第 十一 章 · LOS BAÑOS

His Excellency, the Captain-General and Governor of the Philippine

Islands, had been hunting in Bosoboso. But as he had to be accompanied

by a band of music,—since such an exalted personage was not to be

esteemed less than the wooden images carried in the processions,—and as

devotion to the divine art of St. Cecilia has not yet been popularized

among the deer and wild boars of Bosoboso, his Excellency, with the

band of music and train of friars, soldiers, and clerks, had not been

able to catch a single rat or a solitary bird.

The provincial authorities foresaw dismissals and transfers, the poor

gobernadorcillos and cabezas de barangay were restless and sleepless,

fearing that the mighty hunter in his wrath might have a notion to make

up with their persons for the lack of submissiveness on the part of the

beasts of the forest, as had been done years before by an alcalde who

had traveled on the shoulders of impressed porters because he found no

horses gentle enough to guarantee his safety. There was not lacking an

evil rumor that his Excellency had decided to take some action, since

in this he saw the first symptoms of a rebellion which should be

strangled in its infancy, that a fruitless hunt hurt the prestige of

the Spanish name, that he already had his eye on a wretch to be dressed

up as a deer, when his Excellency, with clemency that Ben-Zayb lacked

words to extol sufficiently, dispelled all the fears by declaring that

it pained him to sacrifice to his pleasure the beasts of the forest.

But to tell the truth, his Excellency was secretly very well satisfied,

for what would have happened had he missed a shot at a deer, one of

those not familiar with political etiquette? What would the prestige of

the sovereign power have come to then? A Captain-General of the

Philippines missing a shot, like a raw hunter? What would have been

said by the Indians, among whom there were some fair huntsmen? The

integrity of the fatherland would have been endangered.

So it was that his Excellency, with a sheepish smile, and posing as a

disappointed hunter, ordered an immediate return to Los Baños. During

the journey he related with an indifferent air his hunting exploits in

this or that forest of the Peninsula, adopting a tone somewhat

depreciative, as suited the case, toward hunting in Filipinas. The bath

in Dampalit, the hot springs on the shore of the lake, card-games in

the palace, with an occasional excursion to some neighboring waterfall,

or the lake infested with caymans, offered more attractions and fewer

risks to the integrity of the fatherland.

Thus on one of the last days of December, his Excellency found himself

in the sala, taking a hand at cards while he awaited the breakfast

hour. He had come from the bath, with the usual glass of coconut-milk

and its soft meat, so he was in the best of humors for granting favors

and privileges. His good humor was increased by his winning a good many

hands, for Padre Irene and Padre Sibyla, with whom he was playing, were

exercising all their skill in secretly trying to lose, to the great

irritation of Padre Camorra, who on account of his late arrival only

that morning was not informed as to the game they were playing on the

General. The friar-artilleryman was playing in good faith and with

great care, so he turned red and bit his lip every time Padre Sibyla

seemed inattentive or blundered, but he dared not say a word by reason

of the respect he felt for the Dominican. In exchange he took his

revenge out on Padre Irene, whom he looked upon as a base fawner and

despised for his coarseness. Padre Sibyla let him scold, while the

humbler Padre Irene tried to excuse himself by rubbing his long nose.

His Excellency was enjoying it and took advantage, like the good

tactician that the Canon hinted he was, of all the mistakes of his

opponents. Padre Camorra was ignorant of the fact that across the table

they were playing for the intellectual development of the Filipinos,

the instruction in Castilian, but had he known it he would doubtless

have joyfully entered into that game.

The open balcony admitted the fresh, pure breeze and revealed the lake,

whose waters murmured sweetly around the base of the edifice, as if

rendering homage. On the right, at a distance, appeared Talim Island, a

deep blue in the midst of the lake, while almost in front lay the green

and deserted islet of Kalamba, in the shape of a half-moon. To the left

the picturesque shores were fringed with clumps of bamboo, then a hill

overlooking the lake, with wide ricefields beyond, then red roofs amid

the deep green of the trees,—the town of Kalamba,—and beyond the

shore-line fading into the distance, with the horizon at the back

closing down over the water, giving the lake the appearance of a sea

and justifying the name the Indians give it of dagat na tabang, or

fresh-water sea.

At the end of the sala, seated before a table covered with documents,

was the secretary. His Excellency was a great worker and did not like

to lose time, so he attended to business in the intervals of the game

or while dealing the cards. Meanwhile, the bored secretary yawned and

despaired. That morning he had worked, as usual, over transfers,

suspensions of employees, deportations, pardons, and the like, but had

not yet touched the great question that had stirred so much

interest—the petition of the students requesting permission to

establish an academy of Castilian. Pacing from one end of the room to

the other and conversing animatedly but in low tones were to be seen

Don Custodio, a high official, and a friar named Padre Fernandez, who

hung his head with an air either of meditation or annoyance. From an

adjoining room issued the click of balls striking together and bursts

of laughter, amid which might be heard the sharp, dry voice of Simoun,

who was playing billiards with Ben-Zayb.

Suddenly Padre Camorra arose. “The devil with this game, puñales!” he

exclaimed, throwing his cards at Padre Irene’s head. “Puñales, that

trick, if not all the others, was assured and we lost by default!

Puñales! The devil with this game!”

He explained the situation angrily to all the occupants of the sala,

addressing himself especially to the three walking about, as if he had

selected them for judges. The general played thus, he replied with such

a card, Padre Irene had a certain card; he led, and then that fool of a

Padre Irene didn’t play his card! Padre Irene was giving the game away!

It was a devil of a way to play! His mother’s son had not come here to

rack his brains for nothing and lose his money!

Then he added, turning very red, “If the booby thinks my money grows on

every bush!... On top of the fact that my Indians are beginning to

haggle over payments!” Fuming, and disregarding the excuses of Padre

Irene, who tried to explain while he rubbed the tip of his beak in

order to conceal his sly smile, he went into the billiardroom.

“Padre Fernandez, would you like to take a hand?” asked Fray Sibyla.

“I’m a very poor player,” replied the friar with a grimace.

“Then get Simoun,” said the General. “Eh, Simoun! Eh, Mister, won’t you

try a hand?”

“What is your disposition concerning the arms for sporting purposes?”

asked the secretary, taking advantage of the pause.

Simoun thrust his head through the doorway.

“Don’t you want to take Padre Camorra’s place, Señor Sindbad?” inquired

Padre Irene. “You can bet diamonds instead of chips.”

“I don’t care if I do,” replied Simoun, advancing while he brushed the

chalk from his hands. “What will you bet?”

“What should we bet?” returned Padre Sibyla. “The General can bet what

he likes, but we priests, clerics—”

“Bah!” interrupted Simoun ironically. “You and Padre Irene can pay with

deeds of charity, prayers, and virtues, eh?”

“You know that the virtues a person may possess,” gravely argued Padre

Sibyla, “are not like the diamonds that may pass from hand to hand, to

be sold and resold. They are inherent in the being, they are essential

attributes of the subject—”

“I’ll be satisfied then if you pay me with promises,” replied Simoun

jestingly. “You, Padre Sibyla, instead of paying me five something or

other in money, will say, for example: for five days I renounce

poverty, humility, and obedience. You, Padre Irene: I renounce

chastity, liberality, and so on. Those are small matters, and I’m

putting up my diamonds.”

“What a peculiar man this Simoun is, what notions he has!” exclaimed

Padre Irene with a smile.

“And he,” continued Simoun, slapping his Excellency familiarly on the

shoulder, “he will pay me with an order for five days in prison, or

five months, or an order of deportation made out in blank, or let us

say a summary execution by the Civil Guard while my man is being

conducted from one town to another.”

This was a strange proposition, so the three who had been pacing about

gathered around.

“But, Señor Simoun,” asked the high official, “what good will you get

out of winning promises of virtues, or lives and deportations and

summary executions?”

“A great deal! I’m tired of hearing virtues talked about and would like

to have the whole of them, all there are in the world, tied up in a

sack, in order to throw them into the sea, even though I had to use my

diamonds for sinkers.”

“What an idea!” exclaimed Padre Irene with another smile. “And the

deportations and executions, what of them?”

“Well, to clean the country and destroy every evil seed.”

“Get out! You’re still sore at the tulisanes. But you were lucky that

they didn’t demand a larger ransom or keep all your jewels. Man, don’t

be ungrateful!”

Simoun proceeded to relate how he had been intercepted by a band of

tulisanes, who, after entertaining him for a day, had let him go on his

way without exacting other ransom than his two fine revolvers and the

two boxes of cartridges he carried with him. He added that the

tulisanes had charged him with many kind regards for his Excellency,

the Captain-General.

As a result of this, and as Simoun reported that the tulisanes were

well provided with shotguns, rifles, and revolvers, and against such

persons one man alone, no matter how well armed, could not defend

himself, his Excellency, to prevent the tulisanes from getting weapons

in the future, was about to dictate a new decree forbidding the

introduction of sporting arms.

“On the contrary, on the contrary!” protested Simoun, “for me the

tulisanes are the most respectable men in the country, they’re the only

ones who earn their living honestly. Suppose I had fallen into the

hands—well, of you yourselves, for example, would you have let me

escape without taking half of my jewels, at least?”

Don Custodio was on the point of protesting; that Simoun was really a

rude American mulatto taking advantage of his friendship with the

Captain-General to insult Padre Irene, although it may be true also

that Padre Irene would hardly have set him free for so little.

“The evil is not,” went on Simoun, “in that there are tulisanes in the

mountains and uninhabited parts—the evil lies in the tulisanes in the

towns and cities.”

“Like yourself,” put in the Canon with a smile.

“Yes, like myself, like all of us! Let’s be frank, for no Indian is

listening to us here,” continued the jeweler. “The evil is that we’re

not all openly declared tulisanes. When that happens and we all take to

the woods, on that day the country will be saved, on that day will rise

a new social order which will take care of itself, and his Excellency

will be able to play his game in peace, without the necessity of having

his attention diverted by his secretary.”

The person mentioned at that moment yawned, extending his folded arms

above his head and stretching his crossed legs under the table as far

as possible, upon noticing which all laughed. His Excellency wished to

change the course of the conversation, so, throwing down the cards he

had been shuffling, he said half seriously: “Come, come, enough of

jokes and cards! Let’s get to work, to work in earnest, since we still

have a half-hour before breakfast. Are there many matters to be got

through with?”

All now gave their attention. That was the day for joining battle over

the question of instruction in Castilian, for which purpose Padre

Sibyla and Padre Irene had been there several days. It was known that

the former, as Vice-Rector, was opposed to the project and that the

latter supported it, and his activity was in turn supported by the

Countess.

“What is there, what is there?” asked his Excellency impatiently.

“The petition about sporting arms,” replied the secretary with a

stifled yawn.

“Forbidden!”

“Pardon, General,” said the high official gravely, “your Excellency

will permit me to invite your attention to the fact that the use of

sporting arms is permitted in all the countries of the world.”

The General shrugged his shoulders and remarked dryly, “We are not

imitating any nation in the world.”

Between his Excellency and the high official there was always a

difference of opinion, so it was sufficient that the latter offer any

suggestion whatsoever to have the former remain stubborn.

The high official tried another tack. “Sporting arms can harm only rats

and chickens. They’ll say—”

“But are we chickens?” interrupted the General, again shrugging his

shoulders. “Am I? I’ve demonstrated that I’m not.”

“But there’s another thing,” observed the secretary. “Four months ago,

when the possession of arms was prohibited, the foreign importers were

assured that sporting arms would be admitted.”

His Excellency knitted his brows.

“That can be arranged,” suggested Simoun.

“How?”

“Very simply. Sporting arms nearly all have a caliber of six

millimeters, at least those now in the market. Authorize only the sale

of those that haven’t these six millimeters.”

All approved this idea of Simoun’s, except the high official, who

muttered into Padre Fernandez’s ear that this was not dignified, nor

was it the way to govern.

“The schoolmaster of Tiani,” proceeded the secretary, shuffling some

papers about, “asks for a better location for—”

“What better location can he want than the storehouse that he has all

to himself?” interrupted Padre Camorra, who had returned, having

forgotten about the card-game.

“He says that it’s roofless,” replied the secretary, “and that having

purchased out of his own pocket some maps and pictures, he doesn’t want

to expose them to the weather.”

“But I haven’t anything to do with that,” muttered his Excellency. “He

should address the head secretary, [22] the governor of the province,

or the nuncio.”

“I want to tell you,” declared Padre Camorra, “that this little

schoolmaster is a discontented filibuster. Just imagine—the heretic

teaches that corpses rot just the same, whether buried with great pomp

or without any! Some day I’m going to punch him!” Here he doubled up

his fists.

“To tell the truth,” observed Padre Sibyla, as if speaking only to

Padre Irene, “he who wishes to teach, teaches everywhere, in the open

air. Socrates taught in the public streets, Plato in the gardens of the

Academy, even Christ among the mountains and lakes.”

“I’ve heard several complaints against this schoolmaster,” said his

Excellency, exchanging a glance with Simoun. “I think the best thing

would be to suspend him.”

“Suspended!” repeated the secretary.

The luck of that unfortunate, who had asked for help and received his

dismissal, pained the high official and he tried to do something for

him.

“It’s certain,” he insinuated rather timidly, “that education is not at

all well provided for—”

“I’ve already decreed large sums for the purchase of supplies,”

exclaimed his Excellency haughtily, as if to say, “I’ve done more than

I ought to have done.”

“But since suitable locations are lacking, the supplies purchased get

ruined.”

“Everything can’t be done at once,” said his Excellency dryly. “The

schoolmasters here are doing wrong in asking for buildings when those

in Spain starve to death. It’s great presumption to be better off here

than in the mother country itself!”

“Filibusterism—”

“Before everything the fatherland! Before everything else we are

Spaniards!” added Ben-Zayb, his eyes glowing with patriotism, but he

blushed somewhat when he noticed that he was speaking alone.

“In the future,” decided the General, “all who complain will be

suspended.”

“If my project were accepted—” Don Custodio ventured to remark, as if

talking to himself.

“For the construction of schoolhouses?”

“It’s simple, practical, economical, and, like all my projects, derived

from long experience and knowledge of the country. The towns would have

schools without costing the government a cuarto.”

“That’s easy,” observed the secretary sarcastically. “Compel the towns

to construct them at their own expense,” whereupon all laughed.

“No, sir! No, sir!” cried the exasperated Don Custodio, turning very

red. “The buildings are already constructed and only wait to be

utilized. Hygienic, unsurpassable, spacious—”

The friars looked at one another uneasily. Would Don Custodio propose

that the churches and conventos be converted into schoolhouses?

“Let’s hear it,” said the General with a frown.

“Well, General, it’s very simple,” replied Don Custodio, drawing

himself up and assuming his hollow voice of ceremony. “The schools are

open only on week-days and the cockpits on holidays. Then convert these

into schoolhouses, at least during the week.”

“Man, man, man!”

“What a lovely idea!”

“What’s the matter with you, Don Custodio?”

“That’s a grand suggestion!”

“That beats them all!”

“But, gentlemen,” cried Don Custodio, in answer to so many

exclamations, “let’s be practical—what places are more suitable than

the cockpits? They’re large, well constructed, and under a curse for

the use to which they are put during the week-days. From a moral

standpoint my project would be acceptable, by serving as a kind of

expiation and weekly purification of the temple of chance, as we might

say.”

“But the fact remains that sometimes there are cockfights during the

week,” objected Padre Camorra, “and it wouldn’t be right when the

contractors of the cockpits pay the government—” [23]

“Well, on those days close the school!”

“Man, man!” exclaimed the scandalized Captain-General. “Such an outrage

shall never be perpetrated while I govern! To close the schools in

order to gamble! Man, man, I’ll resign first!” His Excellency was

really horrified.

“But, General, it’s better to close them for a few days than for

months.”

“It would be immoral,” observed Padre Irene, more indignant even than

his Excellency.

“It’s more immoral that vice has good buildings and learning none.

Let’s be practical, gentlemen, and not be carried away by sentiment. In

politics there’s nothing worse than sentiment. While from humane

considerations we forbid the cultivation of opium in our colonies, we

tolerate the smoking of it, and the result is that we do not combat the

vice but impoverish ourselves.”

“But remember that it yields to the government, without any effort,

more than four hundred and fifty thousand pesos,” objected Padre Irene,

who was getting more and more on the governmental side.

“Enough, enough, enough!” exclaimed his Excellency, to end the

discussion. “I have my own plans in this regard and will devote special

attention to the matter of public instruction. Is there anything else?”

The secretary looked uneasily toward Padre Sibyla and Padre Irene. The

cat was about to come out of the bag. Both prepared themselves.

“The petition of the students requesting authorization to open an

academy of Castilian,” answered the secretary.

A general movement was noted among those in the room. After glancing at

one another they fixed their eyes on the General to learn what his

disposition would be. For six months the petition had lain there

awaiting a decision and had become converted into a kind of casus belli

in certain circles. His Excellency had lowered his eyes, as if to keep

his thoughts from being read.

The silence became embarrassing, as the General understood, so he asked

the high official, “What do you think?”

“What should I think, General?” responded the person addressed, with a

shrug of his shoulders and a bitter smile. “What should I think but

that the petition is just, very just, and that I am surprised that six

months should have been taken to consider it.”

“The fact is that it involves other considerations,” said Padre Sibyla

coldly, as he half closed his eyes.

The high official again shrugged his shoulders, like one who did not

comprehend what those considerations could be.

“Besides the intemperateness of the demand,” went on the Dominican,

“besides the fact that it is in the nature of an infringement on our

prerogatives—”

Padre Sibyla dared not go on, but looked at Simoun.

“The petition has a somewhat suspicious character,” corroborated that

individual, exchanging a look with the Dominican, who winked several

times.

Padre Irene noticed these things and realized that his cause was almost

lost—Simoun was against him.

“It’s a peaceful rebellion, a revolution on stamped paper,” added Padre

Sibyla.

“Revolution? Rebellion?” inquired the high official, staring from one

to the other as if he did not understand what they could mean.

“It’s headed by some young men charged with being too radical and too

much interested in reforms, not to use stronger terms,” remarked the

secretary, with a look at the Dominican. “Among them is a certain

Isagani, a poorly balanced head, nephew of a native priest—”

“He’s a pupil of mine,” put in Padre Fernandez, “and I’m much pleased

with him.”

“Puñales, I like your taste!” exclaimed Padre Camorra. “On the steamer

we nearly had a fight. He’s so insolent that when I gave him a shove

aside he returned it.”

“There’s also one Makaragui or Makarai—”

“Makaraig,” Padre Irene joined in. “A very pleasant and agreeable young

man.”

Then he murmured into the General’s ear, “He’s the one I’ve talked to

you about, he’s very rich. The Countess recommends him strongly.”

“Ah!”

“A medical student, one Basilio—”

“Of that Basilio, I’ll say nothing,” observed Padre Irene, raising his

hands and opening them, as if to say Dominus vobiscum. “He’s too deep

for me. I’ve never succeeded in fathoming what he wants or what he is

thinking about. It’s a pity that Padre Salvi isn’t present to tell us

something about his antecedents. I believe that I’ve heard that when a

boy he got into trouble with the Civil Guard. His father was killed

in—I don’t remember what disturbance.”

Simoun smiled faintly, silently, showing his sharp white teeth.

“Aha! Aha!” said his Excellency nodding. “That’s the kind we have! Make

a note of that name.”

“But, General,” objected the high official, seeing that the matter was

taking a bad turn, “up to now nothing positive is known against these

young men. Their position is a very just one, and we have no right to

deny it on the ground of mere conjectures. My opinion is that the

government, by exhibiting confidence in the people and in its own

stability, should grant what is asked, then it could freely revoke the

permission when it saw that its kindness was being abused—reasons and

pretexts would not be wanting, we can watch them. Why cause

disaffection among some young men, who later on may feel resentment,

when what they ask is commanded by royal decrees?”

Padre Irene, Don Custodio, and Padre Fernandez nodded in agreement.

“But the Indians must not understand Castilian, you know,” cried Padre

Camorra. “They mustn’t learn it, for then they’ll enter into arguments

with us, and the Indians must not argue, but obey and pay. They mustn’t

try to interpret the meaning of the laws and the books, they’re so

tricky and pettifogish! Just as soon as they learn Castilian they

become enemies of God and of Spain. Just read the Tandang Basio

Macunat—that’s a book! It tells truths like this!” And he held up his

clenched fists.

Padre Sibyla rubbed his hand over his tonsure in sign of impatience.

“One word,” he began in the most conciliatory tone, though fuming with

irritation, “here we’re not dealing with the instruction in Castilian

alone. Here there is an underhand fight between the students and the

University of Santo Tomas. If the students win this, our prestige will

be trampled in the dirt, they will say that they’ve beaten us and will

exult accordingly. Then, good-by to moral strength, good-by to

everything! The first dike broken down, who will restrain this youth?

With our fall we do no more than signal your own. After us, the

government!”

“Puñales, that’s not so!” exclaimed Padre Camorra. “We’ll see first who

has the biggest fists!”

At this point Padre Fernandez, who thus far in the discussion had

merely contented himself with smiling, began to talk. All gave him

their attention, for they knew him to be a thoughtful man.

“Don’t take it ill of me, Padre Sibyla, if I differ from your view of

the affair, but it’s my peculiar fate to be almost always in opposition

to my brethren. I say, then, that we ought not to be so pessimistic.

The instruction in Castilian can be allowed without any risk whatever,

and in order that it may not appear to be a defeat of the University,

we Dominicans ought to put forth our efforts and be the first to

rejoice over it—that should be our policy. To what end are we to be

engaged in an everlasting struggle with the people, when after all we

are the few and they are the many, when we need them and they do not

need us? Wait, Padre Camorra, wait! Admit that now the people may be

weak and ignorant—I also believe that—but it will not be true tomorrow

or the day after. Tomorrow and the next day they will be the stronger,

they will know what is good for them, and we cannot keep it from them,

just as it is not possible to keep from children the knowledge of many

things when they reach a certain age. I say, then, why should we not

take advantage of this condition of ignorance to change our policy

completely, to place it upon a basis solid and enduring—on the basis of

justice, for example, instead of on the basis of ignorance? There’s

nothing like being just; that I’ve always said to my brethren, but they

won’t believe me. The Indian idolizes justice, like every race in its

youth; he asks for punishment when he has done wrong, just as he is

exasperated when he has not deserved it. Is theirs a just desire? Then

grant it! Let’s give them all the schools they want, until they are

tired of them. Youth is lazy, and what urges them to activity is our

opposition. Our bond of prestige, Padre Sibyla, is about worn out, so

let’s prepare another, the bond of gratitude, for example. Let’s not be

fools, let’s do as the crafty Jesuits—”

“Padre Fernandez!” Anything could be tolerated by Padre Sibyla except

to propose the Jesuits to him as a model. Pale and trembling, he broke

out into bitter recrimination. “A Franciscan first! Anything before a

Jesuit!” He was beside himself.

“Oh, oh!”

“Eh, Padre—”

A general discussion broke out, regardless of the Captain-General. All

talked at once, they yelled, they misunderstood and contradicted one

another. Ben-Zayb and Padre Camorra shook their fists in each other’s

faces, one talking of simpletons and the other of ink-slingers, Padre

Sibyla kept harping on the Capitulum, and Padre Fernandez on the Summa

of St. Thomas, until the curate of Los Baños entered to announce that

breakfast was served.

His Excellency arose and so ended the discussion. “Well, gentlemen,” he

said, “we’ve worked like niggers and yet we’re on a vacation. Some one

has said that grave matters should be considered at dessert. I’m

entirely of that opinion.”

“We might get indigestion,” remarked the secretary, alluding to the

heat of the discussion.

“Then we’ll lay it aside until tomorrow.”

As they rose the high official whispered to the General, “Your

Excellency, the daughter of Cabesang Tales has been here again begging

for the release of her sick grandfather, who was arrested in place of

her father.”

His Excellency looked at him with an expression of impatience and

rubbed his hand across his broad forehead. “Carambas! Can’t one be left

to eat his breakfast in peace?”

“This is the third day she has come. She’s a poor girl—”

“Oh, the devil!” exclaimed Padre Camorra. “I’ve just thought of it. I

have something to say to the General about that—that’s what I came over

for—to support that girl’s petition.”

The General scratched the back of his ear and said, “Oh, go along! Have

the secretary make out an order to the lieutenant of the Civil Guard

for the old man’s release. They sha’n’t say that we’re not clement and

merciful.”

He looked at Ben-Zayb. The journalist winked.