by José Rizal
"Bring back the woman," Crisostomo ordered his servants.
"They have disappeared, did you say?" demanded the alferez. "Yoursacristans have disappeared, Father Salvi?"
The curate emptied his glass and made another affirmative sign.
"Ho, ho! father," cried the alferez with a mocking laugh, rejoiced atthe prospect of revenge. "Your reverence loses a few pesos, and mysergeant is routed out to find them; your two sacristans disappear,your reverence says nothing; and you also, senor gobernadorcillo,you also----"
He did not finish, but broke off laughing, and buried his spoon inthe red flesh of a papaw.
The curate began with some confusion:
"I was responsible for the money."
"Excellent reply, reverend pastor of souls!" interrupted the alferez,his mouth full. "Excellent reply, holy man!"
Ibarra was on the point of interfering, but the priest recoveredhimself.
"Do you know, senor alferez," he asked, "what is said about thedisappearance of these children? No? Then ask your soldiers."
"What!" cried the alferez, thus challenged, abandoning his mockingtone.
"They say that on the night when they disappeared shots were heardin the pueblo."
"Shots?" repeated the alferez, looking at the faces around him. Therewere several signs of assent.
Brother Salvi went on with a sarcastic smile:
"Come! I see that you do not know how to arrest criminals, that youare unaware of what your soldiers do, but that you are ready to turnyourself into a preacher and teach others their duty."
"Senores," interrupted Ibarra, seeing the alferez grow pale, "I wishto know what you think of a project I've formed. I should like togive the mother into the care of a good physician. I've promised thefather to try to find his children."
The return of the servants without Sisa gave a new turn to theconversation. The luncheon was finished. While the tea and coffeewere being served the guests separated into groups, the elders toplay cards or chess, while the girls, curious to learn their destiny,posed questions to the "Wheel of Fortune."
"Come, Senor Ibarra!" cried Captain Basilio, a little gayer than usual;"we've had a case in court for fifteen years and no judge is able tosolve it; let's see if we cannot end it at chess."
"In a moment, with great pleasure," said Ibarra; "the alferez isleaving us."
As soon as the officer had gone the men grouped around the twoplayers. It was to be an interesting game. The elder ladies meanwhilehad surrounded the curate, to talk with him of the things of religion;but Brother Salvi seemed to judge the time unfitting and made butvague replies, his rather irritated glance being directed almosteverywhere except toward his questioners.
The chess players began with much solemnity.
"If the game is a tie, the affair is forgotten!" said Ibarra.
In the midst of the play he received a despatch. His eyes shone and hebecame pale, but he put the message in his pocket without opening it.
"Check!" he cried. Captain Basilio had no recourse but to hide hisking behind the queen.
"Check!" said Ibarra, threatening with his castle.
Captain Basilio asked a moment to reflect.
"Willingly," said Ibarra; "I, too, should like a moment," and excusinghimself he went toward the group round the "Wheel of Fortune."
Iday had the disc on which were the forty-eight questions, Albinothe book of replies.
"Ask something," they all cried to Ibarra, as he came up. "The onewho has the best answer is to receive a present from the others."
"And who has had the best so far?"
"Maria Clara!" cried Sinang. "We made her ask whether her lover isconstant and true, and the book said----"
But Maria, all blushes, put her hand over Sinang's mouth.
"Give me the 'Wheel' then," said Crisostomo, smiling. And he asked:
"Shall I succeed in my present undertaking?"
"What a stupid question!" pouted Sinang.
The corresponding answer was found in the book. "'Dreams are dreams,'"read Albino.
Ibarra brought out his telegram and opened it, trembling.
"This time your wheel lies!" he cried. "Read!"
"'Project for school approved.' What does that mean?" they asked.
"This is my present," said he, giving the despatch to Maria Clara. "I'mto build a school in the pueblo; the school is my offering." And theyoung fellow ran back to his game of chess.
After making this present to his fiancee, Ibarra was so happy thathe played without reflection, and, thanks to his many false moves,the captain re-established himself, and the game was a draw. The twomen shook hands with effusion.
While they were thus making an end of the long and tedious suit, thesudden appearance of a sergeant and four armed guards, bayonets fixed,broke rudely in upon the merry-makers.
"Whoever stirs is a dead man!" cried the sergeant.
In spite of this bluster, Ibarra went up to him and asked whathe wanted.
"We want a criminal named Elias, who was your helmsman this morning,"replied the officer, still threatening.
"A criminal? The helmsman? You must be mistaken."
"No, senor, this Elias is accused of having raised his hand againsta priest. You admit questionable people to your fetes."
Ibarra looked him over from head to foot and replied with greatcoldness.
"I am in no way accountable to you for my actions. Every one iswelcome at my fetes." And he turned away.
The sergeant, finding he was making no headway, ordered his men tosearch on all sides. They had the helmsman's description on paper.
"Notice that this description answers well for nine-tenths of thenatives," said Don Filipo; "see that you make no mistakes!"
Quiet came back little by little. There were no end of questions.
"So this is the Elias who threw the alferez into the swamp," said Leon.
"He's a tulisane then?" asked Victoria, trembling.
"I think not, for I know that he once fought against the tulisanes."
"He hasn't the face of a criminal," said Sinang.
"No; but his face is very sad," said Maria. "I did not see him smileall the morning."
The day was ending, and in the last rays of the setting suneverybody left the wood, passing in silence the tomb of Ibarra'sancestor. Farther on conversation again became animated, gay, fullof warmth, under these branches little used to merry-making. But thetrees appeared sad, and the swaying bindweed seemed to say: "Adieu,youth! Adieu, dream of a day!"
XXI.
WITH THE PHILOSOPHER.
The next morning, Juan Crisostomo Ibarra, after visiting his land,turned his horse toward old Tasio's.
Complete quiet reigned in the old man's garden; scarcely did theswallows make a sound as they flew round the roof. The old walls ofthe house were mossy, and ivy framed the windows. It seemed the abodeof silence.
Ibarra tied his horse, crossed the neat garden, almost on tiptoe, andentered the open door. He found the old man in his study, surroundedby his collections of insects and leaves, his maps, manuscript, andbooks. He was writing, and so absorbed in his work that he did notnotice the entrance of Ibarra until the young man, loath to disturbhim, was leaving as quietly as he had come.
"What! you were there?" he cried, looking at Crisostomo with a certainastonishment.
"Don't disturb yourself; I see you are busy----"
"I was writing a little, but it is not at all pressing. Can I be ofservice to you?"
"Of great service," said Ibarra, approaching; "but--you are decipheringhieroglyphics!" he exclaimed in surprise, catching sight of the oldman's work.
"No, I'm writing in hieroglyphics."
"Writing in hieroglyphics? And why?" demanded the young man, doubtinghis senses.
"So that no one can read me."
Ibarra looked at him attentively, wondering if he were not a littlemad after all.
"And why do you write if you do not wish to be read?"
"I write n
ot for this generation, but for future ages. If the menof to-day could read my books, they would burn them; the generationthat deciphers these characters will understand, and will say: 'Ourancestors did not all sleep.' But you have something to ask of me,and we are talking of other things."
Ibarra drew out some papers.
"I know," he said, "that my father greatly valued your advice, andI have come to ask it for myself."
And he briefly explained his project for the school, unrolling beforethe stupefied philosopher plans sent from Manila. "Whom shall I consultfirst, in the pueblo, whose support will avail me most? You know themall, I am almost a stranger."
Old Tasio examined with tearful eyes the drawings before him.
"You are going to realize my dream," he said, greatly moved; "thedream of a poor fool. And now the first advice I give you is neverto ask advice of me."
Ibarra looked at him in surprise.
"Because, if you do," he continued with bitter irony, "all sensiblepeople will take you for a fool, too. For all sensible people thinkthose who differ with them fools; they think me one, and I am gratefulfor it, because the day they see in me a reasonable being woe isme! That day I shall lose the little liberty I now enjoy at theexpense of my reputation. The gobernadorcillo passes with them fora wise man because having learned nothing but to serve chocolate andto suffer the caprices of Brother Damaso, he is now rich and has theright to trouble the life of his fellow-citizens. 'There is a man oftalent!' says the crowd. 'He has sprung from nothing to greatness.' Butperhaps I am really the fool and they are the wise men. Who can say?"
And the old man shook his head as though to dismiss an unwelcomethought.
"The second thing I advise is to consult the curate, thegobernadorcillo, all the people of position in the pueblo. They willgive you bad advice, unintelligible, useless. But to ask advice isnot to follow it. All you need is to make it understood that you areworking in accordance with their ideas."
Ibarra reflected, then replied:
"No doubt your counsel is good, but it is very hard to take. May Inot offer my own ideas to the light of day? Cannot the good make itsway anywhere? Has truth need of the dross of error?"
"No one likes the naked truth," replied the old man. "It is good intheory, easy in the ideal world of which youth dreams. You say youare a stranger to your country; I believe it. The day that you arrivedhere, you began by wounding the self-esteem of a priest. God grant thisseemingly small thing has not decided your future. If it has, all yourefforts will break against the convent walls, without disturbing themonk, swaying his girdle, or making his robe tremble. The alcalde,under one pretext or another, will deny you to-morrow what he grantsyou to-day; not a mother will let her child go to your school, andthe result of all your efforts will be simply negative."
"I cannot help feeling your fears exaggerated," said Ibarra. "In spiteof all you say, I cannot believe in this power; but even admitting itto be so great, the most intelligent of the people would be on my side,and also the Government, which is animated by the best intentions,and wishes the veritable good of the Philippines."
"The Government! the Government!" murmured the philosopher,raising his eyes. "However great its desire to better the country,however generous may have been the spirit of the Catholic kings,the Government sees, hears, judges nothing more than the curate orthe provincial gives it to see, hear, or judge. The Government isconvinced that its tranquillity comes through the monks; that ifit is upheld, it is because they uphold it; that if it live, is itbecause they consent to let it, and that the day when they fail it,it will fall like a manikin that has lost its base. The monks holdthe Government in hand by threatening a revolt of the people theycontrol; the people, by displaying the power of the Government. Solong as the Government has not an understanding with the country,it will not free itself from this tutelage. The Government looks tono vigorous future; it's an arm, the head is the convent. Throughits inertia, it allows itself to be dragged from abyss to abyss; itsexistence is no more than a shadow. Compare our system of governmentwith the systems of countries you have visited----"
"Oh!" interrupted Ibarra, "that is going far. Let us be satisfied that,thanks to religion and the humanity of our rulers, our people do notcomplain, do not suffer like those of other countries."
"The people do not complain because they have no voice; if theydon't revolt, it is because they are lethargic; if you say they donot suffer, it is because you have not seen their heart's blood. Butthe day will come when you will see and hear. Then woe to those whobase their strength on ignorance and fanaticism; woe to those whogovern through falsehood, and work in the night, thinking that allsleep! When the sun's light shows the sham of all these phantoms,there will be a frightful reaction; all this strength conserved forcenturies, all this poison distilled drop by drop, all these sighsstrangled, will find the light and the air. Who pay these accountswhich the people from time to time present, and which History preservesfor us in its bloody pages?"
"God will never permit such a day to come!" replied Ibarra, impressedin spite of himself. "The Filipinos are religious, and they loveSpain. There are abuses, yes, but Spain is preparing reforms tocorrect them; her projects are now ripening."
"I know; but the reforms which come from the head are annulledlower down, thanks to the greedy desire of officials to enrichthemselves in a short time, and to the ignorance of the people, whoaccept everything. Abuses are not to be corrected by royal decrees,not where the liberty of speech, which permits the denunciation ofpetty tyrants, does not exist. Projects remain projects; abuses,abuses. Moreover, if by chance some one coming to occupy an officebegins to show high and generous ideas, immediately he hears on allsides--while to his back he is held a fool: 'Your Excellency doesnot know the country, Your Excellency does not know the character ofthe Indians, Your Excellency will ruin them, Your Excellency will dowell to consult this one and that one,' and so forth, and so on. Andas in truth His Excellency does not know the country, which hithertohe had supposed to be in America, and since, like all men, he has hisfaults and weaknesses, he allows himself to be convinced. Don't askfor miracles; don't ask that he who comes here a stranger to make hisfortune should interest himself in the welfare of the country. Whatdoes it mean to him, the gratitude or the execration of a people hedoes not know, among whom he has neither attachments nor hopes? Tomake glory sweet to us, its plaudits must resound in the ears ofthose we love, in the atmosphere of our home, of the country thatis to preserve our ashes; we wish this glory seated on our tomb,to warm a little with its rays the cold of death, to keep us frombeing reduced to nothingness quite. But we wander from the question."
"It is true I did not come to argue this point; I came to ask advice,and you tell me to bow before grotesque idols."
"Yes, and I repeat it; you must either lower your head or lose it."
"'Lower my head or lose it!'" repeated Ibarra, thoughtful. "The dilemmais hard. Is it impossible to reconcile love of my country and love ofSpain? Must one abase himself to be a good Christian; prostitute hisconscience to achieve a good work? I love my country; I love Spain;I am a Catholic, and keep pure the faith of my fathers; but I see inall this no reason for delivering myself into the hands of my enemies."
"But the field where you would sow is in the keeping of yourenemies. You must begin by kissing the hand which----"
Ibarra did not let him finish.
"Kiss their hands! You forget that among them are those who killed myfather and tore his body from the grave; but I, his son, do not forget,and if I do not avenge, it is because of my allegiance to religion!"
The old philosopher lowered his eyes.
"Senor Ibarra," he said slowly, "if you are going to keep theremembrance of these things, things I cannot counsel you to forget,abandon this enterprise and find some other means of benefiting yourcompatriots. This work demands another man."
Ibarra saw the force of these words, but he could not give up hisproject. The remembrance of Maria Clara was in his heart; he mu
stmake good his offering to her.
"If I go on, does your experience suggest nothing but this hardroad?" he asked in a low voice.
Old Tasio took his arm and led him to the window. A fresh breeze wasblowing, courier of the north wind. Below lay the garden.
"Why must we do as does that slender stalk, charged with buds andblossoms?" said the philosopher, pointing out a superb rose-tree. "Thewind makes it tremble, and it bends, as if to hide its preciouscharge. If the stalk stood rigid, it would break, the wind wouldscatter the flowers, and the buds would die without opening. Thegust of wind passed, the stalk rises again, proudly wearing hertreasure. Who accuses her for having bowed to necessity? To lower thehead when a ball whistles is not cowardice. What is reprehensible isdefying the shot, to fall and rise no more."
"And will this sacrifice bear the fruit I seek? Will they have faithin me? Can the priest forget his own offence? Will they sincerelyaid me to spread that instruction which is sure to dispute with theconvents the wealth of the country? Might they not feign friendship,simulate protection, and, underneath, wound my enterprise in the heel,that it fall more promptly than if attacked face to face? Admittingyour views, one might expect anything."
The old man reflected, then he said:
"If this happens, if the enterprise fails, you will have theconsolation of having done what you could. Something will have beengained. Your example will embolden others, who fear only to commence."
Ibarra weighed these reasonings, examined the situation, and saw thatwith all his pessimism the old man was right.
