The Social Cancer: A Complete English Version of Noli Me Tangere
at the caprice of the Pasig, which had more than once abused it and
finally destroyed it. The almond trees in the plaza of San Gabriel
[46] had not grown; they were still in the same feeble and stunted
condition. The Escolta appeared less beautiful in spite of the fact
that an imposing building with caryatids carved on its front now
occupied the place of the old row of shops. The new Bridge of Spain
caught his attention, while the houses on the right bank of the river
among the clumps of bamboo and trees where the Escolta ends and the
Isla de Romero begins, reminded him of the cool mornings when he used
to pass there in a boat on his way to the baths of Uli-Uli.
He met many carriages, drawn by beautiful pairs of dwarfish ponies,
within which were government clerks who seemed yet half asleep as they
made their way to their offices, or military officers, or Chinese in
foolish and ridiculous attitudes, or Gave friars and canons. In an
elegant victoria he thought he recognized Padre Damaso, grave and
frowning, but he had already passed. Now he was pleasantly greeted
by Capitan Tinong, who was passing in a carretela with his wife and
two daughters.
As they went down off the bridge the horses broke into a trot along the
Sabana Drive. [47] On the left the Arroceros Cigar Factory resounded
with the noise of the cigar-makers pounding the tobacco leaves, and
Ibarra was unable to restrain a smile as he thought of the strong odor
which about five o'clock in the afternoon used to float all over the
_Puente de Barcas_ and which had made him sick when he was a child. The
lively conversations and the repartee of the crowds from the cigar
factories carried him back to the district of Lavapiés in Madrid,
with its riots of cigar-makers, so fatal for the unfortunate policemen.
The Botanical Garden drove away these agreeable recollections; the
demon of comparison brought before his mind the Botanical Gardens
of Europe, in countries where great, labor and much money are needed
to make a single leaf grow or one flower open its calyx; he recalled
those of the colonies, where they are well supplied and tended, and
all open to the public. Ibarra turned away his gaze toward the old
Manila surrounded still by its walls and moats like a sickly girl
wrapped in the garments of her grandmother's better days.
Then the sight of the sea losing itself in the distance! "On
the other shore lies Europe," thought the young man,--"Europe,
with its attractive peoples in constant movement in the search for
happiness, weaving their dreams in the morning and disillusioning
themselves at the setting of the sun, happy even in the midst of
their calamities. Yes, on the farther shore of the boundless sea
are the really spiritual nations, those who, even though they put
no restraints on material development, are still more spiritual than
those who pride themselves on adoring only the spirit!"
But these musings were in turn banished from his mind as he came in
sight of the little mound in Bagumbayan Field. [48] This isolated
knoll at the side of the Luneta now caught his attention and made him
reminiscent. He thought of the man who had awakened his intellect and
made him understand goodness and justice. The ideas which that man
had impressed upon him were not many, to be sure, but they were not
meaningless repetitions, they were convictions which had not paled
in the light of the most brilliant foci of progress. That man was an
old priest whose words of farewell still resounded in his ears: "Do
not forget that if knowledge is the heritage of mankind, it is only
the courageous who inherit it," he had reminded him. "I have tried to
pass on to you what I got from my teachers, the sum of which I have
endeavored to increase and transmit to the coming generation as far
as in me lay. You will now do the same for those who come after you,
and you can treble it, since you are going to rich countries." Then he
had added with a smile, "They come here seeking wealth, go you to their
country to seek also that other wealth which we lack! But remember
that all that glitters is not gold." The old man had died on that spot.
At these recollections the youth murmured audibly: "No, in spite of
everything, the fatherland first, first the Philippines, the child
of Spain, first the Spanish fatherland! No, that which is decreed by
fate does not tarnish the honor of the fatherland, no!"
He gave little heed to Ermita, the phenix of nipa that had rearisen
from its ashes under the form of blue and white houses with red-painted
roofs of corrugated iron. Nor was his attention caught by Malate,
neither by the cavalry barracks with the spreading trees in front,
nor by the inhabitants or their little nipa huts, pyramidal or
prismatic in shape, hidden away among the banana plants and areca
palms, constructed like nests by each father of a family.
The carriage continued on its way, meeting now and then carromatas
drawn by one or two ponies whose abaka harness indicated that they
were from the country. The drivers would try to catch a glimpse of the
occupant of the fine carriage, but would pass on without exchanging a
word, without a single salute. At times a heavy cart drawn by a slow
and indifferent carabao would appear on the dusty road over which beat
the brilliant sunlight of the tropics. The mournful and monotonous song
of the driver mounted on the back of the carabao would be mingled at
one time with the screechings of a dry wheel on the huge axle of the
heavy vehicle or at another time with the dull scraping of worn-out
runners on a sledge which was dragged heavily through the dust, and
over the ruts in the road. In the fields and wide meadows the herds
were grazing, attended ever by the white buffalo-birds which roosted
peacefully on the backs of the animals while these chewed their cuds
or browsed in lazy contentment upon the rich grass. In the distance
ponies frisked, jumping and running about, pursued by the lively colts
with long tails and abundant manes who whinnied and pawed the ground
with their hard hoofs.
Let us leave the youth dreaming or dozing, since neither the sad
nor the animated poetry of the open country held his attention. For
him there was no charm in the sun that gleamed upon the tops of the
trees and caused the rustics, with feet burned by the hot ground in
spite of their callousness, to hurry along, or that made the villager
pause beneath the shade of an almond tree or a bamboo brake while he
pondered upon vague and inexplicable things. While the youth's carriage
sways along like a drunken thing on account of the inequalities in
the surface of the road when passing over a bamboo bridge or going
up an incline or descending a steep slope, let us return to Manila.
CHAPTER IX
Local Affairs
Ibarra had not been mistaken about the occupant of the victoria,
for it was indeed Padre Damaso, and he was on his way to the house
which the youth had just left.
"Where are you going?" asked the friar of Maria Clara and Aunt Isabel,
who were about to enter a silver-mounted carriage. In the midst of
his preoccupation Padre Damaso stroked the maiden's cheek lightly.
"To the convent to get my things," answered the latter.
"Ahaa! Aha! We'll see who's stronger, we'll see," muttered the friar
abstractedly, as with bowed head and slow step he turned to the
stairway, leaving the two women not a little amazed.
"He must have a sermon to preach and is memorizing it," commented
Aunt Isabel. "Get in, Maria, or we'll be late."
Whether or not Padre Damaso was preparing a sermon we cannot say,
but it is certain that some grave matter filled his mind, for he did
not extend his hand to Capitan Tiago, who had almost to get down on
his knees to kiss it.
"Santiago," said the friar at once, "I have an important matter to
talk to you about. Let's go into your office."
Capitan Tiago began to feel uneasy, so much so that he did not know
what to say; but he obeyed, following the heavy figure of the priest,
who closed the door behind him.
While they confer in secret, let us learn what Fray Sibyla has
been doing. The astute Dominican is not at the rectory, for very
soon after celebrating mass he had gone to the convent of his order,
situated just inside the gate of Isabel II, or of Magellan, according
to what family happened to be reigning in Madrid. Without paying any
attention to the rich odor of chocolate, or to the rattle of boxes
and coins which came from the treasury, and scarcely acknowledging
the respectful and deferential salute of the procurator-brother,
he entered, passed along several corridors, and knocked at a door.
"Come in," sighed a weak voice.
"May God restore health to your Reverence," was the young Dominican's
greeting as he entered.
Seated in a large armchair was an aged priest, wasted and rather
sallow, like the saints that Rivera painted. His eyes were sunken in
their hollow sockets, over which his heavy eyebrows were almost always
contracted, thus accentuating their brilliant gleam. Padre Sibyla,
with his arms crossed under the venerable scapulary of St. Dominic,
gazed at him feelingly, then bowed his head and waited in silence.
"Ah," sighed the old man, "they advise an operation, an operation,
Hernando, at my age! This country, O this terrible country! Take
warning from my ease, Hernando!"
Fray Sibyla raised his eyes slowly and fixed them on the sick man's
face. "What has your Reverence decided to do?" he asked.
"To die! Ah, what else can I do? I am suffering too much, but--I
have made many suffer, I am paying my debt! And how are you? What
has brought you here?"
"I've come to talk about the business which you committed to my care."
"Ah! What about it?"
"Pish!" answered the young man disgustedly, as he seated himself
and turned away his face with a contemptuous expression, "They've
been telling us fairy tales. Young Ibarra is a youth of discernment;
he doesn't seem to be a fool, but I believe that he is a good lad."
"You believe so?"
"Hostilities began last night."
"Already? How?"
Fray Sibyla then recounted briefly what had taken place between Padre
Damaso and Ibarra. "Besides," he said in conclusion, "the young man
is going to marry Capitan Tiago's daughter, who was educated in the
college of our Sisterhood. He's rich, and won't care to make enemies
and to run the risk of ruining his fortune and his happiness."
The sick man nodded in agreement. "Yes, I think as you do. With a wife
like that and such a father-in-law, we'll own him body and soul. If
not, so much the better for him to declare himself an enemy of ours."
Fray Sibyla looked at the old man in surprise.
"For the good of our holy Order, I mean, of course," he added,
breathing heavily. "I prefer open attacks to the silly praises and
flatteries of friends, which are really paid for."
"Does your Reverence think--"
The old man regarded him sadly. "Keep it clearly before you," he
answered, gasping for breath. "Our power will last as long as it
is believed in. If they attack us, the government will say, 'They
attack them because they see in them an obstacle to their liberty,
so then let us preserve them.'"
"But if it should listen to them? Sometimes the government--"
"It will not listen!"
"Nevertheless, if, led on by cupidity, it should come to wish for
itself what we are taking in--if there should be some bold and
daring one--"
"Then woe unto that one!"
Both remained silent for a time, then the sick man continued:
"Besides, we need their attacks, to keep us awake; that makes us see
our weaknesses so that we may remedy them. Exaggerated flattery will
deceive us and put us to sleep, while outside our walls we shall be
laughed at, and the day in which we become an object of ridicule, we