Friars and Filipinos Part 23

"Excuse me; I have forgotten an appointment. I will return to accompany you home."

"Stay!" said Sinang. "Yeyeng is going to dance in the 'La Calandria.' She dances divinely."

"I cannot, my little friend, but I will certainly return."

The murmurs increased.

While Yeyeng, dressed in the style of the lower cla.s.s of Madrid, was coming on the stage with the remark: "Da Uste su permiso?" (Do you give your permission?) and as Carvajal was replying to her "Pase uste adelante" (Pa.s.s forward), two soldiers of the Civil Guard approached Don Filipo, asking him to suspend the performance.

"And what for?" asked he, surprised at the request.

"Because the alferez and his Senora have been fighting and they cannot sleep."

"You tell the alferez that we have permission from the Alcalde, and that no one in the town has any authority over him, not even the gobernadorcillo, who is my on-ly su-per-ior."

"Well, you will have to suspend the performance," repeated the soldiers.

Don Filipo turned his back to them. The guards marched off.

In order not to disturb the general tranquillity, Don Filipo said not a word about the matter to any one.

After a piece of light opera, which was heartily applauded, the Prince Villardo presented himself on the stage, and challenged all the Moros, who had imprisoned his father, to a fight. The hero threatened to cut off all their heads at a single blow and to send them all to the moon. Fortunately for the Moros, who were making ready to fight to the tune of the "Riego Hymn," [15] a tumult intervened. All of a sudden, the orchestra stopped playing and the musicians made a rush for the stage, throwing their instruments in all directions. The brave Villardo was not expecting such a move, and, taking them for allies of the Moros he also threw down his sword and s.h.i.+eld and began to run. The Moros, seeing this terrible giant fleeing, found it convenient to imitate him. Cries, sighs, imprecations and blasphemies filled the air. The people ran, trampled over each other, the lights were put out, and the gla.s.s lamps with their cocoanut oil and little wicks were flying through the air. "Tulisanes! Tulisanes!" cried some. "Fire! Fire! Ladrones!" cried others. Women and children wept, chairs and spectators were rolled over on the floor in the midst of the confusion, rush and tumult.

"What has happened?"

Two Civil Guards with sticks in hand had gone after the musicians in order to put an end to the spectacle. The teniente mayor, with the cuaderilleros, [16] armed with their old sabers, had managed to arrest the two Civil Guards in spite of their resistance.

"Take them to the tribunal!" shouted Don Filipo. "Be careful not to let them get away!"

Ibarra had returned and had sought out Maria Clara. The terrified young maidens, trembling and pale, were clinging closely to him. Aunt Isabel was reciting the litanies in Latin.

The crowd having recovered a little from the fright and some one having explained what had caused the rush and tumult, indignation arose in everyone's breast. Stones rained upon the Civil Guards who were being conducted to the tribunal by the cuaderilleros. Some one proposed that they burn the barracks of the Civil Guards and that they roast Dona Consolacion and the alferez alive.

"That is all that they are good for," cried a woman, rolling up her sleeves and stretching out her arms. "They can disturb the people but they persecute none but honorable men. They do nothing with the tulisanes and the gamblers. Look at them! Let us burn the cuartel."

Somebody had been wounded in the arm and was asking for confession. A plaintive voice was heard coming from under an upset bench. It was a poor musician. The stage was filled with the players and people of the town and they were all talking at the same time. There was Chananay, dressed in the costume of Leonor in the "Trovador,"

talking in corrupted Spanish with Ratia, who was in a school teacher's costume. There too, was Yeyeng, dressed in a silk wrapper, talking with the Prince Villardo. There too, Balbino and the Moros, trying to console the musicians who were more or less sorry sights. Some Spaniards were walking from one place to another, arguing with every one they met.

But a nucleus for a mob already formed. Don Filipo knew what was their intention and tried to stop them.

"Do not break the peace!" he shouted. "To-morrow we will demand satisfaction: we will have justice. I will take the responsibility for our getting justice."

"No!" some replied. "They did the same thing in Calamba. The same thing was promised, but the Alcalde did nothing. We want justice done by our own hands. To the cuartel!"

In vain the teniente mayor argued with them. The group that had gathered showed no signs of changing its att.i.tude or purpose. Don Filipo looked about him, in search of help. He saw Ibarra.

"Senor Ibarra, for my sake, as a favor, hold them while I seek some cuaderilleros."

"What can I do?" asked the young man, perplexed. But the teniente mayor was already in the distance.

Ibarra in turn looked about him, for he knew not whom. Fortunately, he thought he discerned Elias, in the crowd, but not taking an active part in it. Ibarra ran up to him, seized his arm and said to him in Spanish:

"For heaven's sake! Do something, if you can! I cannot do anything."

The pilot must have understood, for he lost himself in the mob.

Lively discussions were heard mingled with strong interjections. Soon the mob began to disperse, each one of the partic.i.p.ants becoming less hostile. And it was time for them to do so, for the cuaderilleros were coming to the scene with fixed bayonets.

In the meantime, what was the curate doing?

Father Salvi had not gone to bed. Standing on foot, immovable and leaning his face against the shutter, he was looking toward the plaza and, from time to time, a suppressed sigh escaped his breast. If the light of his lamp had not been so dim, perhaps one might have seen that his eyes were filling with tears. Thus he stood for almost an hour.

The tumult in the plaza roused him from this state. Full of surprise, he followed with his eyes the people as they rushed to and fro in confusion. Their voices and cries he could vaguely hear even at that distance. One of the servants came running in breathlessly and informed him what was going on.

A thought entered his mind. Amid confusion and tumult libertines take advantage of the fright and the weakness of woman. All flee to save themselves; n.o.body thinks of anyone else; the women faint and their cries are not heard; they fall; are trampled over; fear and fright overcome modesty, and under cover of darkness.... He fancied he could see Ibarra carrying Maria Clara fainting in his arms, and then disappearing in the darkness.

With leaps and bounds, he went down the stairs without hat, or cane, and, almost like a crazy person, turned toward the plaza.

There he found some Spaniards reproving the soldiers. He looked toward the seats which Maria Clara and her friends had been occupying, and saw that they were vacant.

"Father curate! Father curate!" shouted the Spaniards to him, but he took no notice and ran on in the direction of the house of Captain Tiago. There he recovered his breath. He saw through the transparent shade, a shadow--that adorable shadow, so graceful and delicate in its contour--that of Maria Clara. He could also see another shadow, that of her aunt carrying cups and gla.s.ses.

"Well!" he muttered to himself. "It seems that she has only fallen ill."

Aunt Isabel afterward closed the sh.e.l.l windows and the graceful shadow could no longer be seen.

The curate walked away from there without seeing the crowd. He was looking at the bust of a beautiful maiden which he had before his eyes, a maiden sleeping and breathing sweetly. Her eyelids were shaded by long lashes, which formed graceful curves like those on Rafael's virgins. Her small mouth was smiling, and her whole countenance seemed to breathe virginity, purity and innocence. That sweet face of hers on the background of the white draperies of the bed was a vision like the head of a cherubim among the clouds. His impa.s.sioned imagination went on and pictured to him.... Who can describe all that a burning brain can conceive?

CHAPTER XXIII

TWO VISITORS.

Ibarra found his mind in such a state that it was impossible for him to sleep. So, in order to divert himself and to drive away the gloomy idea which distracted his mind, he began work in his solitary laboratory. Morning came upon him, still at work making mixtures and compounds to the action of which he submitted pieces of cane and other substances, and afterward enclosed them in numbered and sealed flasks.

A servant entered, announcing the arrival of a peasant.

"Let him enter!" said he, without even turning to look.

Elias entered and remained standing in silence.

"Ah! is it you?" Ibarra exclaimed in Tagalog on recognizing him. "Excuse me if I have kept you waiting. I was not aware of your presence. I was making an important experiment."

"I do not wish to disturb you!" replied the young pilot. "I have come in the first place, to ask you if you want anything from the province of Batangas, whither I am going now; and, in the second place, to give you some bad news."