"And why?" he asked in surprise.

"Because the alferez and his wife have been fighting; they want to sleep."

"Tell the alferez we have the permission of the alcalde of the province, and n.o.body in the pueblo can overrule that, not even the gobernadorcillo."

"But we have our orders to stop the performance."

Don Filipo shrugged his shoulders and turned his back. The Comedy Company of Tondo was about to give a play, and the audience was settling for its enjoyment.

The Filipino is pa.s.sionately fond of the theatre; he listens in silence, never hisses, and applauds with measure. Does not the spectacle please him? He chews his buyo and goes out quietly, not to trouble those who may like it. He expects in his plays a combat every fifteen seconds, and all the rest of the time repartee between comic personages, or terrifying metamorphoses. The comedy chosen for this fete was "Prince Villardo, or the Nails Drawn from the Cellar of Infamy," comedy with sorcery and fireworks.

Prince Villardo presented himself, defying the Moors, who held his father prisoner. He threatened to cut off all their heads at a single stroke and send them into the moon.

Fortunately for the Moors, as they were preparing for the combat, a tumult arose. The music stopped, and the musicians a.s.sailed the theatre with their instruments, which went flying in all directions. The valiant Villardo, unprepared for so many foes, threw down his sword and buckler and took to flight, and the Moors, seeing the hasty leave of so terrible a Christian, made bold to follow him. Cries, exclamations, and imprecations rose on all sides, people ran against one another, lights went out, children screamed, and benches were overturned in a hurly-burly. Some cried fire, some cried "The tulisanes!"

What had happened? The two guards had driven off the musicians, and the lieutenant and some of the cuadrilleros were vainly trying to check their flight.

"Take those two men to the tribunal!" cried Don Filipo. "Don't let them escape!"

When the crowd had recovered from its fright and taken account of what had happened, indignation broke forth.

"That's why they are for!" cried a woman, brandishing her arms; "to trouble the pueblo! They are the real tulisanes! Fire the barracks!"

Stones rained on the group of cuadrilleros leading off the guards, and the cry to fire the barracks was repeated. Chananay in her costume of Leonora in "Il Trovatore" was talking with Ratia, in schoolmaster's dress; Yeyeng, wrapped in a shawl, was attended by Prince Villardo, while the Moors tried to console the mortified musicians; but already the crowd had determined upon action, and Don Filipo was doing his best to hold them in check.

"Do nothing rash!" he cried. "To-morrow we will demand satisfaction; we shall have justice; I promise you justice!"

"No," replied some; "that's what they did at Calamba: they promised justice, and the alcalde didn't do a thing! We will take justice for ourselves! To the barracks!"

Don Filipo, looking about for some one to aid him, saw Ibarra.

"For heaven's sake, Senor Ibarra, keep the people here while I go for the cuadrilleros!"

"What can I do?" demanded the perplexed young fellow; but Don Filipo was already in the distance.

Ibarra, in his turn, looked about for aid, and saw Elias. He ran to him, took him by the arm, and, speaking in Spanish, begged him to do what he could for order. The helmsman disappeared in the crowd. Animated discussions were heard, and rapid questions; then, little by little, the ma.s.s began to dissolve and to wear a less hostile att.i.tude. It was time; the soldiers arrived with bayonets fixed.

As Ibarra was about to enter his house that night a little man in mourning, having a great scar on his left cheek, placed himself in front of him and bowed humbly.

"What can I do for you?" asked Crisostomo.

"Senor, my name is Jose; I am the brother of the man killed this morning."

"Ah," said Ibarra, "I a.s.sure you I am not insensible to your loss. What do you wish of me?"

"Senor, I wish to know how much you are going to pay my brother's family."

"Pay!" repeated Crisostomo, not without annoyance. "We will talk of this again; come to me to-morrow."

"But tell me simply what you will give," insisted Jose.

"I tell you we will talk of it another day, not now," said Ibarra, more impatiently.

"Ah! You think because we are poor----"

Ibarra interrupted him.

"Don't try my patience too far," he said, moving on. Jose looked after him with a smile full of hatred.

"It is easy to see he is a grandson of the man who exposed my father to the sun," he murmured between his teeth. "The same blood!" Then in a changed tone he added: "But if you pay well--friends!"

x.x.xV.

HUSBAND AND WIFE.

The fete was over, and the inhabitants of the pueblo now perceived, as they did every year, that their purses were empty, that in the sweat of their faces they had earned scant pleasure, and paid dear for noise and headaches. But what of that? The next year they would begin again; the next century it would still be the same, for it had been so up to this time, and there is nothing which can make people renounce a custom.

The house of Captain Tiago is sad. All the windows are closed; one scarcely dares make a sound; and nowhere but in the kitchen do they speak aloud. Maria Clara, the soul of the house, is sick in bed. The state of her health could be read on all faces, as our actions betray the griefs of our hearts.

"What do you think, Isabel, ought I to make a gift to the cross at Tunasan, or that at Matahong?" asks the unhappy father. "The cross at Tunasan grows, but that at Matahong perspires. Which do you call the more miraculous?"

Aunt Isabel reflected, nodded her head, and whispered:

"To grow is more miraculous; we all perspire, but we don't all grow."

"That's so, yes, Isabel; but, after all, for wood to perspire--well, then, the best thing is to make offerings to both."

A carriage stopping before the house cut short the conversation. Captain Tiago, followed by Aunt Isabel, ran down the steps to receive the coming guests. They were the doctor, Don Tiburcio de Espadana, his wife, the Doctora Dona Victorina de Los Reyes de de Espadana, and a young Spaniard of attractive face and fine appearance.

The doctora wore a silk dress bordered with flowers, and a hat with a large parrot perched among bows of red and blue ribbons. The dust of the journey mingling with the rice powder on her cheeks, exaggerated her wrinkles; as when we saw her at Manila, she had given her arm to her lame husband.

"I have the pleasure of presenting to you our cousin, Don Alfonso Linares de Espadana," said Dona Victorina, indicating the young man; "the adopted son of a relative of Father Damaso's, and private secretary of all the ministers----"

The young man bowed low; Captain Tiago barely escaped kissing his hand.

While the countless trunks, valises, and bags are being cared for and Captain Tiago is conducting his guests to their apartments, let us make a nearer acquaintance with these people whom we have not seen since the opening chapters.

Dona Victorina is a woman of forty-five summers, which, according to her arithmetic, are equivalent to thirty-two springs. In her youth she had been very pretty, but, enraptured in her own contemplation, she had looked with the utmost disdain on her numerous Filipino adorers, even scorning the vows of love once murmured in her ears or chanted under her balcony by Captain Tiago. Her aspirations bore her toward another race.

Her first youth, then her second, then her third, having pa.s.sed in tending nets to catch in the ocean of the world the object of her dreams, Dona Victorina must in the end content herself with what fate willed her. It was a poor man torn from his native Estramadure, who, after wandering six or seven years about the world, a modern Ulysses, found at length, in the island of Luzon, hospitality, money, and a faded Calypso.

Don Tiburcio was a modest man, without force, who would not willingly have injured a fly. He started for the Philippines as under-clerk of customs, but after breaking his leg was forced to give up his position. For a while he lived at the expense of some compatriots, but he found their bread bitter. As he had neither profession nor money, his advisers counselled him to go into the provinces and offer himself as a physician. At first he refused, but, necessity becoming pressing, his friends convinced him of the vanity of his scruples. He started out, kept by his conscience from asking more than small fees, and was on the road to prosperity when a jealous doctor called him to the attention of the College of Physicians at Manila. Nothing would have come of it, but the affair reached the ears of the people; loss of confidence followed, and then loss of patrons. Misery again stared him in the face when he heard of the affliction of Dona Victorina. Don Tiburcio saw here a patch of blue sky, and asked to be presented.