CHAPTER XIII
IN THE HOUSE OF TASIO.
On the morning of the following day, Juan Crisostomo Ibarra, aftervisiting his estates, went to the house of Tasio, the philosopher,his father's friend.
Quiet reigned in the old man's garden. The swallows were flying aboutthe gables of the house, but they were making scarcely a sound. Thewindows were covered with vines which clung to the old, moss-coveredwall and made the house appear all the more solitary and quiet. Ibarratied his horse to a post and, walking almost on tip-toes, crossed theclean and well-cultivated garden. He went up the stairs and, as thedoor was open, walked in. An old man leaned over a book in which heseemed to be writing. On the walls of the room were collections ofinsects and leaves, maps, and some shelves of books and manuscripts.
Tasio was so absorbed in his work that he did not notice the arrivalof the youth. The latter, not wishing to disturb the philosopher,tried to retire from the place, but the old man, looking up, said:"What? Are you here?" and showed no little surprise in his look.
"Excuse me," replied Ibarra, "I see that you are very busy."
"As a matter of fact I was writing a little, but it is not urgent,and I want to rest myself. Can I be useful to you in any way?"
Ibarra drew some papers from his pocket-book and replied: "Myfather was wont to consult you in many things, and I remember thathe never had to do other than congratulate himself when he followedyour advice. I have on my hands a small undertaking and I want to beassured of success."
Ibarra then related to him briefly his plan for the erection ofa school house in honor of his betrothed. He showed the stupefiedphilosopher the plans which had been returned from Manila.
"I wish that you would advise me as to what persons I ought first tohave on my side in order to make the undertaking most successful. Youare well acquainted with the inhabitants of the town. I have justarrived here and am almost a stranger in my country."
The old man examined the plans which were laid out before him. Hiseyes were full of tears.
"That which you are going to carry out was a dream of mine, the dreamof a poor fool," he exclaimed, greatly moved. "And now, my first adviceto you is that you never come to consult me in regard to the matter."
The young man looked at him in surprise.
"Because sensible people," he continued, in an ironical tone, "willtake you for a fool, like myself. People always consider every onea fool who does not think just as they do and, for this reason,they call me crazy. But I am obliged to them for that, for woe beto me when the time arrives that they say I have sense! That day,should it ever come, would deprive me of the little liberty which Ihave purchased by sacrificing my reputation for being sane."
And the old man shook his head, as if to drive away a thought andcontinued: "My second advice to you is that you consult the curate,the gobernadorcillo, and all the people of good standing. They will allgive you bad, foolish and useless advice, but to consult does not meanto obey. Try to appear to be following their advice as far as possibleand make them think you are working according to their wishes."
Ibarra sat thinking for a moment and then replied: "The advice is goodbut difficult to follow. Could I not carry out my work without a shadowreflecting upon it? Could I not carry out the good work in spite ofall? Does truth need to be clothed in the garments of falsehood?"
"That's it. Nobody likes the bare truth."
"I hope to be able to realize all my hopes without encountering greatresistance," said Ibarra.
"Yes, if the priests lend you their hand; no, if they draw it away. Allyour efforts will be battered to pieces against the walls of thecurate's house. The alcalde will deny to you to-morrow what he hasgranted you to-day. Not a mother will let her son attend the school,and then all your efforts will have just an opposite effect to thatintended. You will discourage all others who might wish to attemptbeneficent undertakings."
"Nevertheless," replied Ibarra, "I cannot believe in this power ofwhich you speak. And even supposing it to be true, admitting that itis as you say, would I not still have on my side the sensible peopleand the Government?"
"The Government! The Government!" exclaimed the philosopher, raisinghis eyes and looking at the ceiling. "However much the Governmentmay desire to uplift the country for its own benefit and that ofthe mother country; however generous may be the Catholic Kings inspirit, I must remind you in confidence that there is another powerwhich does not allow the Government to see, hear, or judge exceptwhat the curates or provincial priests wish. The Government isafraid of the advancement of the people, and the people are afraidof the forces of the Government. So long as the Government doesnot understand the people of the country, the country will neverget out from this guardianship. The people will live like weak,young children who tremble at the sound of the voice of their tutor,whose mercy they beg. The Government has no dreams of a great future,a healthy development of the country. The people do not complain,because they have no voice. They do not move, because they are toocarefully watched. You say that they do not suffer, because you havenot seen what would make your heart bleed. But some day you will seeit! alas! some day you will hear it. When the light of day is thrown ontheir monstrous forms, you will see a frightful reaction. That greatforce, held back for centuries, that poison, distilled drop by drop,those sighs, so long repressed--all will come to light and will someday burst forth.... Who will then pay the accounts which the peoplewill present and which History preserves for us on its bloody pages?"
"God, the Government, and the Church will never allow that day tocome!" replied Crisostomo, impressed in spite of himself. "TheFilipinos are religious and they love Spain. The Filipinos willalways know how much this nation has done for them. There are abuses;yes! There are defects; I do not deny it. But Spain is working tointroduce reforms which will correct them; she is devising plans;she is not selfish. Can it be that my love for my native land isincompatible with love for Spain? Is it necessary to lower one's selfto be a good Christian, to prostitute one's own conscience to bringabout good? I love my fatherland, the Philippines, because I oweto her my life and my happiness--because every man should love hisnative land. I love Spain, the fatherland of my ancestors, because,in spite of all that may be said, the Philippines owe to Spain,and always will owe to her, their happiness and their future. I am aCatholic. I hold dear the belief of my fathers, and I do not see whyI have to bow my head when I am able to raise it; nor why I have toentrust it to my enemies, when I can trample on them."
"Because the field in which you are sowing your seed is in the handsof your enemies, and you are weak in comparison to them.... It isnecessary that you first kiss the hand----"
But the young man did not allow him to go farther and exclaimedviolently: "To kiss their hands! You forget that, between them, theykilled my father; they threw his body out of its sepulchre: but I,I who am his son, I do not forget it, and, if I do not avenge myself,it is because I consider the prestige of the Church."
The old philosopher bowed his head. "Senor Ibarra," he replied slowly,"if you keep those memories--memories which I cannot advise you toforget--if you keep those memories, give up your plans and yourundertaking and try to work good for your countrymen in anotherway. The undertaking needs another man than you for its execution,because to carry it out will not only require money and care, but,in our country, self-denial, tenacity and faith are also needed. Theland is not ready for it; it has been sown only with darnel."
Ibarra understood the weight of these words, but he was not goingto be discouraged. Thoughts of Maria Clara filled his mind; he mustfulfill his promise to her.
"Does not your experience suggest something other than this hardmethod?" he asked in a low voice.
The old man took him by the arm and led him to the window. A coolbreeze was blowing from the north. Before his eyes lay the garden,stretching out to the large forest which served as a park.
"Why do we not have to do the same as that weak young bush loadedwith roses and buds?" said the ph
ilosopher pointing to a beautifulrose bush. "The wind blows, shakes it and it bends itself down as iftrying to hide its precious load. If the bush kept itself erect, itwould be broken off, the wind would scatter its flowers and the budswould be blighted. The wind passes over, and the bush straightensitself up again, proud of its treasure. Thus it would be with you,a plant transplanted from Europe to this stony ground, if you did notlook about for some support and belittle yourself. Alone and lofty,you are in bad condition."
"And would this sacrifice bring the fruits that I hope for?" askedIbarra. "Would the priest have faith in me and would he forget theoffense? Would his kind not be able to feign friendship, to make afalse show of protecting me, and then, from behind in the darkness,fight me, harass me and wound my heels, thus making me waver morequickly than they could by attacking me face to face? Given thesepremises, what do you think could be expected?"
The old man remained silent for some time, not being able to reply. Atlast he said: "If such a thing took place, if the undertaking failed,I would console you with the thought that you had done all that wasin your power. And even so, something would be gained. Lay the firststone, sow the first seed and after the tempest has passed over,some little grain perhaps would germinate."
"I believe you," exclaimed Ibarra, stretching out his hand. "Not invain did I look for good advice. This very day I shall go and makefriends with the curate."
Taking leave of the old man, he mounted on his horse and rode away.
"Attention!" murmured the pessimistic philosopher to himself, as hefollowed the young man with his eyes. "Let us observe carefully howDestiny will unfold the tragedy which began in the cemetery."
But this time the philosopher was truly mistaken. The tragedy hadbegun long before.