by José Rizal
CHAPTER II
Crisostomo Ibarra
It was not two beautiful and well-gowned young women that attractedthe attention of all, even including Fray Sibyla, nor was it hisExcellency the Captain-General with his staff, that the lieutenantshould start from his abstraction and take a couple of steps forward,or that Fray Damaso should look as if turned to stone; it was simplythe original of the oil-painting leading by the hand a young mandressed in deep mourning.
"Good evening, gentlemen! Good evening, Padre!" were the greetingsof Capitan Tiago as he kissed the hands of the priests, who forgotto bestow upon him their benediction. The Dominican had taken offhis glasses to stare at the newly arrived youth, while Fray Damasowas pale and unnaturally wide-eyed.
"I have the honor of presenting to you Don Crisostomo Ibarra, the sonof my deceased friend," went on Capitan Tiago. "The young gentlemanhas just arrived from Europe and I went to meet him."
At the mention of the name exclamations were heard. The lieutenantforgot to pay his respects to his host and approached the young man,looking him over from head to foot. The young man himself at thatmoment was exchanging the conventional greetings with all in the group,nor did there seem to be any thing extraordinary about him excepthis mourning garments in the center of that brilliantly lightedroom. Yet in spite of them his remarkable stature, his features,and his movements breathed forth an air of healthy youthfulness inwhich both body and mind had equally developed. There might have beennoticed in his frank, pleasant face some faint traces of Spanishblood showing through a beautiful brown color, slightly flushed atthe cheeks as a result perhaps of his residence in cold countries.
"What!" he exclaimed with joyful surprise, "the curate of my nativetown! Padre Damaso, my father's intimate friend!"
Every look in the room was directed toward the Franciscan, who madeno movement.
"Pardon me, perhaps I'm mistaken," added Ibarra, embarrassed.
"You are not mistaken," the friar was at last able to articulate in achanged voice, "but your father was never an intimate friend of mine."
Ibarra slowly withdrew his extended hand, looking greatly surprised,and turned to encounter the gloomy gaze of the lieutenant fixed on him.
"Young man, are you the son of Don Rafael Ibarra?" he asked.
The youth bowed. Fray Damaso partly rose in his chair and staredfixedly at the lieutenant.
"Welcome back to your country! And may you be happier in it than yourfather was!" exclaimed the officer in a trembling voice. "I knew himwell and can say that he was one of the worthiest and most honorablemen in the Philippines."
"Sir," replied Ibarra, deeply moved, "the praise you bestow upon myfather removes my doubts about the manner of his death, of which I,his son, am yet ignorant."
The eyes of the old soldier filled with tears and turning away hastilyhe withdrew. The young man thus found himself alone in the centerof the room. His host having disappeared, he saw no one who mightintroduce him to the young ladies, many of whom were watching himwith interest. After a few moments of hesitation he started towardthem in a simple and natural manner.
"Allow me," he said, "to overstep the rules of strict etiquette. Ithas been seven years since I have been in my own country and uponreturning to it I cannot suppress my admiration and refrain frompaying my respects to its most precious ornaments, the ladies."
But as none of them ventured a reply, he found himself obliged toretire. He then turned toward a group of men who, upon seeing himapproach, arranged themselves in a semicircle.
"Gentlemen," he addressed them, "it is a custom in Germany,when a stranger finds himself at a function and there is no one tointroduce him to those present, that he give his name and so introducehimself. Allow me to adopt this usage here, not to introduce foreigncustoms when our own are so beautiful, but because I find myself drivento it by necessity. I have already paid my respects to the skies andto the ladies of my native land; now I wish to greet its citizens,my fellow-countrymen. Gentlemen, my name is Juan Crisostomo Ibarray Magsalin."
The others gave their names, more or less obscure, and unimportanthere.
"My name is A----," said one youth dryly, as he made a slight bow.
"Then I have the honor of addressing the poet whose works have doneso much to keep up my enthusiasm for my native land. It is said thatyou do not write any more, but I could not learn the reason."
"The reason? Because one does not seek inspiration in order to debasehimself and lie. One writer has been imprisoned for having put avery obvious truth into verse. They may have called me a poet butthey sha'n't call me a fool."
"And may I enquire what that truth was?"
"He said that the lion's son is also a lion. He came very near to beingexiled for it," replied the strange youth, moving away from the group.
A man with a smiling face, dressed in the fashion of the nativesof the country, with diamond studs in his shirt-bosom, came up atthat moment almost running. He went directly to Ibarra and graspedhis hand, saying, "Senor Ibarra, I've been eager to make youracquaintance. Capitan Tiago is a friend of mine and I knew yourrespected father. I am known as Capitan Tinong and live in Tondo,where you will always be welcome. I hope that you will honor me with avisit. Come and dine with us tomorrow." He smiled and rubbed his hands.
"Thank you," replied Ibarra, warmly, charmed with such amiability,"but tomorrow morning I must leave for San Diego."
"How unfortunate! Then it will be on your return."
"Dinner is served!" announced a waiter from the cafe La Campana, andthe guests began to file out toward the table, the women, especiallythe Filipinas, with great hesitation.
