Quiet reigned1 in the old man’s garden. The swallows were flying about the gables of the house, but they were making scarcely a sound. The windows were covered with vines which clung to the old, moss-covered wall and made the house appear all the more solitary2 and quiet. Ibarra tied his horse to a post and, walking almost on tip-toes, crossed the clean and well-cultivated garden. He went up the stairs and, as the door was open, walked in. An old man leaned over a book in which he seemed to be writing. On the walls of the room were collections of insects and leaves, maps, and some shelves of books and manuscripts.
Tasio was so absorbed in his work that he did not notice the arrival of 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: “My father was wont3 to consult you in many things, and I remember that he never had to do other than congratulate himself when he followed your advice. I have on my hands a small undertaking4 and I want to be assured of success.”
Ibarra then related to him briefly5 his plan for the erection of a school house in honor of his betrothed7. He [78]showed the stupefied philosopher the plans which had been returned from Manila.
“I wish that you would advise me as to what persons I ought first to have on my side in order to make the undertaking most successful. You are well acquainted with the inhabitants of the town. I have just arrived here and am almost a stranger in my country.”
The old man examined the plans which were laid out before him. His eyes were full of tears.
“That which you are going to carry out was a dream of mine, the dream of a poor fool,” he exclaimed, greatly moved. “And now, my first advice to 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 ironical8 tone, “will take you for a fool, like myself. People always consider every one a 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 woe9 be to 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 I have purchased by sacrificing my reputation for being sane10.”
And the old man shook his head, as if to drive away a thought and continued: “My second advice to you is that you consult the curate, the gobernadorcillo, and all the people of good standing11. They will all give you bad, foolish and useless advice, but to consult does not mean to obey. Try to appear to be following their advice as far as possible and make them think you are working according to their wishes.”
Ibarra sat thinking for a moment and then replied: “The advice is good but difficult to follow. Could I not carry out my work without a shadow reflecting upon it? Could I not carry out the good work in spite of all? 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 great resistance,” said Ibarra.
“Yes, if the priests lend you their hand; no, if they draw it away. All your efforts will be battered12 to pieces [79]against the walls of the curate’s house. The alcalde will deny to you to-morrow what he has granted 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 that intended. You will discourage all others who might wish to attempt beneficent undertakings13.”
“Nevertheless,” replied Ibarra, “I cannot believe in this power of which you speak. And even supposing it to be true, admitting that it is as you say, would I not still have on my side the sensible people and the Government?”
“The Government! The Government!” exclaimed the philosopher, raising his eyes and looking at the ceiling. “However much the Government may desire to uplift the country for its own benefit and that of the mother country; however generous may be the Catholic Kings in spirit, I must remind you in confidence that there is another power which does not allow the Government to see, hear, or judge except what the curates or provincial14 priests wish. The Government is afraid of the advancement15 of the people, and the people are afraid of the forces of the Government. So long as the Government does not understand the people of the country, the country will never get out from this guardianship16. 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 too carefully watched. You say that they do not suffer, because you have not seen what would make your heart bleed. But some day you will see it! alas17! some day you will hear it. When the light of day is thrown on their monstrous18 forms, you will see a frightful19 reaction. That great force, held back for centuries, that poison, distilled20 drop by drop, those sighs, so long repressed—all will come to light and will some day burst forth21.... Who will then pay the accounts which the people will present and which History preserves for us on its bloody22 pages?”
“God, the Government, and the Church will never allow [80]that day to come!” replied Crisostomo, impressed in spite of himself. “The Filipinos are religious and they love Spain. The Filipinos will always 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 to introduce reforms which will correct them; she is devising plans; she is not selfish. Can it be that my love for my native land is incompatible23 with love for Spain? Is it necessary to lower one’s self to be a good Christian24, to prostitute one’s own conscience to bring about good? I love my fatherland, the Philippines, because I owe to her my life and my happiness—because every man should love his native 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 a Catholic. I hold dear the belief of my fathers, and I do not see why I have to bow my head when I am able to raise it; nor why I have to entrust25 it to my enemies, when I can trample26 on them.”
“Because the field in which you are sowing your seed is in the hands of your enemies, and you are weak in comparison to them.... It is necessary that you first kiss the hand——”
But the young man did not allow him to go farther and exclaimed violently: “To kiss their hands! You forget that, between them, they killed 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 avenge27 myself, it is because I consider the prestige of the Church.”
The old philosopher bowed his head. “Se?or Ibarra,” he replied slowly, “if you keep those memories—memories which I cannot advise you to forget—if you keep those memories, give up your plans and your undertaking and try to work good for your countrymen in another way. 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, tenacity28 and faith are also needed. The land is not ready for it; it has been sown only with darnel.”
Ibarra understood the weight of these words, but he [81]was not going to be discouraged. Thoughts of Maria Clara filled his mind; he must fulfill29 his promise to her.
“Does not your experience suggest something other than this hard method?” he asked in a low voice.
The old man took him by the arm and led him to the window. A cool breeze 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 loaded with roses and buds?” said the philosopher pointing to a beautiful rose bush. “The wind blows, shakes it and it bends itself down as if trying to hide its precious load. If the bush kept itself erect6, it would be broken off, the wind would scatter30 its flowers and the buds would be blighted31. The wind passes over, and the bush straightens itself up again, proud of its treasure. Thus it would be with you, a plant transplanted from Europe to this stony32 ground, if you did not look about for some support and belittle33 yourself. Alone and lofty, you are in bad condition.”
“And would this sacrifice bring the fruits that I hope for?” asked Ibarra. “Would the priest have faith in me and would he forget the offense34? Would his kind not be able to feign35 friendship, to make a false show of protecting me, and then, from behind in the darkness, fight me, harass36 me and wound my heels, thus making me waver more quickly than they could by attacking me face to face? Given these premises37, what do you think could be expected?”
The old man remained silent for some time, not being able to reply. At last 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 was in your power. And even so, something would be gained. Lay the first stone, sow the first seed and after the tempest has passed over, some little grain perhaps would germinate38.”
“I believe you,” exclaimed Ibarra, stretching out his hand. “Not in vain did I look for good advice. This very day I shall go and make friends with the curate.”
Taking leave of the old man, he mounted on his horse and rode away. [82]
“Attention!” murmured the pessimistic philosopher to himself, as he followed the young man with his eyes. “Let us observe carefully how Destiny will unfold the tragedy which began in the cemetery39.”
But this time the philosopher was truly mistaken. The tragedy had begun long before.
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1
reigned
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| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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3
wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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undertaking
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| n.保证，许诺，事业 | |
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5
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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6
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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7
betrothed
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| n. 已订婚者 动词betroth的过去式和过去分词 | |
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8
ironical
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| adj.讽刺的，冷嘲的 | |
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9
woe
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| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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10
sane
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| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
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11
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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12
battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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13
undertakings
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| 企业( undertaking的名词复数 )； 保证； 殡仪业； 任务 | |
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14
provincial
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| adj.省的，地方的；n．外省人，乡下人 | |
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15
advancement
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| n.前进，促进，提升 | |
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guardianship
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| n. 监护, 保护, 守护 | |
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17
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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18
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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20
distilled
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| adj.由蒸馏得来的v.蒸馏( distil的过去式和过去分词 )；从…提取精华 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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23
incompatible
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| adj.不相容的，不协调的，不相配的 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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entrust
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| v.信赖，信托，交托 | |
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trample
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| vt.踩，践踏；无视，伤害，侵犯 | |
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avenge
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| v.为...复仇，为...报仇 | |
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28
tenacity
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| n.坚韧 | |
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29
fulfill
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| vt.履行，实现，完成；满足，使满意 | |
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30
scatter
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| vt.撒，驱散，散开；散布/播；vi.分散，消散 | |
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blighted
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| adj.枯萎的，摧毁的 | |
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32
stony
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| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
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33
belittle
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| v.轻视，小看，贬低 | |
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34
offense
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| n.犯规，违法行为；冒犯，得罪 | |
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35
feign
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| vt.假装，佯作 | |
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harass
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| vt.使烦恼，折磨，骚扰 | |
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37
premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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38
germinate
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| v.发芽；发生；发展 | |
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cemetery
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| n.坟墓，墓地，坟场 | |
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