by José Rizal
CHAPTER XXXVI
The First Cloud
In Capitan Tiago's house reigned no less disorder than in the people'simagination. Maria Clara did nothing but weep and would not listen tothe consoling words of her aunt and of Andeng, her foster-sister. Herfather had forbidden her to speak to Ibarra until the priests shouldabsolve him from the excommunication. Capitan Tiago himself, in themidst of his preparations for receiving the Captain-General properly,had been summoned to the convento.
"Don't cry, daughter," said Aunt Isabel, as she polished the brightplates of the mirrors with a piece of chamois. "They'll withdraw theexcommunication, they'll write now to the Pope, and we'll make a bigpoor-offering. Padre Damaso only fainted, he's not dead."
"Don't cry," whispered Andeng. "I'll manage it so that you may talkwith him. What are confessionals for if not that we may sin? Everythingis forgiven by telling it to the curate."
At length Capitan Tiago returned. They sought in his face the answerto many questions, and it announced discouragement. The poor fellowwas perspiring; he rubbed his hand across his forehead, but was unableto say a single word.
"What has happened, Santiago?" asked Aunt Isabel anxiously.
He answered by sighing and wiping away a tear.
"For God's sake, speak! What has happened?"
"Just what I feared," he broke out at last, half in tears. "All islost! Padre Damaso has ordered me to break the engagement, otherwisehe will damn me in this life and in the next. All of them told methe same, even Padre Sibyla. I must close the doors of my houseagainst him, and I owe him over fifty thousand pesos! I told thepadres this, but they refused to take any notice of it. 'Which doyou prefer to lose,' they asked me, 'fifty thousand pesos or yourlife and your soul?' Ay, St. Anthony, if I had only known, if I hadonly known! Don't cry, daughter," he went on, turning to the sobbinggirl. "You're not like your mother, who never cried except just beforeyou were born. Padre Damaso told me that a relative of his has justarrived from Spain and you are to marry him."
Maria Clara covered her ears, while Aunt Isabel screamed, "Santiago,are you crazy? To talk to her of another sweetheart now! Do you thinkthat your daughter changes sweethearts as she does her camisa?"
"That's just the way I felt, Isabel. Don Crisostomo is rich, whilethe Spaniards marry only for love of money. But what do you want meto do? They've threatened me with another excommunication. They saythat not only my soul but also my body is in great danger--my body,do you hear, my body!"
"But you're only making your daughter more disconsolate! Isn't theArchbishop your friend? Why don't you write to him?"
"The Archbishop is also a friar, the Archbishop does only what thefriars tell him to do. But, Maria, don't cry. The Captain-Generalis coming, he'll want to see you, and your eyes are all red. Ay,I was thinking to spend a happy evening! Without this misfortuneI should be the happiest of men--every one would envy me! Be calm,my child, I'm more unfortunate than you and I'm not crying. You canhave another and better husband, while I--I've lost fifty thousandpesos! Ay, Virgin of Antipolo, if tonight I may only have luck!"
Salvos, the sound of carriage wheels, the galloping of horses,and a band playing the royal march, announced the arrival of hisExcellency, the Captain-General of the Philippines. Maria Clararan to hide herself in her chamber. Poor child, rough hands thatknew not its delicate chords were playing with her heart! Whilethe house became filled with people and heavy steps, commandingvoices, and the clank of sabers and spurs resounded on all sides,the afflicted maiden reclined half-kneeling before a picture of theVirgin represented in that sorrowful loneliness perceived only byDelaroche, as if he had surprised her returning from the sepulcher ofher Son. But Maria Clara was not thinking of that mother's sorrow,she was thinking of her own. With her head hanging down over herbreast and her hands resting on the floor she made the picture of alily bent by the storm. A future dreamed of and cherished for years,whose illusions, born in infancy and grown strong throughout youth,had given form to the very fibers of her being, to be wiped away nowfrom her mind and heart by a single word! It was enough to stop thebeating of one and to deprive the other of reason.
Maria Clara was a loving daughter as well as a good and piousChristian, so it was not the excommunication alone that terrified her,but the command and the ominous calmness of her father demanding thesacrifice of her love. Now she felt the whole force of that affectionwhich until this moment she had hardly suspected. It had been likea river gliding along peacefully with its banks carpeted by fragrantflowers and its bed covered with fine sand, so that the wind hardlyruffled its current as it moved along, seeming hardly to flow at all;but suddenly its bed becomes narrower, sharp stones block the way,hoary logs fall across it forming a barrier--then the stream risesand roars with its waves boiling and scattering clouds of foam,it beats against the rocks and rushes into the abyss!
She wanted to pray, but who in despair can pray? Prayers are for thehours of hope, and when in the absence of this we turn to God it isonly with complaints. "My God," cried her heart, "why dost Thou thuscut a man off, why dost Thou deny him the love of others? Thou dostnot deny him thy sunlight and thy air nor hide from him the sight ofthy heaven! Why then deny him love, for without a sight of the sky,without air or sunlight, one can live, but without love--never!"
Would these cries unheard by men reach the throne of God or be heardby the Mother of the distressed? The poor maiden who had never knowna mother dared to confide these sorrows of an earthly love to thatpure heart that knew only the love of daughter and of mother. Inher despair she turned to that deified image of womanhood, the mostbeautiful idealization of the most ideal of all creatures, to thatpoetical creation of Christianity who unites in herself the two mostbeautiful phases of womanhood without its sorrows: those of virginand mother,--to her whom we call Mary!
"Mother, mother!" she moaned.
Aunt Isabel came to tear her away from her sorrow since she was beingasked for by some friends and by the Captain-General, who wished totalk with her.
"Aunt, tell them that I'm ill," begged the frightened girl. "They'regoing to make me play on the piano and sing."
"Your father has promised. Are you going to put your father in abad light?"
Maria Clara rose, looked at her aunt, and threw back her shapely arms,murmuring, "Oh, if I only had--"
But without concluding the phrase she began to make herself readyfor presentation.
