"And when will you join us?"

"When your captain thinks the hour has come."

"That is well; adieu!"

"If I live!" repeated Elias, under his breath.

XLIII.

IL BUON DI SI CONOSCE DA MATTINA.

While Ibarra and Elias were on the lake, old Tasio, ill in his solitary little house, and Don Filipo, who had come to see him, were also talking of the country. For several days the old philosopher, or fool--as you find him--prostrated by a rapidly increasing feebleness, had not left his bed.

"The country," he was saying to Don Filipo, "isn't what it was twenty years ago."

"Do you think so?"

"Don't you see it?" asked the old man, sitting up. "Ah! you did not know the past. Hear the students of to-day talking. New names are spoken under the arches that once heard only those of Saint Thomas, Suarez, Amat, and the other idols of my day. In vain the monks cry from the chair against the demoralization of the times; in vain the convents extend their ramifications to strangle the new ideas. The roots of a tree may influence the parasites growing on it, but they are powerless against the bird, which, from the branches, mounts triumphant toward the sky!"

The old man spoke with animation, and his eye shone.

"And yet the new germ is very feeble," said the lieutenant. "If they all set about it, the progress already so dearly paid for may yet be choked."

"Choke it? Who? The weak dwarf, man, to choke progress, the powerful child of time and energy? When has he done that? He has tried dogma, the scaffold, and the stake, but E pur si muove is the device of progress. Wills are thwarted, individuals sacrificed. What does that mean to progress? She goes her way, and the blood of those who fall enriches the soil whence spring her new shoots. The Dominicans themselves do not escape this law, and they are beginning to imitate the Jesuits, their irreconcilable enemies."

"Do you hold that the Jesuits move with progress?" asked the astonished Don Filipo. "Then why are they so attacked in Europe?"

"I reply as did once an ecclesiastic of old," said the philosopher, laying his head back on the pillow and putting on his mocking air, "that there are three ways of moving with progress: ahead, beside, behind; the first guide, the second follow, the third are dragged. The Jesuits are of these last. At present, in the Philippines, we are about three centuries behind the van of the general movement. The Jesuits, who in Europe are the reaction, viewed from here represent progress. For instance, the Philippines owe to them the introduction of the natural sciences, the soul of the nineteenth century. As for ourselves, at this moment we are entering a period of strife: strife between the past which grapples to itself the tumbling feudal castle, and the future whose song may be heard afar off, bringing us from distant lands the tidings of good news."

The old man stopped, but seeing the expression of Don Filipo he smiled and went on.

"I can almost divine what you are thinking."

"Can you?"

"You are thinking that I may easily be wrong; to-day I have the fever, and I am never infallible. But it is permitted us to dream. Why not make the dreams agreeable in the last hours of life? You are right: I do dream! Our young men think of nothing but loves and pleasures; our men of riper years have no activity but in vice, serve only to corrupt youth with their example; youth spends its best years without ideal, and childhood wakes to life in rust and darkness. It is well to die. Claudite jam rivos, pueri."

"Is it time for your medicine?" asked Don Filipo, seeing the cloud on the old man's face.

"The parting have no need of medicine, but those who stay. In a few days I shall be gone. The Philippines are in the shadows."

XLIV.

LA GALLERA.

To keep holy the afternoon of Sunday in Spain, one goes ordinarily to the plaza de toros; in the Philippines, to the gallera. c.o.c.k-fights, introduced in the country about a century ago, are to-day one of the vices of the people. The Chinese can more easily deprive themselves of opium than the Filipinos of this b.l.o.o.d.y sport.

The poor, wishing to get money without work, risks here the little he has; the rich seeks a distraction at the price of whatever loose coin feasts and ma.s.ses leave him. The education of their c.o.c.ks costs both much pains, often more than that of their sons.

Since the Government permits and almost recommends it, let us take our part in the sport, sure of meeting friends.

The gallera of San Diego, like most others, is divided into three courts. In the entry is taken the sa pintu, that is, the price of admission. Of this price the Government has a share, and its revenues from this source are some hundred thousand pesos a year. It is said this license fee of vice serves to build schools, open roads, span rivers, and establish prizes for the encouragement of industry. Blessed be vice when it produces so happy results! In this entry are found girls selling buyo, cigars, and cakes. Here gather numerous children, brought by their fathers or uncles, whose duty it is to initiate them into the ways of life.

In the second court are most of the c.o.c.ks. Here the contracts are made, amid recriminations, oaths, and peals of laughter. One caresses his c.o.c.k, while another counts the scales on the feet of his, and extends the wings. See this fellow, rage in his face and heart, carrying by the legs his c.o.c.k, deplumed and dead. The animal which for months has been tended night and day, on which such brilliant hopes were built, will bring a peseta and make a stew. Sic transit gloria mundi! The ruined man goes home to his anxious wife and ragged children. He has lost at once his c.o.c.k and the price of his industry. Here the least intelligent discuss the sport; those least given to thought extend the wings of c.o.c.ks, feel their muscles, weigh, and ponder. Some are dressed in elegance, followed and surrounded by the partisans of their c.o.c.ks; others, ragged and dirty, the stigma of vice on their blighted faces, follow anxiously the movements of the rich; the purse may get empty, the pa.s.sion remains. Here not a face that is not animated; in this the Filipino is not indolent, nor apathetic, nor silent; all is movement, pa.s.sion. One would say they were all devoured by a thirst always more and more excited by muddy water.

From this court one pa.s.ses to the pit, a circle with seats terraced to the roof, filled during the combats with a ma.s.s of men and children; scarcely ever does a woman risk herself so far. Here it is that destiny distributes smiles and tears, hunger and joyous feasts.

Entering, we recognize at once the gobernadorcillo, Captain Basilio, and Jose, the man with the scar, so cast down by the death of his brother. And here comes Captain Tiago, dressed like the sporting man, in a canton flannel shirt, woollen trousers, and a jipij.a.pa hat. He is followed by two servants with his c.o.c.ks. A combat is soon arranged between one of these and a famous c.o.c.k of Captain Basilio's. The news spreads, and a crowd gathers round, examining, considering, forecasting, betting.

While men were searching their pockets for their last cuarto, or in lieu of it were engaging their word, promising to sell the carabao, the next crop, and so forth, two young fellows, brothers apparently, looked on with envious eyes. Jose watched them by stealth, smiling evilly. Then making the pesos sound in his pocket, he pa.s.sed the brothers, looking the other way and crying:

"I pay fifty; fifty against twenty for the lasak!"

The brothers looked at each other discontentedly.

"I told you not to risk all the money," said the elder. "If you had listened to me----"

The younger approached Jose and timidly touched his arm.

"What! It's you?" he cried, turning and feigning surprise. "Does your brother accept my proposition?"

"He won't do it. But if you would lend us something, as you say you know us----"

Jose shook his head, shifted his position, and replied:

"Yes, I know you; you are Tarsilo and Bruno; and I know that your valiant father died from the club strokes of these soldiers. I know you don't think of vengeance----"

"Don't concern yourself with our history," said the elder brother, joining them; "that brings misfortune. If we hadn't a sister, we should have been hanged long ago!"

"Hanged! Only cowards are hanged. Besides, the mountain isn't so far."

"A hundred against fifty for the bulik!" cried some one pa.s.sing.

"Loan us four pesos--three--two," begged Bruno. Jose again shook his head.

"Sh! the money isn't mine. Don Crisostomo gave it to me for those who are willing to serve him. But I see you are not like your father; he was courageous. The man who is not must not expect to divert himself." And he moved away.

"See!" said Bruno, "he's talking with Pedro; he's giving him a lot of money!" And in truth Jose was counting silver pieces into the palm of Sisa's husband.