The Reign of Greed
neither God nor the courts have yet taken offense. Every one realizes
that the government, being the human institution that it is, needs the
support of all the people, it needs to be made to see and feel the
reality of things. You yourself are not convinced of the truth of your
objection, you yourself know that it is a tyrannical and despotic
government which, in order to make a display of force and independence,
denies everything through fear or distrust, and that the tyrannized and
enslaved peoples are the only ones whose duty it is never to ask for
anything. A people that hates its government ought to ask for nothing
but that it abdicate its power.”
The old lawyer grimaced and shook his head from side to side, in sign
of discontent, while he rubbed his hand over his bald pate and said in
a tone of condescending pity: “Ahem! those are bad doctrines, bad
theories, ahem! How plain it is that you are young and inexperienced in
life. Look what is happening with the inexperienced young men who in
Madrid are asking for so many reforms. They are accused of
filibusterism, many of them don’t dare return here, and yet, what are
they asking for? Things holy, ancient, and recognized as quite
harmless. But there are matters that can’t be explained, they’re so
delicate. Let’s see—I confess to you that there are other reasons
besides those expressed that might lead a sensible government to deny
systematically the wishes of the people—no—but it may happen that we
find ourselves under rulers so fatuous and ridiculous—but there are
always other reasons, even though what is asked be quite just—different
governments encounter different conditions—”
The old man hesitated, stared fixedly at Isagani, and then with a
sudden resolution made a sign with his hand as though he would dispel
some idea.
“I can guess what you mean,” said Isagani, smiling sadly. “You mean
that a colonial government, for the very reason that it is imperfectly
constituted and that it is based on premises—”
“No, no, not that, no!” quickly interrupted the old lawyer, as he
sought for something among his papers. “No, I meant—but where are my
spectacles?”
“There they are,” replied Isagani.
The old man put them on and pretended to look over some papers, but
seeing that the youth was waiting, he mumbled, “I wanted to tell you
something, I wanted to say—but it has slipped from my mind. You
interrupted me in your eagerness—but it was an insignificant matter. If
you only knew what a whirl my head is in, I have so much to do!”
Isagani understood that he was being dismissed. “So,” he said, rising,
“we—”
“Ah, you will do well to leave the matter in the hands of the
government, which will settle it as it sees fit. You say that the
Vice-Rector is opposed to the teaching of Castilian. Perhaps he may be,
not as to the fact but as to the form. It is said that the Rector who
is on his way will bring a project for reform in education. Wait a
while, give time a chance, apply yourself to your studies as the
examinations are near, and—carambas!—you who already speak Castilian
and express yourself easily, what are you bothering yourself about?
What interest have you in seeing it specially taught? Surely Padre
Florentino thinks as I do! Give him my regards.”
“My uncle,” replied Isagani, “has always admonished me to think of
others as much as of myself. I didn’t come for myself, I came in the
name of those who are in worse condition.”
“What the devil! Let them do as you have done, let them singe their
eyebrows studying and come to be bald like myself, stuffing whole
paragraphs into their memories! I believe that if you talk Spanish it
is because you have studied it—you’re not of Manila or of Spanish
parents! Then let them learn it as you have, and do as I have done:
I’ve been a servant to all the friars, I’ve prepared their chocolate,
and while with my right hand I stirred it, with the left I held a
grammar, I learned, and, thank God! have never needed other teachers or
academies or permits from the government. Believe me, he who wishes to
learn, learns and becomes wise!”
“But how many among those who wish to learn come to be what you are?
One in ten thousand, and more!”
“Pish! Why any more?” retorted the old man, shrugging his shoulders.
“There are too many lawyers now, many of them become mere clerks.
Doctors? They insult and abuse one another, and even kill each other in
competition for a patient. Laborers, sir, laborers, are what we need,
for agriculture!”
Isagani realized that he was losing time, but still could not forbear
replying: “Undoubtedly, there are many doctors and lawyers, but I won’t
say there are too many, since we have towns that lack them entirely,
and if they do abound in quantity, perhaps they are deficient in
quality. Since the young men can’t be prevented from studying, and no
other professions are open to us, why let them waste their time and
effort? And if the instruction, deficient as it is, does not keep many
from becoming lawyers and doctors, if we must finally have them, why
not have good ones? After all, even if the sole wish is to make the
country a country of farmers and laborers, and condemn in it all
intellectual activity, I don’t see any evil in enlightening those same
farmers and laborers, in giving them at least an education that will
aid them in perfecting themselves and in perfecting their work, in
placing them in a condition to understand many things of which they are
at present ignorant.”
“Bah, bah, bah!” exclaimed the lawyer, drawing circles in the air with
his hand to dispel the ideas suggested. “To be a good farmer no great
amount of rhetoric is needed. Dreams, illusions, fancies! Eh, will you
take a piece of advice?”
He arose and placed his hand affectionately on the youth’s shoulder, as
he continued: “I’m going to give you one, and a very good one, because
I see that you are intelligent and the advice will not be wasted.
You’re going to study medicine? Well, confine yourself to learning how
to put on plasters and apply leeches, and don’t ever try to improve or
impair the condition of your kind. When you become a licentiate, marry
a rich and devout girl, try to make cures and charge well, shun
everything that has any relation to the general state of the country,
attend mass, confession, and communion when the rest do, and you will
see afterwards how you will thank me, and I shall see it, if I am still
alive. Always remember that charity begins at home, for man ought not
to seek on earth more than the greatest amount of happiness for
himself, as Bentham says. If you involve yourself in quixotisms you
will have no career, nor will you get married, nor will you ever amount
to anything. All will abandon you, your own countrymen will be the
first to laugh at your simplicity. Believe me, you will remember me and
see that I am right, when you have gray hairs like myself, gray hairs
such as these!”
Here the old lawyer stroked his scanty white hair, as he smiled sadly
and shook his head.
“When I have gray hairs like those, sir,” replied Isagani with equal
sadness, “and turn my gaze back over my past and see that I have worked
only for myself, without having done what I plainly could and should
have done for the country that has given me everything, for the
citizens that have helped me to live—then, sir, every gray hair will be
a thorn, and instead of rejoicing, they will shame me!”
So saying, he took his leave with a profound bow. The lawyer remained
motionless in his place, with an amazed look on his face. He listened
to the footfalls that gradually died away, then resumed his seat.
“Poor boy!” he murmured, “similar thoughts also crossed my mind once!
What more could any one desire than to be able to say: ‘I have done
this for the good of the fatherland, I have consecrated my life to the
welfare of others!’ A crown of laurel, steeped in aloes, dry leaves
that cover thorns and worms! That is not life, that does not get us our
daily bread, nor does it bring us honors— the laurel would hardly serve
for a salad, nor produce ease, nor aid us in winning lawsuits, but
quite the reverse! Every country has its code of ethics, as it has its
climate and its diseases, different from the climate and the diseases
of other countries.”
After a pause, he added: “Poor boy! If all should think and act as he
does, I don’t say but that—Poor boy! Poor Florentino!”
CHAPTER XVI
THE TRIBULATIONS OF A CHINESE
In the evening of that same Saturday, Quiroga, the Chinese, who aspired
to the creation of a consulate for his nation, gave a dinner in the
rooms over his bazaar, located in the Escolta. His feast was well
attended: friars, government employees, soldiers, merchants, all of
them his customers, partners or patrons, were to be seen there, for his
store supplied the curates and the conventos with all their
necessities, he accepted the chits of all the employees, and he had
servants who were discreet, prompt, and complaisant. The friars
themselves did not disdain to pass whole hours in his store, sometimes
in view of the public, sometimes in the chambers with agreeable
company.
That night, then, the sala presented a curious aspect, being filled
with friars and clerks seated on Vienna chairs, stools of black wood,
and marble benches of Cantonese origin, before little square tables,
playing cards or conversing among themselves, under the brilliant glare
of the gilt chandeliers or the subdued light of the Chinese lanterns,
which were brilliantly decorated with long silken tassels. On the walls
there was a lamentable medley of landscapes in dim and gaudy colors,
painted in Canton or Hongkong, mingled with tawdry chromos of odalisks,
half-nude women, effeminate lithographs of Christ, the deaths of the
just and of the sinners—made by Jewish houses in Germany to be sold in
the Catholic countries. Nor were there lacking the Chinese prints on
red paper representing a man seated, of venerable aspect, with a calm,
smiling face, behind whom stood a servant, ugly, horrible, diabolical,
threatening, armed with a lance having a wide, keen blade. Among the
Indians some call this figure Mohammed, others Santiago, [34] we do not
know why, nor do the Chinese themselves give a very clear explanation
of this popular pair. The pop of champagne corks, the rattle of
glasses, laughter, cigar smoke, and that odor peculiar to a Chinese
habitation—a mixture of punk, opium, and dried fruits—completed the
collection.
Dressed as a Chinese mandarin in a blue-tasseled cap, Quiroga moved
from room to room, stiff and straight, but casting watchful glances
here and there as though to assure himself that nothing was being
stolen. Yet in spite of this natural distrust, he exchanged handshakes
with each guest, greeted some with a smile sagacious and humble, others
with a patronizing air, and still others with a certain shrewd look
that seemed to say, “I know! You didn’t come on my account, you came
for the dinner!”
And Quiroga was right! That fat gentleman who is now praising him and
speaking of the advisability of a Chinese consulate in Manila,
intimating that to manage it there could be no one but Quiroga, is the
Señor Gonzalez who hides behind the pseudonym Pitilí when he attacks
Chinese immigration through the columns of the newspapers. That other,
an elderly man who closely examines the lamps, pictures, and other
furnishings with grimaces and ejaculations of disdain, is Don Timoteo
Pelaez, Juanito’s father, a merchant who inveighs against the Chinese
competition that is ruining his business. The one over there, that
thin, brown individual with a sharp look and a pale smile, is the
celebrated originator of the dispute over Mexican pesos, which so
troubled one of Quiroga’s protéges: that government clerk is regarded