self as to grant me the right of speech before all others here present,
I shall profit by this permission, so generously accorded, and I shall
speak. I imagine in my imagination that I find myself in the midst of
the very venerable Roman senate--senatus populusque Romanus, as we said
in those good old times which, unhappily for humanity, will never come
back,--and I will ask the patres conscripti--as the sage Cicero would
say if he were in my place--I would ask them, since time presses,
and time is golden as Solomon says, that in this important matter
each one give his opinion clearly, briefly, and simply. I have done."
And satisfied with himself and with the attention of the house the
orator sat down, not without directing toward his friends a look
which plainly said: "Ha! Did I speak well? Ha!"
"Now the floor belongs to any one who--hem!" said the gobernadorcillo,
without being able to finish his sentence.
To judge by the general silence, no one wished to be one of the patres
conscripti. Don Filipo profited thereby and rose.
The Conservatives looked at one another with significant nods and
gestures.
"Senores, I will present my project for the fete," he began.
"We cannot accept it!" said an uncompromising Conservative.
"We vote against it!" cried another adversary.
Don Filipo could not repress a smile.
"We have a budget of 3,500 pesos. With this sum we can assure a
fete that will surpass any we have yet seen in our own province or
in others."
There were cries of "Impossible!" Such a pueblo spent 4,000 pesos;
another, 5,000!
"Listen, senores, and you will be convinced," continued Don Filipo,
unshaken. "I propose that in the middle of the plaza we erect a grand
theatre, costing 150 pesos."
"Not enough! Say 160!"
"Observe, gentlemen, 200 pesos for the theatre. I propose that
arrangements be made with the Comedy Company of Tondo for seven
representations, seven consecutive evenings, at 200 pesos an
evening. Seven representations, at 200 pesos each, makes 1,400
pesos. Observe, senor director, 1,400 pesos."
Old and young looked at one another in surprise. Only those in the
secret remained unmoved.
"I further propose magnificent fireworks; not those little rockets
and crackers that amuse nobody but children and old maids, but great
bombs, colossal rockets. I propose, then, 200 bombs at two pesos each,
and 200 rockets at the same price. Observe, senores, 1,000 pesos for
bombs and----"
The Conservatives could not contain themselves. They got up and
conferred with one another.
"And further, to show our neighbors that we are not people who must
count their expenditures, I propose, first, four great preachers for
the two feast days; second, that each day we throw into the lake 200
roasted fowls, 100 stuffed capons, and 50 sucking pigs, as did Sylla,
contemporary of Cicero, to whom Captain Basilio alluded."
"That's it! Like Sylla!" repeated Captain Basilio, flattered.
The astonishment grew.
"As many rich people will come to the fetes, each bringing thousands
of pesos and his best cocks, I propose fifteen days of the gallera,
the liberty of open gaming houses----"
Cries rising from all sides drowned his voice; there was a veritable
tumult. The gobernadorcillo, more crushed than ever, did nothing to
quell it; he waited for order to establish itself.
Happily Captain Valentine, most moderate of the Conservatives, rose
and said:
"What the lieutenant proposes seems to us extravagant. So many bombs
and so much comedy could only be proposed by a young man, like the
lieutenant, who could pass all his evenings at the theatre and hear
countless detonations without becoming deaf. And what of these fowls
thrown into the lake? Why should we imitate Sylla and the Romans? Did
they ever invite us to their fetes? I'm an old man, and I've never
received any summons from them!"
"The Romans live at Rome with the Pope," Captain Basilio whispered.
This did not disconcert Don Valentine.
"At all events," he went on, "the project is inadmissible, impossible;
it's a folly!"
Don Filipo must needs retire his project.
Satisfied with the defeat of their enemy, the Conservatives were not
displeased to see another young man rise, the municipal head of a
group of fifty or sixty families, known as a balangay.
He modestly excused himself for speaking. With delicate blandishments
he referred to the "ideas so elegantly expressed by Captain Basilio,"
upon which the delighted captain made signs to show him how to
gesture and to change position: then he unfolded his project: to have
something absolutely new, and to spend the 3,500 pesos in such a way
as to benefit their own province.
"That's it!" interrupted the young men; "that's what we want!"
What did they care about seeing the King of Bohemia cut off the
heads of his daughters! They were neither kings nor barbarians, and
if they did such things themselves, would be hung high on the field
of Bagumbayan. He proposed that two native plays be given which dealt
with the manners of the times. There were two he had in mind, works
of their best writers. They demanded only native costumes, and could
be played by amateurs of talent, of whom the province had no lack.
"A good idea!" some of the Conservatives began to murmur.
"I'll pay for the theatre!" cried Captain Basilio, with enthusiasm.
"Accepted! Accepted!" cried numerous voices. The young man went on:
"A part of the money taken at the theatre might be distributed in
prizes: to the best pupil in the school, the best shepherd, the
best fisherman. We might have boat races, and games, and fireworks,
of course."
Almost all were agreed, though some talked about "innovations."
When silence was established, only the decision of the gobernadorcillo
was wanting.
The poor man passed his hand across his forehead, he fidgeted, he
perspired; finally he stammered, lowering his eyes:
"I also; I approve; but, hem!"
The assembly listened in silence.
"But----" demanded Captain Basilio.
"I approve entirely," repeated the functionary, "that is to say,
I do not approve; I say yes, but----"
He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand.
"But," continued the unhappy man, coming to the point at last,
"the curate wants something else."
"Is the curate to pay for the festival? Has he given even a
cuarto?" cried a penetrating voice.
Every one turned. It was Tasio. The lieutenant remained immovable,
his eyes on the gobernadorcillo.
"And what does the curate want?" demanded Don Basilio.
"The curate wants six processions, three sermons, three solemn masses,
and if any money is left, a comedy with songs between the acts."
"But we don't want it!" cried the young men and some of their elders.
"The curate wishes it," repeated the gobernadorcillo, "and I've
promised that his wishes shall be carried out."
"Then why did you call us together?" asked one, impatient.
"Why didn't you say so in the beginning?" demanded another.
"I wished to, senores, but, Captain Basilio, I did not have a
chance. We must obey the curate!"
"We must obey!" repeated some of the Conservatives.
Don Filipo approached the gobernadorcillo and said bitterly:
"I sacrificed my pride in a good cause; you sacrifice your manliness
in a bad one; you spoil every good thing that might be done!"
Ibarra said to the schoolmaster:
"Have you any commission for the capital? I leave immediately."
On the way home the old philosopher said to Don Filipo, who was
cursing his fate:
"The fault is ours. You didn't protest when they gave you a slave
for mayor, and I, fool that I am, forgot about him!"
XXIII.
THE EVE OF THE FETE.
It is the 10th of November, the eve of the fete. The pueblo of San
Diego is stirred by an incredible activity; in the houses, the streets,
the church, the gallera, all is unwonted movement. From windows flags
and rugs are hanging; the air, resounding with bombs and music,
seems saturated with gayety. Inside on little tables covered with
bordered cloths the dalaga arranges in jars of tinted crystal the
confitures made from the native fruits. Servants come and go; orders,
whispers, comments, conjectures are everywhere. And all this activity
and labor are for guests as often unknown as known; the stranger,
the friend, the Filipino, the Spaniard, the rich man, the poor man,
will be equally fortunate; and no one will ask his gratitude, nor
even demand that he speak well of his host till the end of his dinner.
The red covers which all the year protect the lamps are taken off,
and the swinging prisms and crystal pendants strike out harmonies from
one another and throw dancing rainbow colors on the white walls. The
glass globes, precious heirlooms, are rubbed and polished; the dainty
handiwork of the young girls of the house is brought out. Floors
shine like mirrors, curtains of pina or silk jusi ornament the doors,
and in the windows hang lanterns of crystal or of colored paper. The
vases on the Chinese pedestals are heaped with flowers, the saints
themselves in their reliquaries are dusted and wreathed with blossoms.
At intervals along the streets rise graceful arches of reed; around
the parvis of the church is the costly covered passageway, supported
by trunks of bamboos, under which the procession is to pass, and
in the centre of the plaza rises the platform of the theatre, with
its stage of reed, of nipa, or of wood. The native pyrotechnician,
who learns his art from no one knows what master, is getting ready
his castles, balloons, and fiery wheels; all the bells of the pueblo
are ringing gaily. There are sounds of music in the distance, and the
gamins run to meet the bands and give them escort. In comes the fanfare
with spirited marches, followed by the ragged and half-naked urchins,
who, the moment a number is ended, know it by heart, hum it, whistle
it with wonderful accuracy, and are ready to pass judgment on it.
Meanwhile the people of the mountains, the kasama, in gala dress,
bring down to the rich of the pueblo wild game and fruits, and the
rarest plants of the woods, the biga, with its great leaves, and
the tikas-tikas, whose flaming flowers will ornament the doorways of
the houses. And from all sides, in all sorts of vehicles, arrive the
guests, known and unknown, many bringing with them their best cocks
and sacks of gold to risk in the gallera, or on the green cloth.
"The alferez has fifty pesos a night," a little plump man is murmuring
in the ears of his guests. "Captain Tiago will hold the bank; Captain
Joaquin brings eighteen thousand. There will be liam-po; the Chinese
Carlo puts up the game, with a capital of ten thousand. Sporting men
are coming from Lipa and Batanzos and Santa Cruz. There will be big
play! big play!--but will you take chocolate?--Captain Tiago won't
fleece us this year as he did last; and how is your family?"
"Very well, very well, thank you! And Father Damaso?"
"The father will preach in the morning and be with us at the games
in the evening."
"He's out of danger now?"
"Without question! Ah, it's the Chinese who will let their hands
go!" And in dumb show the little man counted money with his hands.
But the greatest animation of all was at the outskirts of the crowd,
around a sort of platform a few paces from the home of Ibarra. Pulleys
creaked, cries went up, one heard the metallic ring of stone-cutting,
of nail-driving; a band of workmen were opening a long, deep trench;
others were placing in line great stones from the quarries of the
pueblo, emptying carts, dumping sand, placing capstans.
"This way! That's it! Quick about it!" a little old man of
intelligent and animated face was crying. It was the foreman, Senor
Juan, architect, mason, carpenter, metalworker, stonecutter, and on
occasions sculptor. To each stranger he repeated what he had already
said a thousand times.
"Do you know what we are going to build? A model school, like those
of Germany, and even better. The plans were traced by Senor R----. I
direct the work. Yes, senor, you see it is to be a palace with two
wings, one for the boys, the other for the girls. Here in the centre
will be a great garden with three fountains, and at the sides little
gardens for the children to cultivate plants. That great space you
see there is for playgrounds. It will be magnificent!" And the Senor
Juan rubbed his hands, thinking of his fame to come. Soothed by its
contemplation, he went back and forth, passing everything in review.
"That's too much wood for a crane," he said to a Mongol, who was
directing a part of the work. "The three beams that make the tripod
and the three joining them would be enough for me."
"But not for me," replied the Mongol, with a peculiar smile, "the
more ornament, the more imposing the effect. You will see! I shall
trim it, too, with wreaths and streamers. You will say in the end
that you were right to give the work into my hands, and Senor Ibarra
will have nothing left to desire."
The man smiled still, and Senor Juan laughed and threw back his head.
In truth, Ibarra's project had found an echo almost everywhere. The
curate had asked to be a patron and to bless the cornerstone, a
ceremony that was to take place the last day of the fete, and to be
one of its chief solemnities. One of the most conservative papers of
Manila had dedicated to Ibarra on its first page an article entitled,
"Imitate Him!" He was therein called "the young and rich capitalist,
already a marked man," "the distinguished philanthropist," "the Spanish
Filipino," and so forth. The students who had come from Manila for
the fete were full of admiration for Ibarra, and ready to take him
for their model. But, as almost always when we try to imitate a man
who towers above the crowd, we ape his weaknesses, if not his faults,
many of these admirers of Crisostomo's held rigorously to the tie of
his cravat, or the shape of his collar; almost all to the number of
buttons on his vest. Even Captain Tiago burned with generous emulation,
and asked himself if he ought not to build a convent.
The dark presentiments of old Tasio seemed dissipated. When Ibarra said
so to him, the old pessimist replied: "Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes."
Toward evening Captain Tiago arrived from Manila, bringing Maria
Clara, in honor of the fete, a beautiful reliquary of gold, set with
emeralds and diamonds, enshrining a splinter from the fishing-boat
of St. Peter. Scarcely had he come when a party of Maria's friends
came to take her out to see the streets.
"Go," said Captain Tiago, "but come back soon. Father Damaso, you know,
is to dine with us. You, too, Crisostomo, must join us."
"With the greatest pleasure," stammered Ibarra, avoiding Maria Clara's
eyes, "if I did not feel that I must be at home to receive whoever
may come."
"Bring your friends here; there is always room at my table," said
Captain Tiago, somewhat coldly. "I wish Father Damaso and you to come
to an understanding."
"There is yet time," said Ibarra, forcing a smile.
As they descended to the street, Aunt Isabel following, people moved
aside to let them pass. Maria Clara was a vision of loveliness: her
pallor had disappeared, and if her eyes remained pensive, her mouth
seemed to know only smiles. With the amiability characteristic of
happy young womanhood she saluted the people she had known as a child,
and they smiled back their admiration. In these few days of freedom she
had regained the frank friendliness, the gracious speech, which seemed
to have slumbered inside the narrow walls of her convent. She felt a
new, intense life within her, and everything without seemed good and
beautiful. She showed her love for Ibarra with that maiden sweetness
which comes from pure thoughts and knows no reason for false blushes.
At regular intervals in the streets were kindled great clustered
lights with bamboo supports, like candelabra. People were beginning
to illuminate their houses, and through the open windows one could
see the guests moving about in the radiance among the flowers to
the music of harp, piano, or orchestra. Outside, in gala costume,
native or European, Chinese, Spaniards, and Filipinos were moving
in all directions, escaping with difficulty the crush of carriages
and calashes.
When the party reached Captain Basilio's house, Sinang saw them,
and ran down the steps.
"Come up till I'm ready to go out with you," she said. "I'm weary of
all these strangers who talk of nothing but cocks and cards."
The house was full of people. Many came up to greet Crisostomo, and
all admired Maria Clara. "Beautiful as the Virgin!" the old dames
whispered, chewing their buyo.
Here they must take chocolate. As they were leaving, Captain Basilio
said in Ibarra's ear:
"Won't you join us this evening? Father Damaso is going to make up
a little purse."
Ibarra smiled and answered by a movement of the head, which might
have meant anything.
Chatting and laughing, the merry party went on past the brilliantly
illuminated houses. At length they came to one fast closed and dark. It
was the home of the alferez. Maria was astonished.
"It's that old sorceress. The Muse of the Municipal Guard, as Tasio
calls her," said Sinang. "Her house is in mourning because the people
are gay."
At a corner of the plaza, where a blind man was singing, an uncommon
sight offered itself. A man stood there, miserably dressed, his
head covered by a great salakot of palm leaves, which completely
hid his face, though from its shadow two lights gleamed and went out
fitfully. He was tall, and, from his figure, young. He pushed forward
a basket, and after speaking some unintelligible words drew back and
stood completely isolated. Women passing put fruit and rice into his
basket, and at this he came forward a little, speaking what seemed
to be his thanks.
Maria Clara felt the presence of some great suffering. "Who is it?" she
asked Iday.
"It's a leper. He lives outside the pueblo, near the Chinese cemetery;
every one fears to go near him. If you could see his cabin! The wind,
the rain, and the sun must visit him as they like."
"Poor man!" murmured Maria Clara, and hardly knowing what she did,
she went up and put into the basket the reliquary her father had just
given her.
"Maria!" exclaimed her friends.
"I had nothing else," she said, forcing back the tears.
"What will he do with the reliquary? He can't sell it! Nobody will
touch it now! If only it could be eaten!" said Sinang.
But the leper went to the basket, took the glittering thing in his
hands, fell on his knees, kissed it, and bent his head to the ground,
uncovering humbly. Maria Clara turned her face to hide the tears.
As the leper knelt, a woman crept up and knelt beside him. By her long,
loose hair and emaciated face the people recognized Sisa. The leper,
feeling her touch, sprang up with a cry; but, to the horror of the
crowd, she clung to his arm.
"Pray! Pray!" said she. "It is the Feast of the Dead! These lights
are the souls of men. Pray for my sons!"
"Separate them! Separate them!" cried the crowd; but no one dared
do it.
"Do you see the light in the tower? That is my son Basilio, ringing
the bells. Do you see that other in the manse? That is my son Crispin;
but I cannot go to them, because the curate is ill, and his money is
lost. I carried the curate fruit from my garden. My garden was full
of flowers, and I had two sons. I had a garden, I tended my flowers,
and I had two sons."
And leaving the leper she moved away, singing:
"I had a garden and flowers. I had two sons, a garden and flowers."
"What have you done for that poor woman?" Maria asked Ibarra.
"Nothing yet," he replied, somewhat confused. "But don't be troubled;
the curate has promised to aid me."
As they spoke, a soldier came dragging Sisa back, rather than leading
her. She was resisting.
"Where are you taking her? What has she done?" asked Ibarra.
"What has she done? Didn't you hear the noise she made?" said the
guardian of public tranquillity.
The leper took up his basket and vanished. Maria Clara asked to
go home. She had lost all her gayety. Her sadness increased when,
arrived at her door, her fiance refused to go in.
"It must be so to-night," he said as he bade her good-by.
Maria, mounting the steps, thought how tiresome were fete days,
when one must receive so many strangers.
The next evening a little perfumed note came to Ibarra by the hand
of Andeng, Maria's foster sister.
"Crisostomo, for a whole day I have not seen you. They tell
me you are ill. I have lighted two candles and prayed for
you. I'm so tired of being asked to play and dance. I did not
know there were so many tiresome people in the world. If Father
Damaso had not tried to amuse me with stories, I should have
left them all and gone away to sleep. Write me how you are,
and if I shall send papa to see you. I send you Andeng now to
make your tea; she will do it better than your servants. If
you don't come to-morrow, I shall not go to the ceremony.
Maria Clara."
XXIV.
IN THE CHURCH.
The orchestras sounded the reveille at the first rays of the sun,
waking with joyous airs the tired inhabitants of the pueblo.
It was the last day of the fete--indeed, the fete itself. Every one
expected much more than on the eve, when the Brothers of the Sacred
Rosary had had their sermon and procession; for the Brothers of the
Third Order were more numerous, and counted on humiliating their
rivals. The Chinese candle merchants had reaped a rich harvest.
Everybody put on his gala dress; all the jewels came out of their
coffers; the fops and sporting men wore rows of diamond buttons on
their shirt fronts, heavy gold chains, and white jipijapa hats, as
the Indians call Panamas. No one but old Tasio was in everyday costume.
"You seem even sadder than usual," the lieutenant said to him. "Because
we have so many reasons to weep, may we not laugh once in a while?"
"Yes, laugh, but not play the fool! It's the same insane orgy every
year, the same waste of money when there's so much need and so much
suffering! But I see! It's the orgy, the bacchanal, that is to still
the lamentations of the poor!"
"You know I share your opinion," said Don Filipo, half serious,
half laughing, "and that I defended it; but what can I do against
the gobernadorcillo and the curate?"
"Resign!" cries the irate old man, leaving him.
"Resign!" muttered Don Filipo, going on toward the
church. "Resign? Yes, certainly, if my post were an honor and not
a charge."
There was a crowd in the parvis, and men, women, and children
in a stream were coming and going through the narrow doors of
the church. The smell of powder mingled with that of flowers and
incense. Rockets, bombs, and serpents made women run and scream and
delighted the children. An orchestra was playing before the convent;
bands accompanied dignitaries on their way to the church, or paraded
the streets under innumerable floating and dipping flags. Light and
color distracted the eye, music and explosions the ear.
High mass was about to be celebrated. Among the congregation were
to be the chief alcalde of the province and other Spanish notables;
and last, the sermon would be given by Brother Damaso, who had the
greatest renown as a preacher.
The church was crammed. People were jostled, crushed, trampled on, and
cried out at each encounter. From far they stretched their arms to dip
their fingers in the holy water, but getting nearer, saw its color, and
the hands retired. They scarcely breathed; the heat and atmosphere were
insupportable; but the preacher was worth the endurance of all these
miseries; besides, his sermon was to cost the pueblo two hundred and
fifty pesos. Fans, hats, and handkerchiefs agitated the air; children
cried, and gave the sacristans a hard enough task getting them out.
Ibarra was in a corner. Maria Clara knelt near the high altar, where
the curate had reserved a place for her. Captain Tiago, in frock coat,
sat on the bench of authorities, and the children, who did not know
him, taking him for another gobernadorcillo, dared not go near him.
At length the alcalde arrived with his suite. He came from the
sacristy, and sat down in a splendid fauteuil, beneath which was
spread a rich carpet. He was in full dress, and wore the cordon of
Charles III., with four or five other decorations.
"Ha!" cried a countryman. "A citizen in fancy dress!"
"Imbecile!" replied his neighbor. "It's Prince Villardo whom we
saw last night in the play!" And the alcalde, in the character of
giant-slayer, rose accordingly in the popular estimation.