The Social Cancer - 22

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. _María
Santísima_, 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, señorita! 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, señorita, 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.
"Señor 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, señorita, to express
my desire to see you again before leaving the town, as I still have
some very important things to say to you. Señor Alcalde, you will
accompany me during the walk which I wish to take after the conference
that I will hold alone with Señor Ibarra."
"Your Excellency will permit us to inform you," began Padre Salvi
humbly, "that Señor 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, Señor 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. "Señor 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, "Señor Alcalde, in order to avoid any
repetition of _scenes_ such as you _witnessed_ this afternoon, scenes