by José Rizal
CHAPTER I
A Social Gathering
On the last of October Don Santiago de los Santos, popularly known asCapitan Tiago, gave a dinner. In spite of the fact that, contrary tohis usual custom, he had made the announcement only that afternoon,it was already the sole topic of conversation in Binondo and adjacentdistricts, and even in the Walled City, for at that time CapitanTiago was considered one of the most hospitable of men, and it waswell known that his house, like his country, shut its doors againstnothing except commerce and all new or bold ideas. Like an electricshock the announcement ran through the world of parasites, bores,and hangers-on, whom God in His infinite bounty creates and so kindlymultiplies in Manila. Some looked at once for shoe-polish, othersfor buttons and cravats, but all were especially concerned about howto greet the master of the house in the most familiar tone, in orderto create an atmosphere of ancient friendship or, if occasion shouldarise, to excuse a late arrival.
This dinner was given in a house on Calle Anloague, and although we donot remember the number we will describe it in such a way that it maystill be recognized, provided the earthquakes have not destroyed it. Wedo not believe that its owner has had it torn down, for such labors aregenerally entrusted to God or nature--which Powers hold the contractsalso for many of the projects of our government. It is a rather largebuilding, in the style of many in the country, and fronts upon the armof the Pasig which is known to some as the Binondo River, and which,like all the streams in Manila, plays the varied roles of bath, sewer,laundry, fishery, means of transportation and communication, and evendrinking water if the Chinese water-carrier finds it convenient. Itis worthy of note that in the distance of nearly a mile this importantartery of the district, where traffic is most dense and movement mostdeafening, can boast of only one wooden bridge, which is out of repairon one side for six months and impassable on the other for the rest ofthe year, so that during the hot season the ponies take advantage ofthis permanent _status quo_ to jump off the bridge into the water,to the great surprise of the abstracted mortal who may be dozinginside the carriage or philosophizing upon the progress of the age.
The house of which we are speaking is somewhat low and not exactlycorrect in all its lines: whether the architect who built it wasafflicted with poor eyesight or whether the earthquakes and typhoonshave twisted it out of shape, no one can say with certainty. A widestaircase with green newels and carpeted steps leads from the tiledentrance up to the main floor between rows of flower-pots set uponpedestals of motley-colored and fantastically decorated Chineseporcelain. Since there are neither porters nor servants who demandinvitation cards, we will go in, O you who read this, whether friend orfoe, if you are attracted by the strains of the orchestra, the lights,or the suggestive rattling of dishes, knives, and forks, and if youwish to see what such a gathering is like in the distant Pearl ofthe Orient. Gladly, and for my own comfort, I should spare you thisdescription of the house, were it not of great importance, since wemortals in general are very much like tortoises: we are esteemed andclassified according to our shells; in this and still other respectsthe mortals of the Philippines in particular also resemble tortoises.
If we go up the stairs, we immediately find ourselves in a spacioushallway, called there, for some unknown reason, the _caida_, whichtonight serves as the dining-room and at the same time affords aplace for the orchestra. In the center a large table profusely andexpensively decorated seems to beckon to the hanger-on with sweetpromises, while it threatens the bashful maiden, the simple _dalaga_,with two mortal hours in the company of strangers whose language andconversation usually have a very restricted and special character.
Contrasted with these terrestrial preparations are the motley paintingson the walls representing religious matters, such as "Purgatory,""Hell," "The Last Judgment," "The Death of the Just," and "The Deathof the Sinner."
At the back of the room, fastened in a splendid and elegant framework,in the Renaissance style, possibly by Arevalo, is a glass case inwhich are seen the figures of two old women. The inscription on thisreads: "Our Lady of Peace and Prosperous Voyages, who is worshiped inAntipolo, visiting in the disguise of a beggar the holy and renownedCapitana Inez during her sickness." [15] While the work reveals littletaste or art, yet it possesses in compensation an extreme realism,for to judge from the yellow and bluish tints of her face the sickwoman seems to be already a decaying corpse, and the glasses and otherobjects, accompaniments of long illness, are so minutely reproducedthat even their contents may be distinguished. In looking at thesepictures, which excite the appetite and inspire gay bucolic ideas, onemay perhaps be led to think that the malicious host is well acquaintedwith the characters of the majority of those who are to sit at histable and that, in order to conceal his own way of thinking, he hashung from the ceiling costly Chinese lanterns; bird-cages withoutbirds; red, green, and blue globes of frosted glass; faded air-plants;and dried and inflated fishes, which they call _botetes_. The view isclosed on the side of the river by curious wooden arches, half Chineseand half European, affording glimpses of a terrace with arbors andbowers faintly lighted by paper lanterns of many colors.
In the sala, among massive mirrors and gleaming chandeliers, theguests are assembled. Here, on a raised platform, stands a grandpiano of great price, which tonight has the additional virtue of notbeing played upon. Here, hanging on the wall, is an oil-painting of ahandsome man in full dress, rigid, erect, straight as the tasseled canehe holds in his stiff, ring-covered fingers--the whole seeming to say,"Ahem! See how well dressed and how dignified I am!" The furnishingsof the room are elegant and perhaps uncomfortable and unhealthful,since the master of the house would consider not so much the comfortand health of his guests as his own ostentation, "A terrible thingis dysentery," he would say to them, "but you are sitting in Europeanchairs and that is something you don't find every day."
This room is almost filled with people, the men being separated fromthe women as in synagogues and Catholic churches. The women consist ofa number of Filipino and Spanish maidens, who, when they open theirmouths to yawn, instantly cover them with their fans and who murmuronly a few words to each other, any conversation ventured upon dyingout in monosyllables like the sounds heard in a house at night, soundsmade by the rats and lizards. Is it perhaps the different likenessesof Our Lady hanging on the walls that force them to silence and areligious demeanor or is it that the women here are an exception?
A cousin of Capitan Tiago, a sweet-faced old woman, who speaks Spanishquite badly, is the only one receiving the ladies. To offer to theSpanish ladies a plate of cigars and _buyos_, to extend her hand toher countrywomen to be kissed, exactly as the friars do,--this isthe sum of her courtesy, her policy. The poor old lady soon becamebored, and taking advantage of the noise of a plate breaking, rushedprecipitately away, muttering, "_Jesus!_ Just wait, you rascals!" andfailed to reappear.
The men, for their part, are making more of a stir. Some cadetsin one corner are conversing in a lively manner but in low tones,looking around now and then to point out different persons in the roomwhile they laugh more or less openly among themselves. In contrast,two foreigners dressed in white are promenading silently from one endof the room to the other with their hands crossed behind their backs,like the bored passengers on the deck of a ship. All the interest andthe greatest animation proceed from a group composed of two priests,two civilians, and a soldier who are seated around a small table onwhich are seen bottles of wine and English biscuits.
The soldier, a tall, elderly lieutenant with an austere countenance--aDuke of Alva straggling behind in the roster of the Civil Guard--talkslittle, but in a harsh, curt way. One of the priests, a youthfulDominican friar, handsome, graceful, polished as the gold-mountedeyeglasses he wears, maintains a premature gravity. He is the curateof Binondo and has been in former years a professor in the college ofSan Juan de Letran, [16] where he enjoyed the reputation of being aconsummate dialectician, so much so that in the days when the sonsof Guzman [17] still dared to match t
hemselves in subtleties withlaymen, the able disputant B. de Luna had never been able either tocatch or to confuse him, the distinctions made by Fray Sibyla leavinghis opponent in the situation of a fisherman who tries to catch eelswith a lasso. The Dominican says little, appearing to weigh his words.
Quite in contrast, the other priest, a Franciscan, talks much andgesticulates more. In spite of the fact that his hair is beginning toturn gray, he seems to be preserving well his robust constitution,while his regular features, his rather disquieting glance, his widejaws and herculean frame give him the appearance of a Roman noble indisguise and make us involuntarily recall one of those three monks ofwhom Heine tells in his "Gods in Exile," who at the September equinoxin the Tyrol used to cross a lake at midnight and each time place inthe hand of the poor boatman a silver piece, cold as ice, which lefthim full of terror. [18] But Fray Damaso is not so mysterious as theywere. He is full of merriment, and if the tone of his voice is roughlike that of a man who has never had occasion to correct himself andwho believes that whatever he says is holy and above improvement, stillhis frank, merry laugh wipes out this disagreeable impression and evenobliges us to pardon his showing to the room bare feet and hairy legsthat would make the fortune of a Mendieta in the Quiapo fairs. [19]
One of the civilians is a very small man with a black beard, the onlything notable about him being his nose, which, to judge from its size,ought not to belong to him. The other is a rubicund youth, who seemsto have arrived but recently in the country. With him the Franciscanis carrying on a lively discussion.
"You'll see," the friar was saying, "when you've been here a fewmonths you'll be convinced of what I say. It's one thing to governin Madrid and another to live in the Philippines."
"But--"
"I, for example," continued Fray Damaso, raising his voice stillhigher to prevent the other from speaking, "I, for example, who canlook back over twenty-three years of bananas and _morisqueta_, knowwhereof I speak. Don't come at me with theories and fine speeches,for I know the Indian. [20] Mark well that the moment I arrived in thecountry I was assigned to a toxin, small it is true, but especiallydevoted to agriculture. I didn't understand Tagalog very well then,but I was, soon confessing the women, and we understood one anotherand they came to like me so well that three years later, when I wastransferred to another and larger town, made vacant by the death ofthe native curate, all fell to weeping, they heaped gifts upon me,they escorted me with music--"
"But that only goes to show--"
"Wait, wait! Don't be so hasty! My successor remained a shortertime, and when he left he had more attendance, more tears, and moremusic. Yet he had been more given to whipping and had raised the feesin the parish to almost double."
"But you will allow me--"
"But that isn't all. I stayed in the town of San Diego twenty yearsand it has been only a few months since I left it."
Here he showed signs of chagrin.
"Twenty years, no one can deny, are more than sufficient to getacquainted with a town. San Diego has a population of six thousandsouls and I knew every inhabitant as well as if I had been his motherand wet-nurse. I knew in which foot this one was lame, where theshoe pinched that one, who was courting that girl, what affairs shehad had and with whom, who was the real father of the child, and soon--for I was the confessor of every last one, and they took care notto fail in their duty. Our host, Santiago, will tell you whether I amspeaking the truth, for he has a lot of land there and that was wherewe first became friends. Well then, you may see what the Indian is:when I left I was escorted by only a few old women and some of thetertiary brethren--and that after I had been there twenty years!"
"But I don't see what that has to do with the abolition of the tobaccomonopoly," [21] ventured the rubicund youth, taking advantage of theFranciscan's pausing to drink a glass of sherry.
Fray Damaso was so greatly surprised that he nearly let his glassfall. He remained for a moment staring fixedly at the young man.
"What? How's that?" he was finally able to exclaim in greatwonderment. "Is it possible that you don't see it as clear asday? Don't you see, my son, that all this proves plainly that thereforms of the ministers are irrational?"
It was now the youth's turn to look perplexed. The lieutenant wrinkledhis eyebrows a little more and the small man nodded toward Fray Damasoequivocally. The Dominican contented himself with almost turning hisback on the whole group.
"Do you really believe so?" the young man at length asked with greatseriousness, as he looked at the friar with curiosity.
"Do I believe so? As I believe the Gospel! The Indian is so indolent!"
"Ah, pardon me for interrupting you," said the young man, loweringhis voice and drawing his chair a little closer, "but you have saidsomething that awakens all my interest. Does this indolence actually,naturally, exist among the natives or is there some truth in what aforeign traveler says: that with this indolence we excuse our own,as well as our backwardness and our colonial system. He referred toother colonies whose inhabitants belong to the same race--"
"Bah, jealousy! Ask Senor Laruja, who also knows this country. Ask himif there is any equal to the ignorance and indolence of the Indian."
"It's true," affirmed the little man, who was referred to as SenorLaruja. "In no part of the world can you find any one more indolentthan the Indian, in no part of the world."
"Nor more vicious, nor more ungrateful!"
"Nor more unmannerly!"
The rubicund youth began to glance about nervously. "Gentlemen," hewhispered, "I believe that we are in the house of an Indian. Thoseyoung ladies--"
"Bah, don't be so apprehensive! Santiago doesn't consider himself anIndian--and besides, he's not here. And what if he were! These arethe nonsensical ideas of the newcomers. Let a few months pass and youwill change your opinion, after you have attended a lot of fiestasand _bailuhan_, slept on cots, and eaten your fill of _tinola_."
"Ah, is this thing that you call _tinola_ a variety of lotus whichmakes people--er--forgetful?"
"Nothing of the kind!" exclaimed Fray Damaso with a smile. "You'regetting absurd. _Tinola_ is a stew of chicken and squash. How longhas it been since you got here?"
"Four days," responded the youth, rather offended.
"Have you come as a government employee?"
"No, sir, I've come at my own expense to study the country."
"Man, what a rare bird!" exclaimed Fray Damaso, staring at him withcuriosity. "To come at one's own expense and for such foolishness! Whata wonder! When there are so many books! And with two fingerbreadthsof forehead! Many have written books as big as that! With twofingerbreadths of forehead!"
The Dominican here brusquely broke in upon the conversation. "Didyour Reverence, Fray Damaso, say that you had been twenty years inthe town of San Diego and that you had left it? Wasn't your Reverencesatisfied with the town?"
At this question, which was put in a very natural and almostnegligent tone, Fray Damaso suddenly lost all his merriment and stoppedlaughing. "No!" he grunted dryly, and let himself back heavily againstthe back of his chair.
The Dominican went on in a still more indifferent tone. "It must bepainful to leave a town where one has been for twenty years and whichhe knows as well as the clothes he wears. I certainly was sorry toleave Kamiling and that after I had been there only a few months. Butmy superiors did it for the good of the Orders for my own good."
Fray Damaso, for the first time that evening, seemed to be verythoughtful. Suddenly he brought his fist down on the arm of his chairand with a heavy breath exclaimed: "Either Religion is a fact or itis not! That is, either the curates are free or they are not! Thecountry is going to ruin, it is lost!" And again he struck the armof his chair.
Everybody in the sala turned toward the group with astonishedlooks. The Dominican raised his head to stare at the Franciscan fromunder his glasses. The two foreigners paused a moment, stared with anexpression of mingled severity and reproof, then immediately continuedtheir promenade.
"He's in a bad humor because you haven't treated him with deference,"murmured Senor Laruja into the ear of the rubicund youth.
"What does your Reverence mean? What's the trouble?" inquired theDominican and the lieutenant at the same time, but in different tones.
"That's why so many calamities come! The ruling powers supportheretics against the ministers of God!" continued the Franciscan,raising his heavy fists.
"What do you mean?" again inquired the frowning lieutenant, halfrising from his chair.
"What do I mean?" repeated Fray Damaso, raising his voice and facingthe lieutenant. "I'll tell you what I mean. I, yes I, mean to say thatwhen a priest throws out of his cemetery the corpse of a heretic,no one, not even the King himself, has any right to interfere andmuch less to impose any punishment! But a little General--a littleGeneral Calamity--"
"Padre, his Excellency is the Vice-Regal Patron!" shouted the soldier,rising to his feet.
"Excellency! Vice-Regal Patron! What of that!" retorted the Franciscan,also rising. "In other times he would have been dragged down astaircase as the religious orders once did with the impious GovernorBustamente. [22] Those were indeed the days of faith."
"I warn you that I can't permit this! His Excellency represents hisMajesty the King!"
"King or rook! What difference does that make? For us there is noking other than the legitimate [23]--"
"Halt!" shouted the lieutenant in a threatening tone, as if he werecommanding his soldiers. "Either you withdraw what you have said ortomorrow I will report it to his Excellency!"
"Go ahead--right now--go on!" was the sarcastic rejoinder of FrayDamaso as he approached the officer with clenched fists. "Do you thinkthat because I wear the cloth, I'm afraid? Go now, while I can lendyou my carriage!"
The dispute was taking a ludicrous turn, but fortunately theDominican intervened. "Gentlemen," he began in an authoritativetone and with the nasal twang that so well becomes the friars,"you must not confuse things or seek for offenses where there arenone. We must distinguish in the words of Fray Damaso those of theman from those of the priest. The latter, as such, _per se_, cannever give offense, because they spring from absolute truth, whilein those of the man there is a secondary distinction to be made:those which he utters _ab irato_, those which he utters _ex ore_,but not _in corde_, and those which he does utter _in corde_. Theselast are the only ones that can really offend, and only according towhether they preexisted as a motive _in mente_, or arose solely _peraccidens_ in the heat of the discussion, if there really exist--"
"But I, by _accidens_ and for my own part, understand his motives,Padre Sibyla," broke in the old soldier, who saw himself about tobe entangled in so many distinctions that he feared lest he mightstill be held to blame. "I understand the motives about which yourReverence is going to make distinctions. During the absence of PadreDamaso from San Diego, his coadjutor buried the body of an extremelyworthy individual--yes, sir, extremely worthy, for I had had dealingswith him many times and had been entertained in his house. Whatif he never went to confession, what does that matter? Neither doI go to confession! But to say that he committed suicide is a lie,a slander! A man such as he was, who has a son upon whom he centershis affection and hopes, a man who has faith in God, who recognizeshis duties to society, a just and honorable man, does not commitsuicide. This much I will say and will refrain from expressing therest of my thoughts here, so please your Reverence."
Then, turning his back on the Franciscan, he went on: "Now then, thispriest on his return to the town, after maltreating the poor coadjutor,had the corpse dug up and taken away from the cemetery to be buried Idon't know where. The people of San Diego were cowardly enough not toprotest, although it is true that few knew of the outrage. The deadman had no relatives there and his only son was in Europe. But hisExcellency learned of the affair and as he is an upright man askedfor some punishment--and Padre Damaso was transferred to a bettertown. That's all there is to it. Now your Reverence can make yourdistinctions."
So saying, he withdrew from the group.
"I'm sorry that I inadvertently brought up so delicate a subject,"said Padre Sibyla sadly. "But, after all, if there has been a gainin the change of towns--"
"How is there to be a gain? And what of all the things thatare lost in moving, the letters, and the--and everything that ismislaid?" interrupted Fray Damaso, stammering in the vain effort tocontrol his anger.
Little by little the party resumed its former tranquillity. Otherguests had come in, among them a lame old Spaniard of mild andinoffensive aspect leaning on the arm of an elderly Filipina,who was resplendent in frizzes and paint and a European gown. Thegroup welcomed them heartily, and Doctor De Espadana and hissenora, the _Doctora_ Dona Victorina, took their seats among ouracquaintances. Some newspaper reporters and shopkeepers greeted oneanother and moved about aimlessly without knowing just what to do.
"But can you tell me, Senor Laruja, what kind of man our hostis?" inquired the rubicund youth. "I haven't been introduced tohim yet."
"They say that he has gone out. I haven't seen him either."
"There's no need of introductions here," volunteered FrayDamaso. "Santiago is made of the right stuff."
"No, he's not the man who invented gunpowder," [24] added Laruja.
"You too, Senor Laruja," exclaimed Dona Victorina in mild reproach,as she fanned herself. "How could the poor man invent gunpowder if,as is said, the Chinese invented it centuries ago?"
"The Chinese! Are you crazy?" cried Fray Damaso. "Out with you! AFranciscan, one of my Order, Fray What-do-you-call-him Savalls,[25] invented it in the--ah the seventh century!"
"A Franciscan? Well, he must have been a missionary in China, thatPadre Savalls," replied the lady, who did not thus easily part fromher beliefs.
"Schwartz, [26] perhaps you mean, senora," said Fray Sibyla, withoutlooking at her.
"I don't know. Fray Damaso said a Franciscan and I was only repeating."
"Well, Savalls or Chevas, what does it matter? The difference ofa letter doesn't make him a Chinaman," replied the Franciscan inbad humor.
"And in the fourteenth century, not the seventh," added the Dominicanin a tone of correction, as if to mortify the pride of the other friar.
"Well, neither does a century more or less make him a Dominican."
"Don't get angry, your Reverence," admonished Padre Sibyla,smiling. "So much the better that he did invent it so as to save hisbrethren the trouble."
"And did you say, Padre Sibyla, that it was in the fourteenthcentury?" asked Dona Victorina with great interest. "Was that beforeor after Christ?"
Fortunately for the individual questioned, two persons enteredthe room.
