CHAPTER XXXIX
MARIA CLARA IS MARRIED.
Captain Tiago was very happy. During all this terrible time nobody
had busied himself with him. They had not arrested him, nor had they
submitted him to excommunications, court trials, electrical machines,
continual hot foot baths in subterranean places, or to any of the
other punishments which are well known to certain people who call
themselves civilized. He had returned to his Manila house. Those who
had been the Captain's friends-for he had renounced all his Filipino
friends from the moment that they were suspected by the Government-had
also returned to their homes after some days of vacation spent in
the Government buildings. The Governor General had himself ordered
these people to leave their possessions, for he had not thought it
fitting that they should remain in them during the great danger.
Captain Tiago was overflowing with gratitude, but he did not know
exactly to whom he was indebted for such signal favors. Aunt Isabel
attributed the miracle to the Virgin of Antipolo, to the Virgin of the
Rosary, or at least to the Virgin of Carmen. The least that she would
concede was that it was due to Our Lady of Corea. According to the
Aunt, the miracle was certainly due to one of these Virgins. Captain
Tiago did not deny that it was a miracle, but he added:
"I do not believe, Isabel, that the Virgin of Antipolo could have
done it alone. My friends have aided in it; my future son-in-law,
Senor Linares has, as you know, joked with Senor Antonio Canovas
himself, whose portrait we saw in 'Illustracion.'"
And the good man could not suppress a smile every time that he heard
any important news about the event. And there was good reason for
it. It was whispered about that Ibarra was going to be hanged; that,
even if many proofs had been lacking, at last one had appeared which
could confirm the accusation; and that skilled workmen had declared
that, as a matter of fact, the work for the school-house could pass
for a fort or a fortification. Even if defective in some parts, that
was as much as could be expected from ignorant Indians. These rumors
quieted the Captain and made him smile.
Just as the Captain and his cousin, Aunt Isabel, were of different
opinions about the miracle, so, too, the other friends of the family
were divided into different parties-those who followed the miracle
monger, and those who followed the Government. The latter party,
however, was quite insignificant. The miracle mongers were sub-divided
into other factions: the Sacristan Mayor of Binondo, the woman who
sold the wax candles, and the chief of one of the brotherhoods,
all saw the hand of God in the miracle, moved by the Virgin of the
Rosary. The Chinese candle maker, who provided the Captain whenever
he went on a pilgrimage to Antipolo, was saying as he sat fanning
himself and wiggling his foot:
"What for you b'long foolish? Thisee belong Mergin Antipolo. She can
do muchy more: others, no can do. No b'long plopper say pidgin b'long
other man."
Captain Tiago held the Chinaman in great estimation and made him pass
for a prophet and doctor. Examining the hand of his deceased wife in
the sixth month of her pregnancy, he had prophesied:
"If thisee one no b'long man, and no go dead side, will b'long bery
good woman."
And so it was that Maria Clara came to this earth and fulfilled the
Chinaman's prophecy.
Captain Tiago, being a prudent and timid person, could not decide the
question of the miracle as easily as the Trojan Paris. He could not
give preference to one of the Virgins for fear of offending some other
of them, a thing which might bring about grave results. "Prudence,"
he said to himself. "Be prudent! Let us not lose all now."
He was in the midst of these doubts when the party in favor of the
Government, or the Governmental party, arrived, viz., Dona Victorina,
Don Tiburcio, and Linares.
Dona Victorina did all the talking for the three men and for herself
also. She mentioned the visits which Linares had made to the Governor
General, and repeatedly brought out the benefits derived from having
a relative of categoria.
For some days past, she had been trying to be Andalusian by suppressing
the d in all words and in changing the s to z. No one could get the
idea out of her head; she would prefer to lose her front curls first.
"Yes," she said, in speaking of Ibarra. "That fellow merits very well
all that he is going to get. I told you so when I saw him for the first
time. I told you he was a filibustero. What did the General tell you,
cousin? What did he say? What news did you give him about Ibarra?"
Seeing that the cousin hesitated in his reply, she went on, directing
her words to Captain Tiago.
"Believe me, if they convict him, as is to be hoped, it will be
through my cousin."
"Senora, Senora!" protested Linares.
But she did not give him any time.
"Oh, what a diplomat you have turned out to be! But we all know that
you are the adviser of the Governor General, that he could not live
without you. Ah! What a pleasure to see you, Clarita."
Maria Clara seemed paler than ever, although she was now quite
recovered from her illness. Sadly smiling, she approached and greeted
Dona Victorina with a formal kiss.
After the customary words had been exchanged, Dona went on with her
false Andalusian.
"We came to visit you. You have been saved by the efforts of your
friends,"-looking significantly at Linares.
"God has protected my father," said the girl, in a low voice.
"Yes, Clarita, but the time for miracles has passed long ago. As
we Spaniards say: 'Have no trust in the Virgin and save yourself
by running.'"
"The-th-the ot-ot-other way," said the doctor, correcting her
proverbial quotation.
Captain Tiago, who had not yet found opportunity to say a word,
ventured to ask her, giving much attention to her reply: "So you,
Dona Victorina, believe that the Virgin...?"
"That is precisely what we came for, to speak to you about the Virgin,"
replied she, indicating Maria Clara. "We have a matter to talk over."
The maiden understood that she ought to retire. She sought an excuse
and went away, supporting herself on the furniture as she walked along.
What was said in the conference which followed was so low and mean
that we prefer to omit it. It is sufficient for us to say that when
they took their leave all were happy, and that Captain Tiago afterward
said to his cousin:
"Isabel, send word to the restaurant that we are going to give a
fiesta to-morrow. You get Maria ready to be married in a short time."
Aunt Isabel looked at him, surprised.
"You will see! When Senor Linares is our son-in-law all the palaces
will be open to us. They will be envying us; they will all die
with envy."
And thus it was that at eight o'clock on the following evening,
Captain Tiago's house was again full of guests, only that this time
the men whom he had invited were either Spaniards or Chinamen, while
the fair sex was represented by Spaniards born in the Peninsula or
in the Philippines.
The larger part of our acquaintances was there: Father Sibyla,
Father Salvi and several other Franciscans and Dominicans, the old
lieutenant of the Civil Guard, Senor Guevara, more melancholy than
ever; the alferez, who related his battle for the thousandth time,
feeling himself head and shoulders above everybody and a veritable
Don Juan de Austria, now a lieutenant with the rank of commander; De
Espadana, who looked at the former with respect and fear and avoided
his glance; and the indignant Dona Victorina. Linares was not yet
present, for, being a very important personage, it was fitting that
he should arrive later than the others.
Maria Clara, the subject of all the gossip, was the center of a
group of women. She had greeted and received them ceremoniously,
but did not throw off her air of sadness.
"Psh!" said one of the girls. "A little stuck-up!"
"A cute little thing," replied another, "but he might have selected
some one of a more intelligent appearance."
"It's the money; he's a good-looking fellow and sells himself for a
good price."
In another part of the room they were talking like this:
"Marry, when her former betrothed is about to be hanged!"
"I call that prudence; to have one on hand as a substitute."
Possibly the young maiden heard these remarks as she sat in a chair
near by, arranging a tray of flowers, for her hand was seen to tremble,
she turned pale and bit her lips a number of times.
The conversation among the men was in a loud tone. Naturally, they
were conversant with the recent happenings. All were talking, even
Don Tiburcio, with the exception of Father Sibyla, who maintained a
disdainful silence.
"I have heard that Your Reverence leaves the town, Father Salvi?" asked
the newly made lieutenant, now made more amiable by the star on
his sleeve.
"I have nothing more to do now in San Diego. I am permanently settled
in Manila now ... and you?"
"I also leave the town," replied the former alferez, straightening
up. "The Government needs me to take command of a flying column to
clear the provinces of filibusteros."
Friar Salvi looked him over from head to foot, and turned his back
to him completely.
"Is it yet known for a certainty what is to become of the leader of
the revolutionists?" asked a Government employee.
"Are you referring to Crisostomo Ibarra?" asked another. "What is most
probable and most just is that he be hanged, as those were in '72."
"He will be exiled," said the old lieutenant, dryly.
"Exiled! Nothing more than exiled! But it will be a perpetual
exile!" exclaimed several at the same time.
"If that young fellow," Lieutenant Guevara went on to say in a loud
voice, "had been more cautious; if he had trusted certain people less
with whom he had correspondence; and if the officers had not made
a subtle interpretation of what was written-if it had not been for
all of this, that young man would surely have gone free."
This statement by the old lieutenant and the tone of his voice produced
a great surprise in the room. Those who heard it did not know what
to say. Father Salvi looked in another direction, perhaps so as not
to meet the dark look which the old man directed toward him. Maria
Clara dropped her flowers and sat motionless. Father Sibyla, the one
who knew how to keep silent, appeared to be the only one who knew
how to ask questions.
"Are you referring to the letters, Senor Guevara?"
"I am telling what the defendant's attorney told me. He has taken up
the case with zeal and interest. Aside from some ambiguous lines which
this young man wrote to a young woman before departing for Europe,
they have found no proof to sustain the accusation. In these few lines,
the officers saw a plan and threat against the Government."
"And what about the declaration made by the bandit before he died?"
"That statement has proved of no account, since, according to the
bandit himself, the conspirators never had communicated with the young
man, but only with one, Lucas, who was Ibarra's enemy, as they have
been able to prove, and who committed suicide, perhaps from remorse. It
has been proved that the papers found in the possession of the dead
man were forged, since the handwriting was like that of Ibarra seven
years ago, but not like that of to-day-a fact which shows that it
was copied from the letter used as evidence against him. Besides,
his attorney says that if Ibarra had not admitted the genuineness of
the letter, he would have been able to do much for him; but, at the
sight of it, the young man turned pale, lost heart and acknowledged
that he had written it."
"Do you say," asked a Franciscan, "that the letter was directed to
a young woman? How did it get into the hands of the officers?"
The lieutenant did not reply. He looked for a moment at Friar Salvi
and then walked off, twisting nervously the end of his grey beard. In
the meantime, others were commenting something like this:
"There you see the hand of God!" said one. "Even the women hate him."
"He had his house burned, thinking that he could thus save himself. But
he did not reckon with his host-that is, with his querida, [23] with
his babai," [23] added another, smiling. "That is God's work. Santiago
protects Spain!"
The old army officer stopped and approached Maria Clara. She was
listening to the conversation, immovable in her seat. The flowers
were at her feet.
"You are a very prudent young woman," said the old lieutenant to her
in a low voice. "You have done well to hand over the letter... In
this way you will assure yourself of a peaceful future."
With dull eyes, and biting her lips, she looked at him as he walked
away. Luckily, Aunt Isabel passed her at this moment. Maria Clara
summoned enough strength to catch hold of her aunt's dress.
"Aunt," she murmured.
"What is the matter with you?" asked the latter, frightened, as she
saw the young woman's face.
"Take me to my room!" she begged, clinging to the arm of the old
woman in order to raise herself to her feet.
"Are you sick, my child? You seem to have lost all your strength. What
is the matter with you?"
"A little sick to my stomach ... the crowd in the sala ... so much
light ... I need to rest. Tell father that I am going to sleep."
"You are cold! Do you want some tea?"
Maria Clara shook her head negatively. She closed the door of her room
and locked it, and, her strength failing her, she fell to the floor,
at the feet of an image, weeping and sobbing:
"Mother, mother, my mother!"
The moonlight was shining through the open window and door which led
out upon the azotea.
The orchestra continued playing gay waltzes. The laughter and the hum
of conversation could be heard in her bedroom. A number of times her
family, Aunt Isabel, Dona Victorina, and even Linares, knocked at her
door, but Maria Clara did not move. There was a rattle in her throat.
Hours passed. The pleasures of the table ended, and dancing
followed. Her little candle burned out, but the maiden lay quietly
on the floor, the rays of moonlight shining upon her at the foot of
an image of the Mother of Jesus.
Gradually the noises in the house died away, the lights were put out,
and Aunt Isabel again knocked at the door of her room.
"Let us leave her; she is sleeping," said her aunt. "At her age,
with nothing to trouble her, she sleeps like a corpse."
When all was again silent, Maria arose slowly and glanced around
her. She saw the azotea and the small climbing plants bathed in the
melancholy light of the moon.
"A peaceful future! Sleeping like a corpse!" she murmured in a low
voice, and turned toward the azotea.
The city was quiet. Only the noise of an occasional carriage passing
over the wooden bridge could be heard in the stillness of the night,
while the tranquil waters of the river were reflecting the moonlight.
The maiden raised her eyes to the pure, sapphire-colored sky. Slowly
she took off her rings, her hair-combs, her earrings, and her
breast-pin, and placing them upon the balustrade of the azotea she
looked out toward the river.
A banca, loaded with rice grass, stopped at the foot of the landing on
the bank of the river at the rear of the house. One of the two men who
were propelling the boat went up the stone steps, leaped over the wall,
and a few seconds afterward, steps were heard coming up the azotea.
Maria Clara saw him stop on discovering her, but it was for only a
moment. The man advanced slowly and at about three steps from the
maiden, stopped again. Maria Clara stepped back.
"Crisostomo!" she gasped, full of terror.
"Yes, I am Crisostomo!" replied the young man, in a grave voice. "An
enemy, a man who has good reason to hate me, Elias, has helped me
out of the prison into which my friends had thrown me."
Silence followed these words. Maria Clara bowed her head and allowed
both her hands to drop at her side.
Ibarra continued:
"Beside the dead body of my mother, I swore to make you happy,
whatever might be my destiny. You can break your oath; she was not
your mother. But I, who am her son, I hold her memory sacred, and,
running great risk, I have come here to fulfill my oath. Fortune
permits me to speak with you personally. Maria, we shall not see each
other again. You are young and perhaps some day your conscience may
accuse you... I come to tell you, before leaving, that I forgive
you. Now, may you be happy, and good-bye!"
Ibarra tried to leave, but the maiden stopped him.
"Crisostomo!" she said. "God has sent you to save me from
desperation... Hear me and judge me!"
Ibarra wished to withdraw gently from her.
"I have not come," said he, "to call you to account... I have come
to give you peace."
"I do not want the peace which you give me. I will give myself
peace. You despise me, and your contempt will make my life bitter
till death."
Ibarra saw the poor girl's desperation, and asked her what she desired.
"That you may believe that I have always loved you."
Crisostomo smiled bitterly.
"Ah! You doubt me, you doubt the friend of your infancy, who has
never hidden a single thought from you," exclaimed she in grief. "I
understand you. When you know my history, the history which they
revealed to me during my illness, you will pity me and you will no
longer answer my grief with that bitter smile. Why did you not let
me die in the hands of my ignorant doctor? You and I would have been
happier then."
Maria Clara rested a moment and then continued:
"You have doubted me; you have wished my mother to pardon me. During
one of those nights of suffering, a man revealed to me the name of
my true father, and forbade me to love you ... unless my true father
should pardon you for the offense you committed against him."
Ibarra recoiled and looked in terror at the maiden.
"Yes," she continued. "This man told me that he could not permit our
marriage, since his conscience would not allow it, and he would find
himself compelled to publish the truth at the risk of causing a great
scandal, because my father is ..."
And she whispered a name in the young man's ear in a scarcely audible
voice.
"What was I to do? Ought I to sacrifice to my love the memory of
my mother, the honor of the man who innocently supposes himself my
father, and the good name of my real father? Could I do that without
you despising me for it?"
"But the proof? Have you proof? You need proof!" exclaimed Crisostomo,
deeply agitated.
The maiden drew two letters from her bosom.
"Two of my mother's letters: two letters written in remorse before
I was born. Take them, read them and you will see how she cursed
me and desired my death, which my father in vain tried to cause by
drugs. These letters were forgotten in the house where he lived;
a man found them and kept them. They would only give them to me in
exchange for your letter ... to make certain, as they said, that I
would not marry you without the consent of my father. From the time
that I began to carry them in my bosom instead of your letter, my
heart was chilled. I sacrificed you, I sacrificed my love... What
would not a person do for a dead mother and two living fathers? Did
I suspect the use to which they were going to put your letter?"
Ibarra was prostrated. Maria Clara went on:
"What was there left for me? Could I tell you who was my father? Could
I ask you to seek the pardon of him who had so much desired my death,
and who made your father suffer? There was nothing left for me but to
keep the secret to myself, and to die suffering... Now, my friend,
you know the sad history of your poor Maria. Will you still have that
contemptuous smile for her?"
"Maria, you are a saint."
"I am happy now that you believe me."
"However," added the young man, changing his tone. "I have heard that
you are about to marry."
"Yes," sobbed the maiden. "My father asked this sacrifice of me. He
has fed me and loved me, and it was not his duty. I pay him this debt
of gratitude which I owe him by assuring him peace through this new
relative, but ..."
"But?"
"I shall not forget the oaths of fidelity which I made to you."
"What do you think of doing?" asked Ibarra, trying to read her eyes.
"The future is obscure and Destiny is hidden in darkness. I do not
know what I am to do; but I know that I can love only once, and that
without love I never will belong to any one. And you, what is to
become of you?"
"I am nothing but a fugitive... I am fleeing. In a very short time,
they will discover my escape, Maria..."
Maria Clara clasped her arms about her lover's neck, kissed his lips
repeatedly, hugged him, and then, abruptly breaking away from him,
said:
"Flee! flee! Adios!"
Ibarra looked at her, his eyes sparkling, but she motioned and he
went away, staggering like a drunken man. Again he leaped over the
wall and entered the banca. Maria Clara, leaning on the door casing,
watched him depart.
Elias took off his hat and bowed profoundly.