hearthstones became like that of a fish-pond, all on top; underneath
was commotion. Crosses, gold lace, office, power, honors of all kinds
began to hover over one part of the population, like butterflies in
a golden sunshine. For the others a dark cloud rose on the horizon,
and against this ashy background stood in relief bars, chains, and
the fateful arms of the gibbet. Destiny presented the event to the
Manila imagination, like certain Chinese fans: one face painted black,
the other gilded, and gorgeous with birds and flowers.
There was great agitation in the convents. The provincials ordered
their carriages, and held secret conferences; then presented themselves
at the palace, to offer their support to the imperiled government.
"A Te Deum, a Te Deum!" said a monk in one convent. "Through the
goodness of God, our worth is made manifest in these perilous times!"
"This petty general, this prophet of evil, will gnaw his moustaches
after this little lesson," said another.
"What would have become of him without the religious orders?"
"The papers almost go to the point of demanding a mitre for Brother
Salvi."
"And he will get it! He's consumed with desire for it!"
"Do you think so?"
"Why shouldn't he be? In these days mitres are given for the asking."
"If mitres had eyes, and could see on what craniums----"
We spare our readers other comments of this nature. Let us enter the
home of a private citizen, and as we know few people at Manila, we
will knock at the door of Captain Tinong, the friendly and hospitable
gentleman whom we saw inviting Ibarra, with so much insistence,
to honor his house with a visit.
In his rich and spacious drawing-room, at Tondo, Captain Tinong is
seated in a great arm-chair, passing his hand despairingly across
his brow; while his weeping wife, the Capitana Tinchang, reads him
a sermon, listened to by their two daughters, who are seated in a
corner, mute with stupefaction.
"Ah, Virgin of Antipolo!" cried the wife. "Ah, Virgin of the Rosary;
I told you so! I told you so! Ah, Virgin of Carmel! Ah!"
"Why, no! You didn't tell me anything," Captain Tinong finally
ventured to reply. "On the contrary, you said I did well to keep up the
friendship with Captain Tiago, and to go to his house, because--because
he was rich; and you said----"
"What did I say? I didn't say it! I didn't say anything! Ah, if you
had listened to me!"
"Now you throw the blame back on me!" said the captain bitterly,
striking the arm of his chair with his fist. "Didn't you say I did
well to invite him to dinner, because, as he was rich----"
"It is true I said that, because--because it couldn't be helped;
you had already invited him; and you did nothing but praise him. Don
Ibarra here, and Don Ibarra there, and Don Ibarra on all sides. But
I didn't advise you to see him or to speak to him at the dinner. That
you cannot deny!"
"Did I know, for instance, that he was to be there?"
"You ought to have known it!"
"How, if I wasn't even acquainted with him?"
"You ought to have been acquainted with him!"
"But, Tinchang, if it was the first time I had ever seen him or heard
him spoken of?"
"You ought to have seen him before, you ought to have heard him
spoken of; that's what you are a man for! And now, you will be sent
into exile, our goods will be confiscated----Oh, if I were a man! if
I were a man!"
"And if you were a man," asked the vexed husband, "what would you do?"
"What? Why, to-day, this very day, I should present myself to the
captain-general, and offer to fight against the rebels, this very day!"
"But didn't you read what the Diario says? Listen! 'The infamous and
abortive treason has been repressed with energy, force, and vigor,
and the rebellious enemies of the country and their accomplices will
promptly feel all the weight and all the severity of the laws!' You
see, there is no rebellion!"
"That makes no difference, you should present yourself; many did it
in 1872, and so nobody harmed them."
"Yes! it was done also by Father Bug----" But his wife's hands were
over his mouth.
"Say it! Speak that name, so you may be hung to-morrow at
Bagumbayan! Don't you know it is enough to get you executed without
so much as a trial? Go on, say it!"
But though Captain Tinong had wished, he couldn't have done it. His
wife held his mouth with both her hands, squeezing his little head
against the back of the chair. Perhaps the poor man would have died
of asphyxia, had not a new person come on the stage.
It was their cousin, Don Primitivo, who knew Amat by heart; a man of
forty, large and corpulent, and dressed with the utmost care.
"Quid video?" he cried, upon entering; "what is going on?"
"Ah, cousin!" said the wife, weeping, and running to him, "I had
you sent for, for I don't know what will become of us! What do you
advise--you who have studied Latin and understand reasoning----"
"But quid quaeritis? Nihil est in intellectu quod prius non fuerit in
sensu." And he sat down sedately. The Latin phrases seemed to have
a tranquillizing effect; the husband and wife ceased to lament, and
came nearer, awaiting the counsel of their cousin's lips, as once
the Greeks awaited the saving phrase of the oracle.
"Why are you mourning? Ubinam gentium sumus?"
"You know the story of the uprising----"
"Well, what of it? Don Crisostomo owes you?"
"No! but do you know that Tinong invited him to dinner, and that he
bowed to him on the bridge----in the middle of the day? They will
say he was a friend of ours!"
"Friend?" cried the Latin, in alarm, rising; "tell me who your friends
are, and I'll tell you who you are yourself! Malum est negotium et
est timendum rerum istarum horrendissimum resultatum. Hum!"
So many words in um terrified Captain Tinong. He became frightfully
pale. His wife joined her hands in supplication.
"Cousin, you speak to us now in Latin, but you know we haven't
studied philosophy like you. Speak to us in Tagal or Castilian;
give us your advice."
"It is deplorable that you do not know Latin, my cousin: Latin verities
are lies in Tagalo. Contra principi negantem fustibus est arguendum,
is, in Latin, a truth as veritable as Noah's ark. I once put it
in practice in Tagalo, and it was I who got beaten. It is indeed
a misfortune that you do not know Latin! In Latin it might all be
arranged. You have done wrong, very wrong, cousins, to make friends
with this young man. The just pay the dues of sinners. I feel almost
like advising you to make your will!" and he moved his head gloomily
from side to side.
"Saturnino, what ails you?" cried Capitana Tinchang,
terrified. "Ah! Heaven! he is dead! A doctor! Tinong, Tinongy!"
"He has only fainted, cousin; bring some water." Don Primitivo
sprinkled his face, and the unfortunate man revived.
"Come, come! don't weep! I've found a remedy. Put him in bed. Come,
come! courage! I am with you, and all the wisdom of the ancients! Call
a doctor, and this very day, cousin, go present yourself to the
captain-general, and take him a present, a gold chain, a ring; say
it's a Christmas present. Shut the windows and doors, and if any one
asks for your husband, say he is seriously ill. Meanwhile I'll burn
all the letters, papers, and books, as Don Crisostomo did. Scripti
testes sunt! Go on to the captain's. Leave me to myself. In extremis
extrema. Give me the power of a Roman dictator, and see whether I
save the coun--What am I saying--the cousin!"
He commenced to upset the shelves of the library, and tear papers
and letters. Then he lighted a fire on the kitchen hearth, and
the auto-da-fe began. "'Revolutions of the Celestial Spheres,' by
Copernicus. Whew! ite, maledicte, in ignem kalanis!" he cried, throwing
it to the flames. "Revolution and Copernicus! Crime upon crime! If
I don't get through soon enough! 'Liberty in the Philippines!' What
books! Into the fire with them!" The most innocent works did not escape
the common fate. Cousin Primitivo was right. The just pay for sinners.
Four or five hours later, at a fashionable gathering, the events of
the day were being discussed. There were present a number of elderly
married ladies and spinsters, together with the wives and daughters
of clerks of the administration, all in European costume, fanning and
yawning. Among the men, who, by their manners, showed their position,
as did the women, was a man advanced in age, small and one-armed,
who was treated with distinction, and who kept a reserved distance.
"I could never before suffer the monks and civil guards, because of
their want of manners," a portly lady was saying, "but now that I
see of what service they are, I could almost marry one of them. I
am patriotic."
"I am of the very same mind," said a very prim spinster. "But what
a pity the former governor isn't with us!"
"He would put an end to the race of filibusterillos!"
"Don't they say there are many islands yet uninhabited?"
"If I were the captain-general----"
"Senoras," said the one-armed man, "the captain-general knows his
duty. I understand he is greatly irritated, for he had loaded this
Ibarra with favors."
"Loaded him with favors!" repeated the slim gentlewoman, fanning
furiously. "What ingrates these Indians are! Is it possible to treat
them like human beings?"
"Do you know what I've heard?" asked an officer.
"No! What is it? What do they say?"
"People worthy of confidence say that all this noise about building
a school was a pure pretext; what he meant to make was a fort for
his own defence when he had been attacked."
"What infamy! Would any one but an Indian be capable of it?"
"But they say this filibustero is the son of a Spaniard," said the
one-armed man, without looking at anybody.
"There it is again," cried the portly lady; "always these creoles! No
Indian understands anything about revolution. Train crows, and they'll
pick your eyes out!"
"Do you know what I've heard?" asked a pretty creole, to turn the
conversation. "The wife of Captain Tinong--you remember? We danced and
dined at his house at the fete of Tondo--well, the wife of Captain
Tinong gave the captain-general, this afternoon, a ring worth a
thousand pesos. She said it was a Christmas present."
"Christmas doesn't come for a month."
"She must have feared a downpour," said the stout lady.
"And so got under cover," said the slim.
"That is evident," said the one-armed man, thoughtfully. "I fear
there is something back of this."
"I also," said the portly lady. "The wife of Captain Tinong is very
parsimonious--she has never sent us presents, though we have been to
her house. When such a person lets slip a little present of a thousand
little pesos----"
"But is it certain?" demanded the one-armed man.
"Absolutely! His excellency's aide-de-camp told my cousin, to whom
he is engaged. I'm tempted to believe it's a ring she wore the day
of the fete. She's always covered with diamonds."
"That's one way of advertising! Instead of buying a lay-figure or
renting a shop----"
The one-armed man found a pretext for leaving.
Two hours later, when all the city was asleep, certain inhabitants of
Tondo received an invitation through the medium of soldiers. Authority
could not permit people of position and property to sleep in houses
so ill guarded. In the fortress of Santiago, and in other government
buildings, their sleep would be more tranquil and refreshing. Among
these people was the unfortunate Captain Tinong.
LII.
MARIA CLARA MARRIES.
Captain Tiago was very happy. During these troublous times, no one
had paid any attention to him. He had not been arrested, he had
not been subjected to cross-examination, to electrical machines, to
repeated foot-baths in subterranean habitations, nor to any other of
these pleasantries, well known to certain people who call themselves
civilized. His friends, that is to say, those who had been--for he had
repudiated his Filipino friends as soon as they had become suspects
in the eyes of the Government--had returned home after several days
of vacation in the edifices of the State. The captain-general had
ordered them out of his possessions, to the great displeasure of
the one-armed man, who would have liked to celebrate the approaching
Christmas in so numerous a company of the rich.
Captain Tinong returned to his home, ill, pale, another man. The
excursion had not been for his good. He said nothing, not even to greet
his family, who laughed and wept over him, mad with joy. The poor man
no longer left the house, for fear of saluting a filibuster. Cousin
Primitivo himself, with all the wisdom of the ancients, could not
draw him out of his mutism.
Stories like that of Captain Tinong's were numerous, and Captain Tiago
was not ignorant of them. He overflowed with gratitude, without knowing
exactly to whom he owed these signal favors. Aunt Isabel attributed
the miracle to the Virgin of Antipolo.
"I too, Isabel," said Captain Tiago, "but the Virgin of Antipolo has
probably not done it alone; my friends have helped, and my future
son-in-law, Senor Linares."
It was whispered that Ibarra would be hung; that in spite of lack
of proofs of his guilt, one thing had been found that confirmed the
accusation; the experts had declared the school was so designed that
it might pass for a rampart, faulty enough, to be sure, but what one
might expect of ignorant Indians.
In the midst of affairs, Dona Victorina, Don Tiburcio, and Linares
arrived. As usual, Dona Victorina talked for the three men and herself;
and her speech had undergone a remarkable change. She now claimed
to have naturalized herself an Andalusian by suppressing d's and
replacing the sound of s by that of z. No one had been able to get
the idea out of her head; one would certainly have needed to get her
frizzes off the outside first. She talked of visits of Linares to the
captain-general, and made continual insinuations as to advantages a
relative of position would bring.
"As we say," she concluded, "he who sleeps in a good shade, leans on
a good staff."
"It's--it's the opposite, wife."
Maria Clara was yet pale, though she had almost recovered from her
illness. She kissed Dona Victorina, smiling rather sadly.
"You have been saved, thanks to your connections!" said the doctora,
with a significant look toward Linares.
"God has protected my father," said Maria, in a low voice.
"Yes, Clarita, but the time of miracles is past. We, the Spaniards say,
trust not in the Virgin, and save yourself by running."
"It's--it's--the contrary, wife!"
"We must talk business," said Dona Victorina, glancing at Maria. Maria
found a pretext for leaving, and went out, steadying herself by
the furniture.
What was said in this conference was so sordid and mean, that we prefer
not to report it. Suffice it to say that when they parted, they were
all satisfied. Captain Tiago said a little after to Aunt Isabel:
"Have the caterer notified that we give a reception to-morrow. Maria
must get ready for her marriage at once. When Senor Linares is our
son-in-law, all the palaces will be open to us; and every one will
die of envy."
And so, toward eight o'clock the next evening, the house of Captain
Tiago was once more full. This time, however, he had invited only
Spaniards, peninsular and Philippine, and Chinese. Yet many of our
acquaintances were there. Father Sibyla and Father Salvi, among
numerous Franciscans and Dominicans; the old lieutenant of the
Municipal Guard, more sombre than ever; the alferez, recounting his
victory for the thousandth time, looking over the heads of everybody,
now that he is lieutenant with grade of commandant; Dr. Espadana,
who looks upon him with respect and fear, and avoids his glance;
Dona Victorina, who cannot see him without anger. Linares had not yet
arrived; as a person of importance, he must arouse expectation. There
are beings so simple, that an hour's waiting for a man suffices to
make him great in their eyes.
Maria Clara was the object of interest to all the women, and the
subject of unveiled comments. She had received these ceremoniously,
without losing her air of sadness.
"Bah! the proud little thing!" said one.
"Rather pretty," said another, "but he might have chosen some one
with a more intelligent face."
"But the money, my dear! The good fellow is selling himself."
In another group some one was saying:
"To marry when one's first fiance is going to be hung!"
"That is what is called prudent; having a substitute at hand."
"Then, when one becomes a widow----"
Possibly some of these remarks reached the ears of Maria Clara. She
grew paler, her hand trembled, her lips seemed to move.
In the circles of men the talk was loud, and naturally the recent
events were the subject of conversation. Everybody talked, even
Don Tiburcio.
"I hear that your reverence is about to leave the pueblo," said the
new lieutenant, whom his new star had made more amiable.
"I have no more to do there; I am to be placed permanently at
Manila. And you?" asked Father Salvi.
"I also leave the pueblo," said he, throwing back his shoulders;
"I am going with a flying column to rid the province of filibusters."
Father Salvi surveyed his old enemy from top to toe, and turned away
with a disdainful smile.
"Is it known certainly what is to be done with the chief
filibuster?" asked a clerk.
"You are speaking of Don Crisostomo Ibarra," replied another. "It is
very probable that he will be hung, like those of 1872, and it will
be very just."
"He is to be exiled," said the old lieutenant dryly.
"Exile! Nothing but exile?" cried numerous voices at once. "Then it
must be for life!"
"If the young man had been more prudent," went on Lieutenant Guevara,
speaking so that all might hear, "if he had confided less in certain
persons to whom he wrote, if our attorney-generals did not interpret
too subtly what they read, it is certain he would have been released."
This declaration of the old lieutenant's, and the tone of his voice,
produced a great surprise among his auditors. No one knew what to
say. Father Salvi looked away, perhaps to avoid the dark look the
lieutenant gave him. Maria Clara dropped some flowers she had in her
hand, and became a statue. Father Sibyla, who knew when to be silent,
seemed the only one who knew how to question.
"You speak of letters, Senor Guevara."
"I speak of what I am told by Don Crisostomo's advocate, who is
greatly interested in his case, and defended him with zeal. Outside
of a few ambiguous lines in a letter addressed to a woman before he
left for Europe, in which the procurator found a project against the
Government, and which the young man acknowledged as his, there was
no evidence against him."
"And the declaration made by the tulisan before he died?"
"The defence destroyed that testimony. According to the witness
himself, none of them had any communication with Ibarra, except
one named Jose, who was his enemy, as was proven, and who afterward
committed suicide, probably from remorse. It was shown that the papers
found on his body were forgeries, for the writing was like Ibarra's
seven years ago, but not like his hand of to-day. For this it was
supposed that the accusing letter served as a model."
"You tell us," said a Franciscan, "that Ibarra addressed this letter
to a woman. How did it come into the hands of the attorney-general?"
The lieutenant did not reply. He looked a moment at Father Salvi,
and moved off, twisting the point of his gray beard. The others
continued to discuss the matter.
"Even women seem to have hated him," said one.
"He burned his house, thinking to save himself, but he counted without
his hostess!" said another, laughing.
Meanwhile the old soldier approached Maria Clara. She had heard the
whole conversation, sitting motionless, the flowers lying at her feet.
"You are a prudent young woman," he said in a low voice; "by giving
over the letter, you assured yourself a peaceful future." And he moved
on, leaving Maria with blank eyes and a face rigid. Fortunately Aunt
Isabel passed. Maria had strength to take her by the dress.
"What is the matter?" cried the old lady, terrified at the face of
her niece. "You are ill, my child. You are ready to faint. What is it?"
"My heart--it's the crowd--so much light--I must rest. Tell my father
I've gone to rest," and steadying herself by her aunt's arm, she went
to her room.
"You are cold! Do you want some tea?" asked Aunt Isabel at the door.
Maria shook her head. "Go back, dear aunt, I only need to rest,"
she said. She locked the door of her little room, and at the end of
her strength, threw herself down before a statue, sobbing:
"Mother, mother, my mother!"
The moonlight came in through the window, and through the door leading
to the balcony. The joyous music of the dance, peals of laughter
and the hum of conversation, made their way to the chamber. Many
times they knocked at her door--her father, her aunt, Dona Victorina,
even Linares. Maria did not move or speak; now and then a hoarse sob
escaped her.
Hours passed. After the feast had come the ball. Maria's candle had
burned out, and she lay in the moonlight at the foot of the statue. She
had not moved. Little by little the house became quiet. Aunt Isabel
came to knock once again at the door.
"She must have gone to bed," the old lady called back to her
brother. "At her age one sleeps like the dead."
When all was still again, Maria rose slowly, and looked out on the
terrace with its vines bathed in the white moonlight.
"A peaceful future!--Sleep like the dead!" she said aloud; and she
went out.
The city was mute; only now and then a carriage could be heard
crossing the wooden bridge. The girl raised her eyes toward the sky;
then slowly she took off her rings, the pendants in her ears, the
comb and jewelled pins in her hair, and put them on the balustrade
of the terrace; then she looked toward the river.
A little bark, loaded with zacate, drew up to the landing-place
below the terrace. One of the two men in it climbed the stone steps,
sprang over the wall, and in a moment was mounting the stairway of
the terrace. At sight of Maria, he stopped, then approached slowly.
Maria drew back.
"Crisostomo!" she said, speaking low. She was terrified.
"Yes, I am Crisostomo," replied the young man gravely. "An enemy, a
man who has reason to hate me, Elias, has rescued me from the prison
where my friends put me."
A sad silence followed his words. Maria Clara bent her head. Ibarra
went on:
"By the dead body of my mother, I pledged myself, whatever my future,
to try to make you happy. I have risked all that remains to me, to
come and fulfil that promise. Chance lets me speak to you, Maria;
we shall never see each other again. You are young now; some day your
conscience may upbraid you. Before I go away forever, I have come to
say that I forgive you. Be happy--farewell!" And he began to move away;
she held him back.
"Crisostomo!" she said, "God has sent you to save me from
despair. Listen and judge me!"
Ibarra tried gently to release himself.
"I did not come to call you to account; I came to bring you peace."
"I want none of the peace you bring me. I shall find peace for
myself. You scorn me and your scorn will make even death bitter."
He saw despair in her poor, young face, and asked what she wished.
"I wish you to believe that I have always loved you."
He smiled bitterly.
"Ah! you doubt me! you doubt your childhood's friend, who has never
hidden a single thought from you! When you know my history, the sad
story that was told me in my illness, you will pity me; you will no
longer wear that smile. Why did they not let me die in the hands of
my ignorant doctor! You and I should both have been happier!"
She stopped a moment, then went on:
"You force me to this, by your doubts; may my mother forgive me! In
one of the most painful of my nights of suffering, a man revealed
to me the name of my real father. If he had not been my father,
this man said, he might have pardoned the injury you had done him."
Crisostomo looked at Maria in amazement.
"What was I to do?" she went on. "Ought I to sacrifice to my love
the memory of my mother, the honor of him who was supposed to be my
father, and the good name of him who is? And could I have done this
without bringing dishonor upon you too?"
"But the proof--have you had proof? There must be proof!" said
Crisostomo, staggered.
Maria drew from her breast two papers.