him in the
church," exclaimed Sinang, pointing to the organist, "I want to dance,
and now that he's playing here I feel like praying, so I'm going out
with you."
"Don't you want to join us tonight?" whispered Capitan Basilio into
Ibarra's ear as they were leaving. "Padre Damaso is going to set up
a little bank." Ibarra smiled and answered with an equivocal shake
of his head.
"Who's that?" asked Maria Clara of Victoria, indicating with a rapid