Part 2 (2/2)
”Senora, for the last two years I have been in northern Europe, in Germany and in Poland.”
”And what country of Europe do you like best?” asked the young blonde, who had been listening interestedly.
”After Spain, which is my second fatherland, oh--any free country in Europe.”
”You seem to have travelled a great deal--what is the most remarkable thing that you have observed?” asked Laruja.
Ibarra appeared to be reflecting on the question. ”Remarkable? In what way?”
”For instance, in the life of the different peoples,--their social, political and religious life----”
Ibarra meditated for some little time. ”I always made it a point to study the history of a country before visiting it, and I find that national development invariably follows perfectly natural rules. I have always noticed that the prosperity or poverty of different peoples is in direct proportion to their liberties or their lack of liberty, or, in other words, in proportion to the sacrifices or selfishness of their forefathers.”
”And is that all you have observed?” asked the Franciscan, with a loud laugh. Up to this time, he had not uttered a single word, but had given his attention to the dinner. ”It was not worth while to squander your fortune for the purpose of learning such a trifle--a thing that every school boy knows.”
Ibarra looked at him intently, doubtful what to say. The guests glanced at each other, fearing that a quarrel would break out. ”The dinner has been too long, and Your Reverence is affected by too much wine,” Ibarra was about to reply, but he checked himself in time and only said: ”Gentlemen, do not wonder at the familiarity with which our old parish priest treats me. He treated me this way when I was a child, and the years that have pa.s.sed since then have not changed His Reverence. I derive a certain amount of pleasure from it, for I am reminded of those days when His Reverence was a frequent visitor at our house and honored my father's table.”
The Dominican glanced furtively at the Franciscan, who was trembling. Ibarra continued, rising from his chair: ”You will allow me to withdraw, for I have only just arrived, and I must leave town to-morrow. Besides, I have a great many things to do before I leave. The dinner is practically finished, and I drink very little wine and scarcely touch spirits. Gentlemen, here's to Spain and the Philippines.”
Saying this, he emptied the gla.s.s, which, until then, he had not touched. The old lieutenant followed his example, but said nothing.
”Do not go!” said Captain Tiago to him in a low voice. ”Maria Clara is coming immediately. Isabel has just gone to get her. The new parish priest of your town is also coming, and he is a saint.”
”I shall come to-morrow before I leave. I have to make a most important visit yet to-night, and really must go!” With this he took his departure. In the meantime, the Franciscan had recovered himself.
”You see how it is,” said he to the young blonde, gesticulating with his dessert knife. ”It is nothing but pride. He could not bear to have a priest reprove him. Can decent people believe it? This is the evil consequence of sending young men to Europe. The Government ought to prohibit it.”
That night, the young blonde wrote, among other things, in the first chapter of his ”Colonial Studies”: ”How the neck and wing of a chicken in a friar's plate of tinola can disturb the gayety of a feast!” And among his other observations were the following: ”In the Philippines the most insignificant person at a dinner or a feast is the host. The owner of the house has only to remain out in the street, and everything will go along beautifully. In the present state of affairs, it would be well to forbid the Filipinos to leave their country, and not to teach them how to read.”
CHAPTER III
HERETIC AND REVOLUTIONIST.
Ibarra was still confused, but the evening breeze, which, in Manila, is at this time of the year always cool and refres.h.i.+ng, seemed gently to lift the hazy mist which hung over his eyes. He removed his hat and drew a deep, long breath.
Men of all nationalities pa.s.sed by in swift carriages or in slow-going, rented calesas. He was walking at that slow pace characteristic alike of deep thought and laziness, and was making his way toward the Plaza of Binondo. He looked about in search of any old and familiar objects. Yes, there were the same old streets, the same old houses with white and blue fronts, the same old walls covered with whitewash or repainted in poor imitation of granite; there was the same old church tower, its clock with transparent face still marking the hours; there, too, were the old Chinese shops, with their dirty curtains and iron rods, one of which remained unrepaired as he himself had bent it when a boy.
”Things go slowly here!” he muttered and continued up the street past the vestry.
As they dished up flavored ices, the street vendors were still crying ”sorbettes.” The same little cocoanut oil lamps furnished light for the stands where native women and Chinese disposed of their sweetmeats and fruit.
”It is marvellous,” he exclaimed. ”There is the same Chinaman who was at that stand seven years ago. There is that same old woman whom I remember so well. Why, one might think my seven years in Europe but a night's sleep. And, by heavens, they have not yet repaired this broken place in the pavement!”
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