CHAPTER XVII
THE BANQUET.
There, under the shade of the decorated pavilion, the great men of the
province were banqueting. The Alcalde occupied one end of the table;
Ibarra, the other. On the young man's right sat Maria Clara, and on
his left, the Notary. Captain Tiago, the alferez, the gobernadorcillo,
the friars, the employees, and the few senoritas who were present
were seated, not according to rank but according to their own fancy.
The banquet was very animated, but, before it was half over,
a messenger with a telegram came in search of Captain Tiago. The
Captain asked permission to read the message, and naturally all begged
of him to do so.
The worthy Captain at first knit his eyebrows; and then raised
them. His face became pale, and then brightened up. Doubling up the
sheet of paper hurriedly, he arose.
"Gentlemen," said he, confused, "His Excellency, the Governor General,
is coming this afternoon to honor my house."
And then he started on a run, taking with him the telegram and the
napkin, but not his hat. All sorts of questions and exclamations
were shouted after him. The announcement of the coming of the
tulisanes could not have had a greater effect. "But listen! When
does he come? Tell us about it! His Excellency!" But Captain Tiago
was already far away.
"His Excellency is coming and will be a guest at Captain Tiago's
house!" exclaimed some one, without considering that the Captain's
daughter and future son-in-law were present.
"The choice could not have been a better one," replied another.
The friars looked at each other. Their expressions seemed to say:
"The Governor General is committing another of his errors, offending
us in this way. He ought to be the guest of the convent." But despite
the fact that they thought this, they all kept silent and no one of
them expressed his opinion.
"Even yesterday he was speaking to me about it," said the Alcalde,
"but, at that time, His Excellency was not decided."
"Do you know, Your Excellency, Senor Alcalde, how long the Governor
General intends to remain here?" asked the alferez, a little uneasy.
"No, not positively. His Excellency likes surprises."
"Here come some other telegrams!"
The messages were for the Alcalde, the alferez, and the
gobernadorcillo, and announced the same thing to each of them. The
friars noticed that none came addressed to the curate.
"His Excellency will arrive at four o'clock this afternoon, gentlemen,"
said the Alcalde solemnly. "We can finish at our leisure."
Leonidas, in the pass of Thermopylae, could not have said with better
grace "To-night we will dine with Pluto."
"I notice the absence of our great preacher," said one of the
government employees timidly. The speaker had an inoffensive look
and before this had not opened his mouth, except to eat, during the
entire morning.
All who knew the life of Crisostomo's father twitched their eyes
significantly and seemed to say by their movements: "Go on! It's a bad
beginning that you have made!" But others, more benevolently disposed,
replied: "He must be somewhat fatigued."
"What? Somewhat fatigued!" exclaimed the alferez. "Why, he must be
exhausted. What did you think of the sermon this morning?"
"Superb, gigantic!" said the Notary.
"To be able to speak like Father Damaso, a man needs lungs," observed
Father Manuel Martin.
The Augustine did not concede more than lung power.
"And such easiness of expression," added Father Salvi.
"Do you know that Senor Ibarra has the best cook in the province,"
remarked the Alcalde, cutting off the conversation.
"So they say," replied one of the Government employees, "but his fair
neighbor does not wish to do honor to his table, for she scarcely
takes a mouthful."
Maria Clara blushed.
"I thank you, Senor... You occupy yourself too much about me ... but
..." she said timidly.
"But your presence honors him sufficiently," concluded the gallant
Alcalde. Then turning to Father Salvi: "Father Curate, I notice that
you have been silent and pensive all day long."
"It is my nature," muttered the Franciscan. "I would rather listen
than talk."
"Your Reverence seeks always to gain and never to lose," replied the
alferez, in a joking manner.
But Father Salvi did not take it as a joke. His eyes flashed a
moment and he replied: "You know very well, Senor Alferez, that,
during these days, I am not the one who gains most!"
The alferez overlooked the fling with a false laugh and pretended
not to hear it.
"But, gentlemen, I do not understand how you can be talking about
gains and losses," intervened the Alcalde. "What will these amiable
and discreet young women, who honor us with their presence, think
of us? To my mind, the young women are like AEolian harps in the
night. It is only necessary to lend an attentive ear to hear them,
for their unspeakable harmonies elevate the soul to the celestial
spheres of the infinite and of the ideal..."
"Your Excellency is a poet," said the Notary gayly; and both drained
their wine glasses.
"I cannot help it," said the Alcalde, wiping his lips. "The occasion,
if it does not always make the thief, makes the poet. In my youth I
composed verses, and they certainly were not bad ones."
"So Your Excellency has been unfaithful to the Muses, deserting them
for Themis."
"Psh!" What would you do? It has always been my dream to run
through the whole social scale. Yesterday I was gathering flowers,
and singing songs; to-day I hold the wand of Justice and serve
Humanity. To-morrow..."
"To-morrow Your Excellency will throw the wand into the fire to warm
yourself with it in the winter of life, and will then take a portfolio
in the Ministry," added Father Sibyla.
"Psh! Yes ... no... To be a Minister is not precisely my ideal. The
unexpected always happens, though. A little villa in the north of
Spain to pass the summer in, a mansion in Madrid, and some possessions
in Andalusia for the winter... We will live remembering our dear
Philippines... Of me Voltaire will not say: 'Nous n'avons jamais
ete chez ces peuples que pour nous y enrichir et pour les calomnier.'"
The Government employees thought that His Excellency intended a joke
and they began to laugh to make a show of appreciating it. The friars
imitated them since they did not know that Voltaire was the Volta-i-re
whom they had so often cursed and condemned to Hades. Father Sibyla,
however, recognized the name and assumed a serious air, supposing
that the Alcalde had uttered some heresy.
Father Damaso was waddling down the road. He was half smiling, but in
such a malignant manner, that on seeing him, Ibarra, who was in the
act of speaking, lost the thread of his remarks. All were surprised to
see Father Damaso, but, excepting Ibarra, they greeted him with marks
of pleasure. They had already reached the last course of the dinner,
and the champagne was foaming in the glasses.
Father Damaso showed a little nervousness in his smile when he saw
Maria Clara seated on the right of Crisostomo. But, taking a chair
by the side of the Alcalde, he asked in the midst of a significant
silence: "Were you not talking about something, senores? Continue!"
"We were drinking a toast," replied the Alcalde. "Senor Ibarra was
mentioning those who had aided him in his philanthropic enterprise
and was speaking of the architect when Your Reverence..."
"Well, I don't understand architecture," interrupted Father Damaso,
"but architects and the dunces who go to them make me laugh! You have
an example right here. I drew the plan for a church and it has been
constructed perfectly: so an English jeweler who was one day a guest
at the convent told me. To draught a plan, one need have but a small
degree of intelligence."
"However," replied the Alcalde, seeing that Ibarra was silent,
"when we are dealing with certain edifices, for example a school,
we need a skilled man (perito)."
"He who needs a perito is a perrito (little dog)!" exclaimed Father
Damaso, with a scoff. "One would have to be more of a brute than the
natives, who erect their own houses, if he did not know how to build
four walls and put a covering over them. That's all that a school
house is."
All looked toward Ibarra. But the young man, even if he did look pale,
kept on conversing with Maria Clara.
"But Your Reverence should consider..."
"Just look you," continued the Franciscan without allowing the Alcalde
to speak. "See how one of our lay brothers, the most stupid one we
have, has built a good hospital, handsome and cheap. It is well built
and he did not pay more than eight cuartos a day to those whom he
employed even those who came from other towns. That fellow knows how
to treat them. He does not do like many fools and mesticillos [13]
who spoil them by paying them three or four reales."
"Does Your Reverence say that he only paid eight
cuartos? Impossible!" said the Alcalde, trying to change the course
of the conversation.
"Yes, Senor; and those who brag of being good Spaniards ought to
imitate him. You can see very well now, since the Suez Canal was
opened, corruption has come here. Before, when we had to double the
Cape, there were not so many worthless people coming out here, nor
did Filipinos go abroad to be corrupted and spoiled."
"But, Father Damaso!"
"You know very well what the native is. As quickly as he learns
anything, he goes and becomes a doctor. All these ignoramuses who go
to Europe..."
"But listen, Your Reverence ..." interrupted the Alcalde, becoming
uneasy at such harsh words.
"They are all going to end as they merit," he continued. "The hand of
God is upon them and one must be blind not to see it. Even in this
life, the fathers of such vipers receive their punishment... They
die in prison, eh?"
But he did not finish his remarks. Ibarra, his face flushing, had been
following him with his eyes. On hearing the allusion to his father,
he rose and, with a single bound, brought down his strong hand on the
head of the priest. Stunned with the blow, the friar fell on his back.
Full of astonishment and terror, no one dared to intervene.
"Keep back!" cried the young man, with a menacing voice, and
brandishing a sharp knife in his hand. In the meantime, he held
the friar down with his foot on his neck. The latter was recovering
consciousness. "Let no one approach who does not want to die!"
Ibarra was beside himself. His body trembled, and his threatening
eyes almost burst from their sockets. Friar Damaso struggled and
raised himself, but the young man, seizing him by the collar, shook
him till he fell on his knees and collapsed.
"Senor Ibarra! Senor Ibarra!" cried some.
But nobody, not even the alferez, dared to approach the glistening
blade, considering the strength of the young man and the state of
his mind. All were paralyzed.
"All of you people here have said nothing! Now the matter concerns
me! I have avoided him. God now brings him to me. Let God judge!"
The young man was breathing hard. With iron hand he held the Franciscan
down, and the latter struggled in vain to break loose.
"My heart beats tranquilly. My hand is sure."
He looked about him and continued: "Is there among you any one who
does not love his father; any one who hates his memory, any one
who was born in disgrace and humiliation? See! Do you observe this
silence? Priest of a peaceful God, with your mouth full of sanctity
and religion, and a miserable heart, you could not have known what
a father is. You should have thought of your own! Do you see? Among
this crowd which you scorn, there is none such as you! You are judged!"
The people around him made a stir, believing that he was going
to strike.
"Back!" he again cried in a threatening voice. "What? Do you fear
that I would soil my hand with his impure blood? Have I not told
you that my heart beats tranquilly? Back from us, all! Listen,
priests, judges, you who think yourselves different from other men,
and who claim other rights for yourselves! Listen! My father was an
honorable man. Ask these people who venerate his memory. My father
was a good citizen. He sacrificed himself for me and for the good of
his country! His house was open. His table was ready for the stranger
or the exile who came to it in his misery. He was a good Christian;
he always did what was right. He never oppressed the helpless, nor
brought sorrow to the miserable and wretched. To this man, he opened
the door of his house. He had him sit at his table and he called
him his friend. What has he done in return? He has calumniated him,
persecuted him, has armed ignorance against him, violating the sanctity
of his office, has thrown him out of his tomb, dishonored his memory,
and persecuted him even in death's repose. And not content with that,
he now persecutes his son. I have fled from him, I have avoided his
presence. You heard him this morning profane the pulpit; you saw
him point me out to the popular fanaticism; I said nothing. Now he
comes here in search of a quarrel. To your surprise, I suffered in
silence; but he again insults the sacred memory of my father, that
memory which every son holds dear... You who are here, you priests,
you judges, have you seen your father watching over you night and day
and working for you? Have you seen him deprive himself of you for your
good? Have you seen your father die in prison, heart broken, sighing
for some one to caress him, searching for some being to console him,
alone in sickness, while you were in a foreign land? Have you heard
his name dishonored afterward? Have you found his tomb vacant when
you wished to pray upon it? No? You are silent. Then by that silence
you condemn him!"
He raised his arm; but a young maiden, quick as a flash, put herself
between them and with her delicate hands stopped the arm of the
avenger. It was Maria Clara.
Ibarra looked at her with an expression that seemed to reflect
madness. Gradually, he loosened the vise-like fingers of his hand,
allowed the body of the Franciscan to fall, and dropped his knife
upon the ground. Covering his face, he fled through the crowd.