The Social Cancer: A Complete English Version of Noli Me Tangere
and that I do not avenge it is because I have regard for the good
name of the Church!"
The old Sage bowed his head as he answered slowly: "Señor Ibarra, if
you preserve those memories, which I cannot counsel you to forget,
abandon the enterprise you are undertaking and seek in some other
way the welfare of your countrymen. The enterprise needs another man,
because to make it a success zeal and money alone are not sufficient;
in our country are required also self-denial, tenacity of purpose,
and faith, for the soil is not ready, it is only sown with discord."
Ibarra appreciated the value of these observations, but still would
not be discouraged. The thought of Maria Clara was in his mind and
his promise must be fulfilled.
"Doesn't your experience suggest any other than this hard means?" he
asked in a low voice.
The old man took him by the arm and led him to the window. A fresh
breeze, the precursor of the north wind, was blowing, and before their
eyes spread out the garden bounded by the wide forest that was a kind
of park.
"Why can we not do as that weak stalk laden with flowers and buds
does?" asked the Sage, pointing to a beautiful jasmine plant. "The wind
blows and shakes it and it bows its head as if to hide its precious
load. If the stalk should hold itself erect it would be broken,
its flowers would be scattered by the wind, and its buds would be
blighted. The wind passes by and the stalk raises itself erect,
proud of its treasure, yet who will blame it for having bowed before
necessity? There you see that gigantic _kupang_, which majestically
waves its light foliage wherein the eagle builds his nest. I brought
it from the forest as a weak sapling and braced its stem for months
with slender pieces of bamboo. If I had transplanted it large and
full of life, it is certain that it would not have lived here,
for the wind would have thrown it down before its roots could have
fixed themselves in the soil, before it could have become accustomed
to its surroundings, and before it could have secured sufficient
nourishment for its size and height. So you, transplanted from Europe
to this stony soil, may end, if you do not seek support and do not
humble yourself. You are among evil conditions, alone, elevated, the
ground shakes, the sky presages a storm, and the top of your family
tree has shown that it draws the thunderbolt. It is not courage, but
foolhardiness, to fight alone against all that exists. No one censures
the pilot who makes for a port at the first gust of the whirlwind. To
stoop as the bullet passes is not cowardly--it is worse to defy it
only to fall, never to rise again."
"But could this sacrifice produce the fruit that I hope for?" asked
Ibarra. "Would the priest believe in me and forget the affront? Would
they aid me frankly in behalf of the education that contests with the
conventos the wealth of the country? Can they not pretend friendship,
make a show of protection, and yet underneath in the shadows fight it,
undermine it, wound it in the heel, in order to weaken it quicker
than by attacking it in front? Granted the previous actions which
you surmise, anything may be expected!"
The old man remained silent from inability to answer these
questions. After meditating for some time, he said: "If such should
happen, if the enterprise should fail, you would be consoled by
the thought that you had done what was expected of you and thus
something would be gained. You would have placed the first stone,
you would have sown the seed, and after the storm had spent itself
perhaps some grain would have survived the catastrophe to grow and
save the species from destruction and to serve afterwards as the seed
for the sons of the dead sower. The example may encourage others who
are only afraid to begin."
Weighing these reasons, Ibarra realized the situation and saw that
with all the old man's pessimism there was a great deal of truth in
what he said.
"I believe you!" he exclaimed, pressing the old man's hand. "Not in
vain have I looked to you for advice. This very day I'll go and reach
an understanding with the curate, who, after all is said, has done
me no wrong and who must be good, since all of them are not like the
persecutor of my father. I have, besides, to interest him in behalf of
that unfortunate madwoman and her sons. I put my trust in God and men!"
After taking leave of the old man he mounted his horse and rode
away. As the pessimistic Sage followed him with his gaze, he muttered:
"Now let's watch how Destiny will unfold the drama that began in the
cemetery." But for once he was greatly mistaken--the drama had begun
long before!
CHAPTER XXVI
The Eve of the Fiesta
It is now the tenth of November, the eve of the fiesta. Emerging from
its habitual monotony, the town has given itself over to unwonted
activity in house, church, cockpit, and field. Windows are covered
with banners and many-hued draperies. All space is filled with noise
and music, and the air is saturated with rejoicings.
On little tables with embroidered covers the _dalagas_ arrange in
bright-hued glass dishes different kinds of sweetmeats made from
native fruits. In the yard the hens cackle, the cocks crow, and the
hogs grunt, all terrified by this merriment of man. Servants move
in and out carrying fancy dishes and silver cutlery. Here there is a
quarrel over a broken plate, there they laugh at the simple country
girl. Everywhere there is ordering, whispering, shouting. Comments and
conjectures are made, one hurries the other,--all is commotion, noise,
and confusion. All this effort and all this toil are for the stranger
as well as the acquaintance, to entertain every one, whether he has
been seen before or not, or whether he is expected to be seen again, in
order that the casual visitor, the foreigner, friend, enemy, Filipino,
Spaniard, the poor and the rich, may go away happy and contented. No
gratitude is even asked of them nor is it expected that they do no
damage to the hospitable family either during or after digestion! The
rich, those who have ever been to Manila and have seen a little more
than their neighbors, have bought beer, champagne, liqueurs, wines,
and food-stuffs from Europe, of which they will hardly taste a bite
or drink a drop.
Their tables are luxuriously furnished. In the center is a well-modeled
artificial pineapple in which are arranged toothpicks elaborately
carved by convicts in their rest-hours. Here they have designed a
fan, there a bouquet of flowers, a bird, a rose, a palm leaf, or a
chain, all wrought from a single piece of wood, the artisan being a
forced laborer, the tool a dull knife, and the taskmaster's voice the
inspiration. Around this toothpick-holder are placed glass fruit-trays
from which rise pyramids of oranges, lansons, ates, chicos, and even
mangos in spite of the fact that it is November. On wide platters
upon bright-hued sheets of perforated paper are to be seen hams from
Europe and China, stuffed turkeys, and a big pastry in the shape of
an Agnus Dei or a dove, the Holy Ghost perhaps. Among all these are
jars of appetizing _acharas_ with fanciful decorations made from
the flowers of the areca palm and other fruits and vegetables, all
tastefully cut and fastened with sirup to the sides of the flasks.
Glass lamp globes that have been handed down from father to son are
cleaned, the copper ornaments polished, the kerosene lamps taken out
of the red wrappings which have protected them from the flies and
mosquitoes during the year and which have made them unserviceable;
the prismatic glass pendants shake to and fro, they clink together
harmoniously in song, and even seem to take part in the fiesta as
they flash back and break up the rays of light, reflecting them on
the white walls in all the colors of the rainbow. The children play
about amusing themselves by chasing the colors, they stumble and break
the globes, but this does not interfere with the general merriment,
although at other times in the year the tears in their round eyes
would be taken account of in a different way.
Along with these venerated lamps there also come forth from their
hiding-places the work of the girls: crocheted scarfs, rugs, artificial
flowers. There appear old glass trays, on the bottoms of which are
sketched miniature lakes with little fishes, caymans, shell-fish,
seaweeds, coral, and glassy stones of brilliant hues. These are heaped
with cigars, cigarettes, and diminutive buyos prepared by the delicate
fingers of the maidens. The floor of the house shines like a mirror,
curtains of piña and husi festoon the doorways, from the windows
hang lanterns covered with glass or with paper, pink, blue, green, or
red. The house itself is filled with plants and flower-pots on stands
of Chinese porcelain. Even the saints bedeck themselves, the images
and relics put on a festive air, the dust is brushed from them and
on the freshly-washed glass of their cases are hung flowery garlands.
In the streets are raised at intervals fanciful bamboo arches, known as
_sinkában_, constructed in various ways and adorned with _kaluskús_,
the curling bunches of shavings scraped on their sides, at the sight
of which alone the hearts of the children rejoice. About the front
of the church, where the procession is to pass, is a large and costly
canopy upheld on bamboo posts. Beneath this the children run and play,
climbing, jumping, and tearing the new camisas in which they should
shine on the principal day of the fiesta.
There on the plaza a platform has been erected, the scenery being
of bamboo, nipa, and wood; there the Tondo comedians will perform
wonders and compete with the gods in improbable miracles, there
will sing and dance Marianito, Chananay, Balbino, Ratia, Carvajal,
Yeyeng, Liceria, etc. The Filipino enjoys the theater and is a deeply
interested spectator of dramatic representations, but he listens in
silence to the song, he gazes delighted at the dancing and mimicry,
he never hisses or applauds.
If the show is not to his liking, he chews his buyo or withdraws
without disturbing the others who perhaps find pleasure in it. Only
at times the commoner sort will howl when the actors embrace or kiss
the actresses, but they never go beyond that. Formerly, dramas only
were played; the local poet composed a piece in which there must
necessarily be a fight every second minute, a clown, and terrifying
transformations. But since the Tondo artist have begun to fight every
fifteen seconds, with two clowns, and even greater marvels than before,
they have put to rout their provincial compeers. The gobernadorcillo
was very fond of this sort of thing, so, with the approval of the
curate, he chose a spectacle with magic and fireworks, entitled, "The
Prince Villardo or the Captives Rescued from the Infamous Cave." [78]
From time to time the bells chime out merrily, those same bells that
ten days ago were tolling so mournfully. Pin-wheels and mortars rend
the air, for the Filipino pyrotechnist, who learned the art from
no known instructor, displays his ability by preparing fire bulls,
castles of Bengal lights, paper balloons inflated with hot air, bombs,
rockets, and the like.
Now distant strains of music are heard and the small boys rush headlong
toward the outskirts of the town to meet the bands of music, five
of which have been engaged, as well as three orchestras. The band of
Pagsanhan belonging to the escribano must not be lacking nor that of
San Pedro de Tunasan, at that time famous because it was directed by
the maestro Austria, the vagabond "Corporal Mariano" who, according to
report, carried fame and harmony in the tip of his baton. Musicians
praise his funeral march, "El Sauce," [79] and deplore his lack of