begun. Brother Salvi celebrated, attended by two Augustins. At length
came the long-looked-for moment of the sermon. The three priests
sat down, the alcalde and other notables followed them, the music
ceased. The people made themselves as comfortable as possible, those
who had no benches sitting outright on the pavement, or arranging
themselves tailor fashion.
Preceded by two sacristans and followed by another monk, who bore
a great book, Father Damaso made his way through the crowd. He
disappeared a moment in the spiral staircase of the pulpit, then
his great head reappeared and his herculean bust. He looked over his
audience, and, the review terminated, said to his companion, hidden
at his feet:
"Attention, brother!"
The monk opened his book.
XXV.
THE SERMON.
The first part of the sermon was to be in Castilian, the remainder
in Tagalo. Brother Damaso began slowly and in ordinary voice:
"Et spiritum tuum bonum dedisti qui docevet eos, et manna tuum non
prohibuisti ab ore eorum, et aquam dedisti eis in siti. Words of the
Lord spoken by the mouth of Esdras, Book II., chapter ix., verse 20.
"Most worshipful senor (to the alcalde), very reverend priests,
brothers in Christ!"
Here an impressive pose and a new glance round the audience, then,
his eyes on the alcalde, the father majestically extended his right
hand toward the altar, slowly crossed his arms, without saying a word,
and, passing from this calm to action, threw back his head, pointed
toward the main entrance, and, impetuously cutting the air with the
edge of his hand, began to speak in a voice strong, full, and resonant.
"Brilliant and splendid is the altar, wide the door, the air is the
vehicle of the sacred word which shall spring from my lips. Hear,
then, with the ears of the soul and the heart, that the words of the
Lord may not fall on a stony ground, but that they may grow and shoot
upward in the field of our seraphic father, St. Francis. You, sinners,
captives of those Moors of the soul who infest the seas of the eternal
life, in the doughty ships of the flesh and the world; you who row
in the galleys of Satan, behold with reverent compunction him who
redeems souls from the captivity of the demon--the intrepid Gideon,
the courageous David, the victorious Roland of Christianity! the
celestial guard, more valiant than all the civil guards of past and
future. (The alferez frowned.) Yes, Senor Alferez, more valiant and
more powerful than all! This conqueror, who, without other weapon
than a wooden cross, vanquished the eternal tulisanes of darkness,
and would have utterly destroyed them were spirits not immortal. This
marvel, this incredible phenomenon, is the blessed Diego of Alcala!"
The "rude Indians," as the correspondents say, fished out of this
paragraph only the words civil guard, tulisane, San Diego, and San
Francisco. They had noticed the grimace of the alferez and the militant
gesture of the preacher, and had from this deduced that the father
was angry with the guard for not pursuing the tulisanes, and that
San Diego and San Francisco had taken upon themselves to do it. They
were enchanted, not doubting that, the tulisanes once dispersed,
St. Francis would also destroy the municipal guard. Their attention,
therefore, redoubled.
The monk continued so long his eulogy of San Diego that his auditors,
not even excepting Captain Tiago, began to yawn a little. Then
he reproached them with living like the Protestants and heretics,
who respect not the ministers of God; like the Chinese, for which
condemnation be upon them!
"What is he telling us, the Pale Lamaso?" murmured the Chinese Carlos,
looking angrily at the preacher, who went on improvising a series of
apostrophes and imprecations.
"You will die in impenitence, race of heretics! Your punishment is
already being meted out to you in jails and prisons. The family and its
women should flee you; rulers should destroy you. If you have a member
that causeth you to offend, cut it off and cast it into the fire!"
Brother Damaso was nervous. He had forgotten his sermon and was
improvising. Ibarra became restless; he looked about in search of
some corner, but the church was full. Maria Clara no longer heard
the sermon. She was analyzing a picture of the souls of the "Blessed
in Purgatory."
In the improvisation the monk who played the part of prompter lost his
place and skipped some paragraphs. The text returned to San Diego,
and with a long series of exclamations and contrasts the father
brought to a close the first part of his sermon.
The second part was entirely improvised; not that Brother Damaso
knew Tagalo better than Castilian; but, considering the natives of
the province entirely ignorant of rhetoric, he did not mind making
errors before them. Yet the second part of his discourse had for
certain people graver consequences than the first.
He began with a "Mana capatir concristians," "My Christian brothers,"
followed by an avalanche of untranslatable phrases about the
soul, sin, and the patron saint. Then he launched a new series of
maledictions against lack of respect and growing irreligion. On this
point he seemed to be inspired, and expressed himself with force and
clearness. He spoke of sinners who die in prison without confession
or the sacraments; of accursed families, of petty students, and of
toy philosophers.
Ibarra listened and understood. He kept a calm exterior, but his eyes
turned toward the bench of magistrates. No one seemed to pay attention;
as to the alcalde, he was asleep.
The inspiration of the preacher increased. He spoke of the early
times when every Filipino encountering a priest uncovered, knelt,
and kissed his hand. Now, he said, there were those who, because they
had studied in Manila or in Europe, thought fit to shake the hand of
a priest instead of kissing it.
But in spite of the cries and gestures of the orator, by this time
many of his auditors slept, and few listened. Some of the devout
would have wept over the sins of the ungodly, but nobody joined them,
and they were forced to give it up. A man seated beside an old woman
went so sound asleep that he fell over against her. The good woman
took her slipper and tried to waken him, at the same time crying out:
"Get away! Savage, animal, demon, carabao!"
Naturally this raised a tumult. The preacher elevated his brows,
struck dumb by such a scandal; indignation strangled the words in
his throat; he could only strike the pulpit with his fists. This had
its effect. The old woman dropped the shoe and, still grumbling and
signing herself, sank on her knees.
"Ah, ah, ah, ah!" the irate priest could at last articulate. "It is for
this that I have preached to you all the morning! Savages! You respect
nothing! Behold the work of the incontinence of the century!" And
launched again upon this theme, he preached a half hour longer. The
alcalde breathed loud. Maria Clara, having studied all the pictures in
sight, had dropped her head. Crisostomo had ceased to be moved by the
sermon. He was picturing a little house, high up among the mountains,
with Maria Clara in the garden. Why concern himself with men, dragging
out their lives in the miserable pueblos of the valley?
At length the sermon ended, and the mass went on. At the moment
when all were kneeling and the priests bowed their heads at the
"Incarnatus est," a man murmured in Ibarra's ear: "At the blessing
of the cornerstone do not separate yourself from the curate; do not
go down into the trench. Your life is at stake!"
It was the helmsman.
XXVI.
THE CRANE.
It was indeed not an ordinary crane that the Mongol had built for
letting the enormous cornerstone of the school into the trench. The
framework was complicated and the cables passed over extraordinary
pulleys. Flags, streamers, and garlands of flowers, however, hid the
mechanism. By means of a cleverly contrived capstan, the enormous
stone held suspended over the open trench could be raised or lowered
with ease by a single man.
"See!" said the Mongol to Senor Juan, inserting the bar and turning
it. "See how I can manipulate the thing up here and unaided!"
Senor Juan was full of admiration.
"Who taught you mechanics?" he asked.
"My father, my late father," replied the man, with his peculiar smile,
"and Don Saturnino, the grandfather of Don Crisostomo, taught him."
"You must know then about Don Saturnino----"
"Oh, many things! Not only did he beat his workmen and expose them
to the sun, but he knew how to awaken sleepers and put waking men to
sleep. Ah, you will see presently what he could teach! You will see!"
On a table with Persian spread, beside the trench, were the things
to be put into the cornerstone, and the glass box and leaden cylinder
which were to preserve for the future these souvenirs, this mummy of
an epoch.
Under two long booths near at hand were sumptuous tables, one for the
school-children, without wine, and heaped with fruits; the other for
the distinguished visitors. The booths were joined by a sort of bower
of leafy branches, where were chairs for the musicians, and tables with
cakes, confitures, and carafes of water, for the public in general.
The crowd, gay in garments of many colors, was massed under the trees
to avoid the ardent rays of the sun, and the children, to better see
the ceremony of the dedication, had climbed up among the branches.
Soon bands were heard in the distance. The Mongol carefully examined
his construction; he seemed nervous. A man with the appearance of a
peasant standing near him on the edge of the excavation and close
beside the capstan watched all his movements. It was Elias, well
disguised by his salakot and rustic costume.
The musicians arrived, preceded by a crowd of old and young in motley
array. Behind came the alcalde, the municipal guard officers, the
monks, and the Spanish Government clerks. Ibarra was talking with
the alcalde; Captain Tiago, the alferez, the curate and a number of
the rich country gentlemen accompanied the ladies, whose gay parasols
gleamed in the sunshine.
As they approached the trench, Ibarra felt his heart
beat. Instinctively he raised his eyes to the strange scaffolding. The
Mongol saluted him respectfully, and looked at him intently a
moment. Ibarra recognized Elias through his disguise, and the
mysterious helmsman, by a significant glance, recalled the warning
in the church.
The curate put on his robes and began the office. The one-eyed
sacristan held his book; a choir boy had in charge the holy water
and sprinkler. The men uncovered, and the crowd stood so silent that,
though the father read low, his voice was heard to tremble.
The manuscripts, journals, money, and medals to be preserved in
remembrance of this day had been placed in the glass box and the box
itself hermetically sealed within the leaden cylinder.
"Senor Ibarra, will you place the box in the stone? The curate is
waiting for you," said the alcalde in Ibarra's ear.
"I should do so with great pleasure," said Ibarra, "but it would be
a usurpation of the honor; that belongs to the notary, who must draw
up the written process."
The notary gravely took the box, descended the carpeted stairway which
led to the bottom of the trench, and with due solemnity deposited
his burden in the hollow of the stone already laid. The curate took
the sprinkler and sprinkled the stone with holy water.
Each one was now to deposit his trowel of cement on the surface of
the lower stone, to seal it to the stone held suspended by the crane
when that should be lowered.
Ibarra offered the alcalde a silver trowel, on which was engraved
the date of the fete, but before using it His Excellency pronounced
a short allocution in Castilian.
"Citizens of San Diego," he said, "we have the honor of presiding
at a ceremony whose importance you know without explanations. We are
founding a school, and the school is the basis of society, the book
wherein is written the future of each race.
"Citizens of San Diego! Thank God, who has given you these
priests! Thank the Mother Country, who spreads civilization in these
fertile isles and protects them with the covering of her glorious
mantle. Thank God, again, who has enlightened you by his priests from
his divine Word.
"And now that the first stone of this building has been blessed, we,
the alcalde of this province, in the name of His Majesty the King,
whom God guard; in the name of the illustrious Spanish Government,
and under the protection of its spotless and ever-victorious flag,
consecrate this act and begin the building of this school!
"Citizens of San Diego, long live the king! Long live Spain! Long
live the religious orders! Long live the Catholic church!"
"Long live the Senor Alcalde!" replied many voices.
Then the high official descended majestically, to the strains of the
orchestras, put his trowel of cement on the stone, and came back as
majestically as he had gone down.
The Government clerks applauded.
Ibarra offered the trowel to the curate, who descended slowly in his
turn. In the middle of the staircase he raised his eyes to the great
stone suspended above, but he stopped only a second, and continued
the descent. This time the applause was a little warmer, Captain
Tiago and the monks adding theirs to that of the clerks.
The notary followed. He gallantly offered the trowel to Maria Clara,
but she refused, with a smile. The monks, the alferez, and others
descended in turn, Captain Tiago not being forgotten.
Ibarra was left. He had ordered the stone to be lowered when the
curate remembered him.
"You do not put on your trowelful, Senor Ibarra?" said the curate,
with a familiar and jocular air.
"I should be Juan Palomo, who made the soup and then ate it," replied
Crisostomo in the same light tone.
"You go down, of course," said the alcalde, taking him by the arm
in friendly fashion. "If not, I shall order that the stone be kept
suspended, and we shall stay here till the Day of Judgment!"
Such a menace forced Ibarra to obey. He exchanged the silver trowel
for a larger one of iron, as some people noticed, and started out
calmly. Elias gave him an indefinable look; his whole being seemed
in it. The Mongol's eyes were on the abyss at his feet.
Ibarra, after glancing rapidly at the block over his head, at Elias,
and at the Mongol, said to Senor Juan, in a voice that trembled:
"Give me the tray and bring me the other trowel."
He stood alone. Elias no longer looked at him, his eyes were riveted
on the hands of the Mongol, who, bending over, was anxiously following
the movements of Ibarra. Then the sound of Ibarra's trowel was heard,
accompanied by the low murmur of the clerks' voices as they felicitated
the alcalde on his speech.
Suddenly a frightful noise rent the air. A pulley attached to the
base of the crane sprang out, dragging after it the capstan, which
struck the crane like a lever. The beams tottered, the cables broke,
and the whole fabric collapsed with a deafening roar and in a whirlwind
of dust.
A thousand voices filled the place with cries of horror. People fled
in all directions. Only Maria Clara and Brother Salvi remained where
they were, pale, mute, incapable of motion.
As the cloud of dust thinned, Ibarra was seen upright among the beams,
joists and cables, between the capstan and the great stone that had
fallen. He still held the trowel in his hand. With eyes frightful to
look at, he regarded a corpse half buried under the beams at his feet.
"Are you unhurt? Are you alive? For God's sake, speak!" cried some
one at last.
"A miracle! A miracle!" cried others.
"Come, take out the body of this man," said Ibarra, as if waking from
a dream. At the sound of his voice Maria Clara would have fallen but
for the arms of her friends.
Then everything was confusion. All talked at once, gestured, went
hither and thither, and knew not what to do.
"Who is killed?" demanded the alferez.
"Arrest the head builder!" were the first words the alcalde could
pronounce.
They brought up the body and examined it. It was that of the
Mongol. The heart no longer beat.
The priests shook Ibarra's hand, and warmly congratulated him.
"When I think that I was there a moment before!" said one of the
clerks.
"It is well they gave the trowel to you instead of me," said a
trembling old man.
"Don Pascal!" cried some of the Spaniards.
"Senores, the Senor Ibarra lives, while I, if I had not been crushed,
should have died of fright."
Ibarra had been to inform himself of Maria Clara.
"Let the fete continue, Senor Ibarra," said the alcalde, as he came
back. "Thank God, the dead is neither priest nor Spaniard! You ought
to celebrate your escape! What if the stone had fallen on you!"
"He had presentiments!" cried the notary. "He did not want to go down,
that was plain to be seen!"
"It's only an Indian!"
"Let the fete go on! Give us music! Mourning won't raise the
dead. Captain, let the inquest be held! Arrest the head builder!"
"Shall he be put in the stocks?"
"Yes, in the stocks! Music, music! The head builder in the stocks!"
"Senor Alcalde," said Ibarra, "if mourning won't raise the dead,
neither will the imprisonment of a man whose guilt is not proven. I
go security for his person and ask his liberty, for these fete days
at least."
"Very well! But let him not repeat it!" said the alcalde.
All kinds of rumors circulated among the people. The idea of a miracle
was generally accepted. Many said they had seen descend into the
trench at the fatal moment a figure in a dark costume, like that of
the Franciscans. 'Twas no doubt San Diego himself.
"A bad beginning," muttered old Tasio, shaking his head as he moved
away.
XXVII.
FREE THOUGHT.
Ibarra, who had gone home for a change of clothing, had just finished
dressing when a servant announced that a peasant wished to see
him. Supposing it to be one of his laborers, he had him taken to
his work room, which was at the same time his library and chemical
laboratory. To his great surprise he found himself face to face with
the mysterious Elias.
"You saved my life," said the man, speaking in Tagalo, and
understanding the movement of Ibarra. "I have not half paid my
debt. Do not thank me. It is I who should thank you. I have come to
ask a favor."
"Speak!" said his listener.
Elias fixed his melancholy eyes on Ibarra's and went on:
"When the justice of man tries to clear up this mystery, and your
testimony is taken, I entreat you not to speak to any one of the
warning I gave you."
"Do not be alarmed," said Crisostomo, losing interest; "I know you
are pursued, but I'm not an informer."
"I don't speak for myself, but for you," said Elias, with some
haughtiness. "I have no fear of men."
Ibarra grew surprised. This manner of speaking was new, and did not
comport with the state or fortunes of the helmsman.
"Explain yourself!" he demanded.
"I am not speaking enigmas. To insure your safety, it is necessary
that your enemies believe you blind and confiding."
"To insure my safety?" said Ibarra, thoroughly aroused.
"You undertake a great enterprise," Elias went on. "You have
a past. Your grandfather and your father had enemies. It is not
criminals who provoke the most hatred; it is honorable men."
"You know my enemies, then?"
Elias hesitated.
"I knew one; the dead man."
"I regret his death," said Ibarra; "from him I might have learned
more."
"Had he lived, he would have escaped the trembling hand of men's
justice. God has judged him!"
"Do you also believe in the miracle of which the people talk?"
"If I believed in such a miracle, I should not believe in God, and I
believe in Him; I have more than once felt His hand. At the moment when
the scaffolding gave way I placed myself beside the criminal." Elias
looked at Ibarra.
"You--you mean that you----"
"Yes, when his deadly work was about to be done, he was going to flee;
I held him there; I had seen his crime! Let God be the only one who
has the right over life!"
"And yet, this time you----"
"No!" cried Elias. "I exposed the criminal to the risk he had prepared
for others; I ran the risk myself; and I did not strike him; I left
him to be struck by the hand of God!"
Ibarra regarded the man in silence.
"You are not a peasant," he said at last. "Who are you? Have you
studied?"
"I've need of much belief in God, since I've lost faith in men,"
said Elias, evading the question.
"But God cannot speak to resolve each of the countless contests our
passions raise; it is necessary, it is just, that man should sometimes
judge his kind."
"For good, yes; not for evil. To correct and ameliorate, not to
destroy; because, if man's judgments are erroneous, he has not the
power to remedy the evil he has done. But this discussion is over my
head, and I am detaining you. Do not forget what I came to entreat;
save yourself for the good of your country!" And he started to go.
"And when shall I see you again?"
"Whenever you wish; whenever I can be of use to you; I am always
your debtor!"
XXVIII.
THE BANQUET.
All the distinguished people of the province were united in the
carpeted and decorated booth. The alcalde was at one end of the table,
Ibarra at the other. The talk was animated, even gay. The meal was
half finished when a despatch was handed to Captain Tiago. He asked
permission to read it; his face paled; then lighted up. "Senores,"
he cried, quite beside himself, "His Excellency the captain-general
is to honor my house with his presence!" And he started off running,
carrying his despatch and his napkin, forgetting his hat, and pursued
by exclamations and questions. The announcement of the tulisanes
could not have put him to greater confusion.
"Wait a moment! When is he coming? Tell us?"
Captain Tiago was already in the distance.
"His Excellency asks the hospitality of Captain Tiago!" the guests
exclaimed, apparently forgetting that they spoke before his daughter
and his future son-in-law.
"He could hardly make a better choice," said Ibarra, with dignity.
"This was spoken of yesterday," said the alcalde, "but His Excellency
had not fully decided."
"Do you know how long he is to stay?" asked the alferez, uneasily.
"I'm not at all sure! His Excellency is fond of surprising people."
Three other despatches were brought. They were for the alcalde, the
alferez, and the gobernadorcillo, and identical, announcing the coming
of the governor. It was remarked that there was none for the curate.
"His Excellency arrives at four this afternoon," said the alcalde,
solemnly. "We can finish our repast." It might have been Leonidas
saying: "To-night we sup with Pluto!"
The conversation returned to its former course.
"I notice the absence of our great preacher," said one of the clerks,
an honest, inoffensive fellow, who had not yet said a word. Those
who knew the story of Ibarra's father looked significantly at one
another. "Fools rush in," said the glances of some; but others,
more considerate, tried to cover the error.
"He must be somewhat fatigued----"
"Somewhat!" cried the alferez. "He must be spent, as they say here,
malunqueado. What a sermon!"
"Superb! Herculean!" was the opinion of the notary.
"Magnificent! Profound!" said a newspaper correspondent.
In the other booth the children were more noisy than little Filipinos
are wont to be, for at table or before strangers they are usually
rather too timid than too bold. If one of them did not eat with
propriety, his neighbor corrected him. To one a certain article was
a spoon; to others a fork or a knife; and as nobody settled their
questions, they were in continual uproar.
Their fathers and mothers, simple peasants, looked in ravishment to
see their children eating on a white cloth, and doing it almost as well
as the curate or the alcalde. It was better to them than a banquet.
"Yes," said a young peasant woman to an old man grinding his buyo,
"whatever my husband says, my Andoy shall be a priest. It is true,
we are poor; but Father Mateo says Pope Sixtu was once a keeper
of carabaos at Batanzas! Look at my Andoy; hasn't he a face like
St. Vincent?" and the good mother's mouth watered at the sight of
her son with his fork in both hands!
"God help us!" said the old man, munching his sapa. "If Andoy gets
to be pope, we will go to Rome! I can walk yet! Ho! Ho!"
Another peasant came up.
"It's decided, neighbor," he said, "my son is to be a doctor."
"A doctor! Don't speak of it!" replied Petra. "There's nothing
like being a curate! He has only to make two or three turns and say
'deminos pabiscum' and he gets his money."
"And isn't it work to confess?"
"Work! Think of the trouble we take to find out the affairs of
our neighbors! The curate has only to sit down, and they tell him
everything!"
"And preaching? Don't you call that work?"