Excerpts from Noli me tangere Chapters 45, 47, 48

[ernesto thaddeus m. solmerano]

Excerpts from Noli me tangere
Written by Jose Rizal
Translated into English by Charles Derbyshire

LV. The Catastrophe

There in the dining-room Capitan Tiago, Linares, and Aunt Isabel were at supper, so that even in the sala the rattling of plates and dishes was plainly heard. Maria Clara had said that she was not hungry and had seated herself at the piano in company with the merry Sinang, who was murmuring mysterious words into her ear. Meanwhile Padre Salvi paced nervously back and forth in the room.
It was not, indeed, that the convalescent was not hungry, no; but she was expecting the arrival of a certain person and was taking advantage of this moment when her Argus was not present, Linares' supper-hour.
"You'll see how that specter will stay till eight," murmured Sinang, indicating the curate. "And at eight he will come. The curate's in love with Linares."
Maria Clara gazed in consternation at her friend, who went on heedlessly with her terrible chatter: "Oh, I know why he doesn't go, in spite of my hints--he doesn't want to burn up oil in the convento! Don't you know that since you've been sick the two lamps that he used to keep lighted he has had put out? But look how he stares, and what a face!"
At that moment a clock in the house struck eight. The curate shuddered and sat down in a corner.
"Here he comes!" exclaimed Sinang, pinching Maria Clara. "Don't you hear him?"
The church bell boomed out the hour of eight and all rose to pray. Padre Salvi offered up a prayer in a weak and trembling voice, but as each was busy with his own thoughts no one paid any attention to the priest's agitation.
Scarcely had the prayer ceased when Ibarra appeared. The youth was in mourning not only in his attire but also in his face, to such an extent that, on seeing him, Maria Clara arose and took a step toward him to ask what the matter was. But at that instant the report of firearms was heard. Ibarra stopped, his eyes rolled, be lost the power of speech. The curate had concealed himself behind a post. More shots, more reports were heard from the direction of the convento, followed by cries and the sound of persons running. Capitan Tiago, Aunt Isabel, and Linares rushed in pell-mell, crying, "Tulisan! Tulisan!" Andeng followed, flourishing the gridiron as she ran toward her foster-sister.
Aunt Isabel fell on her knees weeping and reciting the Kyrie eleyson; Capitan Tiago, pale and trembling, carried on his fork a chicken-liver which he offered tearfully to the Virgin of Antipolo; Linares with his mouth full of food was armed with a case-knife; Sinang and Maria Clara were in each other's arms; while the only one that remained motionless, as if petrified, was Crisostomo, whose paleness was indescribable.
The cries and sound of blows continued, windows were closed noisily, the report of a gun was heard from time to time.
"Christie eleyson! Santiago, let the prophecy be fulfilled! Shut the windows!" groaned Aunt Isabel.
"Fifty big bombs and two thanksgiving masses!" responded Capitan Tiago. "Ora pro nobis!"
Gradually there prevailed a heavy silence which was soon broken by the voice of the alferez, calling as he ran: "Padre, Padre Salvi, come here!"
"Miserere! The alferez is calling for confession," cried Aunt Isabel. "The alferez is wounded?" asked Linares hastily. "Ah!!!" Only then did he notice that he had not yet swallowed what he had in his mouth.
"Padre, come here! There's nothing more to fear!" the alferez continued to call out.
The pallid Fray Salvi at last concluded to venture out from his hiding-place, and went down the stairs.
"The outlaws have killed the alferez! Maria, Sinang, go into your room and fasten the door! Kyrie eleyson!"
Ibarra also turned toward the stairway, in spite of Aunt Isabel's cries: "Don't go out, you haven't been shriven, don't go out!" The good old lady had been a particular friend of his mother's.
But Ibarra left the house. Everything seemed to reel around him, the ground was unstable. His ears buzzed, his legs moved heavily and irregularly. Waves of blood, lights and shadows chased one another before his eyes, and in spite of the bright moonlight he stumbled over the stones and blocks of wood in the vacant and deserted street.
Near the barracks he saw soldiers, with bayonets fixed, who were talking among themselves so excitedly that he passed them unnoticed. In the town hall were to be heard blows, cries, and curses, with the voice of the alferez dominating everything: "To the stocks! Handcuff them! Shoot any one who moves! Sergeant, mount the guard! Today no one shall walk about, not even God! Captain, this is no time to go to sleep!"
Ibarra hastened his steps toward home, where his servants were anxiously awaiting him. "Saddle the best horse and go to bed!" he ordered them.
Going into his study, he hastily packed a traveling-bag, opened an iron safe, took out what money he found there and put it into some sacks. Then he collected his jewels, took clown a portrait of Maria Clara, armed himself with a dagger and two revolvers, and turned toward a closet where he kept his instruments.
At that moment three heavy knocks sounded on the door. "Who's there?" asked Ibarra in a gloomy tone.
"Open, in the King's name, open at once, or we'll break the door down," answered an imperious voice in Spanish.
Ibarra looked toward the window, his eyes gleamed, and he cocked his revolver. Then changing his mind, he put the weapons down and went to open the door just as the servant appeared. Three guards instantly seized him.
"Consider yourself a prisoner in the King's name," said the sergeant.
"For what?"
"They'll tell you over there. We're forbidden to say." The youth reflected a moment and then, perhaps not wishing that the soldiers should discover his preparations for flight, picked up his hat, saying, "I'm at your service. I suppose that it will only be for a few hours."
"If you promise not to try to escape, we won't tie you the alferez grants this favor--but if you run--"
Ibarra went with them, leaving his servants in consternation.
Meanwhile, what had become of Elias? Leaving the house of Crisostomo, he had run like one crazed, without heeding where he was going. He crossed the fields in violent agitation, he reached the woods; he fled from the town, from the light--even the moon so troubled him that he plunged into the mysterious shadows of the trees. There, sometimes pausing, sometimes moving along unfrequented paths, supporting himself on the hoary trunks or being entangled in the undergrowth, he gazed toward the town, which, bathed in the light of the moon, spread out before him on the plain along the shore of the lake. Birds awakened from their sleep flew about, huge bats and owls moved from branch to branch with strident cries and gazed at him with their round eyes, but Elias neither heard nor heeded them. In his fancy he was followed by the offended shades of his family, he saw on every branch the gruesome basket containing Balat's gory head, as his father had described it to him; at every tree he seemed to stumble over the corpse of his grandmother; he imagined that he saw the rotting skeleton of his dishonored grandfather swinging among the shadows--and the skeleton and the corpse and the gory head cried after him, "Coward! Coward!"
Leaving the hill, Elias descended to the lake and ran along the shore excitedly. There at a distance in the midst of the waters, where the moonlight seemed to form a cloud, he thought he could see a specter rise and soar the shade of his sister with her breast bloody and her loose hair streaming about. He fell to his knees on the sand and extending his arms cried out, "You, too!"
Then with his gaze fixed on the cloud he arose slowly and went forward into the water as if he were following some one. He passed over the gentle slope that forms the bar and was soon far from the shore. The water rose to his waist, but he plunged on like one fascinated, following, ever following, the ghostly charmer. Now the water covered his chest--a volley of rifle-shots sounded, the vision disappeared, the youth returned to his senses. In the stillness of the night and the greater density of the air the reports reached him clearly and distinctly. He stopped to reflect and found himself in the water-- over the peaceful ripples of the lake he could still make out the lights in the fishermen's huts.
He returned to the shore and started toward the town, but for what purpose he himself knew not. The streets appeared to be deserted, the houses were closed, and even the dogs that were wont to bark through the night had hidden themselves in fear. The silvery light of the moon added to the sadness and loneliness.
Fearful of meeting the civil-guards, he made his way along through yards and gardens, in one of which he thought he could discern two human figures, but he kept on his way, leaping over fences and walls, until after great labor he reached the other end of the town and went toward Crisostomo's house. In the doorway were the servants, lamenting their master's arrest.
After learning about what had occurred Elias pretended to go away, but really went around behind the house, jumped over the wall, and crawled through a window into the study where the candle that Ibarra had lighted was still burning. He saw the books and papers and found the arms, the jewels, and the sacks of money. Reconstructing in his imagination the scene that had taken place there and seeing so many papers that might be of a compromising nature, he decided to gather them up, throw them from the window, and bury them.
But, on glancing toward the street, he saw two guards approaching, their bayonets and caps gleaming in the moonlight. With them was the directorcillo. He made a sudden resolution: throwing the papers and some clothing into a heap in the center of the room, he poured over them the oil from a lamp and set fire to the whole. He was hurriedly placing the arms in his belt when he caught sight of the portrait of Maria Clara and hesitated a moment, then thrust it into one of the sacks and with them in his hands leaped from the window into the garden.
It was time that he did so, too, for the guards were forcing an entrance. "Let us in to get your master's papers!" cried the directorcillo.
"Have you permission? If you haven't, you won't get in,'" answered an old man.
But the soldiers pushed him aside with the butts of their rifles and ran up the stairway, just as a thick cloud of smoke rolled through the house and long tongues of flame shot out from the study, enveloping the doors and windows.
"Fire! Fire!" was the cry, as each rushed to save what he could. But the blaze had reached the little laboratory and caught the inflammable materials there, so the guards had to retire. The flames roared about, licking up everything in their way and cutting off the passages. Vainly was water brought from the well and cries for help raised, for the house was set apart from the rest. The fire swept through all the rooms and sent toward the sky thick spirals of smoke. Soon the whole structure was at the mercy of the flames, fanned now by the wind, which in the heat grew stronger. Some few rustics came up, but only to gaze on this great bonfire, the end of that old building which had been so long respected by the elements.

LVII. Vae Victis!

Mi gozo en un pozo.

Guards with forbidding mien paced to and fro in front of the door of the town hall, threatening with their rifle-butts the bold urchins who rose on tiptoe or climbed up on one another to see through the bars.
The hall itself did not present that agreeable aspect it wore when the program of the fiesta was under discussion--now it was gloomy and rather ominous. The civil-guards and cuadrilleros who occupied it scarcely spoke and then with few words in low tones. At the table the directorcillo, two clerks, and several soldiers were rustling papers, while the alferez strode from one side to the other, at times gazing fiercely toward the door: prouder Themistocles could not have appeared in the Olympic games after the battle of Salamis. Dona Consolacion yawned in a corner, exhibiting a dirty mouth and jagged teeth, while she fixed her cold, sinister gaze on the door of the jail, which was covered with indecent drawings. She had succeeded in persuading her husband, whose victory had made him amiable, to let her witness the inquiry and perhaps the accompanying tortures. The hyena smelt the carrion and licked herself, wearied by the delay.
The gobernadorcillo was very compunctious. His seat, that large chair placed under his Majesty's portrait, was vacant, being apparently intended for some one else. About nine o'clock the curate arrived, pale and scowling.
"Well, you haven't kept yourself waiting!" the alferez greeted him.
"I should prefer not to be present," replied Padre Salvi in a low voice, paying no heed to the bitter tone of the alferez. "I'm very nervous."
"As no one else has come to fill the place, I judged that your presence --You know that they leave this afternoon."
"Young Ibarra and the teniente-mayor?"
The alferez pointed toward the jail. "There are eight there," he said. "Bruno died at midnight, but his statement is on record."
The curate saluted Dona Consolacion, who responded with a yawn, and took his seat in the big chair under his Majesty's portrait. "Let us begin," he announced.
"Bring out those two who are in the stocks," ordered the alferez in a tone that he tried to make as terrible as possible. Then turning to the curate he added with a change of tone, "They are fastened in by skipping two holes."
For the benefit of those who are not informed about these instruments of torture, we will say that the stocks are one of the most harmless. The holes in which the offender's legs are placed are a little more or less than a foot apart; by skipping two holes, the prisoner finds himself in a rather forced position with peculiar inconvenience to his ankles and a distance of about a yard between his lower extremities. It does not kill instantaneously, as may well be imagined.
The jailer, followed by four soldiers, pushed back the bolt and opened the door. A nauseating odor and currents of thick, damp air escaped from the darkness within at the same time that laments and sighs were heard. A soldier struck a match, but the flame was choked in such a foul atmosphere, and they had to wait until the air became fresher.
In the dim light of the candle several human forms became vaguely outlined: men hugging their knees or hiding their heads between them, some lying face downward, some standing, and some turned toward the wall. A blow and a creak were heard, accompanied by curses--the stocks were opened, Dona Consolacion bent forward with the muscles of her neck swelling and her bulging eyes fixed on the half-opened door.
A wretched figure, Tarsilo, Bruno's brother, came out between two soldiers. On his wrists were handcuffs and his clothing was in shreds, revealing quite a muscular body. He turned his eyes insolently on the alferez's woman.
"This is the one who defended himself with the most courage and told his companions to run," said the alferez to Padre Salvi.
Behind him came another of miserable aspect, moaning and weeping like a child. He limped along exposing pantaloons spotted with blood. "Mercy, sir, mercy! I'll not go back into the yard," he whimpered.
"He's a rogue," observed the alferez to the curate. "He tried to run, but he was wounded in the thigh. These are the only two that we took alive."
"What's your name?" the alferez asked Tarsilo.
"Tarsilo Alasigan."
"What did Don Crisostomo promise you for attacking the barracks?"
"Don Crisostomo never had anything to do with us."
"Don't deny it! That's why you tried to surprise us."
"You're mistaken. You beat our father to death and we were avenging him, nothing more. Look for your two associates."
The alferez gazed at the sergeant in surprise.
"They're over there in the gully where we threw them yesterday and where they'll rot. Now kill me, you'll not learn anything more."
General surprise and silence, broken by the alferez. "You are going to tell who your other accomplices are," he threatened, flourishing a rattan whip.
A smile of disdain curled the prisoner's lips. The alferez consulted with the curate in a low tone for a few moments, then turned to the soldiers. "Take him out where the corpses are," he commanded.
On a cart in a corner of the yard were heaped five corpses, partly covered with a filthy piece of torn matting. A soldier walked about near them, spitting at every moment.
"Do you know them?" asked the alferez, lifting up the matting.
Tarsilo did not answer. He saw the corpse of the madwoman's husband with two others: that of his brother, slashed with bayonet-thrusts, and that of Lucas with the halter still around his neck. His look became somber and a sigh seemed to escape from his breast.
"Do you know them?" he was again asked, but he still remained silent.
The air hissed and the rattan cut his shoulders. He shuddered, his muscles contracted. The blows were redoubled, but he remained unmoved.
"Whip him until he bursts or talks!" cried the exasperated alferez.
"Talk now," the directorcillo advised him. "They'll kill you anyhow."
They led him back into the hall where the other prisoner, with chattering teeth and quaking limbs, was calling upon the saints.
"Do you know this fellow?" asked Padre Salvi.
"This is the first time that I've ever seen him," replied Tarsilo with a look of pity at the other.
The alferez struck him with his fist and kicked him. "Tie him to the bench!"
Without taking off the handcuffs, which were covered with blood, they tied him to a wooden bench. The wretched boy looked about him as if seeking something and noticed Dona Consolacion, at sight of whom he smiled sardonically. In surprise the bystanders followed his glance and saw the senora, who was lightly gnawing at her lips.
"I've never seen an uglier woman!" exclaimed Tarsilo in the midst of a general silence. "I'd rather lie down on a bench as I do now than
at her side as the alferez does."
The Muse turned pale.
"You're going to flog me to death, Senor Alferez," he went on, "but tonight your woman will revenge me by embracing you."
"Gag him!" yelled the furious alferez, trembling with wrath.
Tarsilo seemed to have desired the gag, for after it was put in place his eyes gleamed with satisfaction. At a signal from the alferez, a guard armed with a rattan whip began his gruesome task. Tarsilo's whole body contracted, and a stifled, prolonged cry escaped from him in spite of the piece of cloth which covered his mouth. His head drooped and his clothes became stained with blood.
Padre Salvi, pallid and with wandering looks, arose laboriously, made a sign with his hand, and left the hall with faltering steps. In the street he saw a young woman leaning with her shoulders against the wall, rigid, motionless, listening attentively, staring into space, her clenched hands stretched out along the wall. The sun beat down upon her fiercely. She seemed to be breathlessly counting those dry, dull strokes and those heartrending groans. It was Tarsilo's sister.
Meanwhile, the scene in the hall continued. The wretched boy, overcome with pain, silently waited for his executioners to become weary. At last the panting soldier let his arm fall, and the alferez, pale with anger and astonishment, made a sign for them to untie him. Dona Consolacion then arose and murmured a few words into the ear of her husband, who nodded his head in understanding.
"To the well with him!" he ordered.
The Filipinos know what this means: in Tagalog they call it timbain. We do not know who invented this procedure, but we judge that it must be quite ancient. Truth at the bottom of a well may perhaps be a sarcastic interpretation.
In the center of the yard rose the picturesque curb of a well, roughly fashioned from living rock. A rude apparatus of bamboo in the form of a well-sweep served for drawing up the thick, slimy, foul-smelling water. Broken pieces of pottery, manure, and other refuse were collected there, since this well was like the jail, being the place for what society rejected or found useless, and any object that fell into it, however good it might have been, was then a thing lost. Yet it was never closed up, and even at times the prisoners were condemned to go down and deepen it, not because there was any thought of getting anything useful out of such punishment, but because of the difficulties the work offered. A prisoner who once went down there would contract a fever from which he would surely die.
Tarsilo gazed upon all the preparations of the soldiers with a fixed look. He was pale, and his lips trembled or murmured a prayer. The haughtiness of his desperation seemed to have disappeared or, at least, to have weakened. Several times he bent his stiff neck and fixed his gaze on the ground as though resigned to his sufferings. They led him to the well-curb, followed by the smiling Dona Consolacion. In his misery he cast a glance of envy toward the heap of corpses and a sigh escaped from his breast.
"Talk now," the directorcillo again advised him. "They'll hang you anyhow. You'll at least die without suffering so much."
"You'll come out of this only to die," added a cuadrillero.
They took away the gag and hung him up by his feet, for he must go down head foremost and remain some time under the water, just as the bucket does, only that the man is left a longer time. While the alferez was gone to look for a watch to count the minutes, Tarsilo hung with his long hair streaming down and his eyes half closed.
"If you are Christians, if you have any heart," he begged in a low voice, "let me down quickly or make my head strike against the sides so that I'll die. God will reward you for this good deed--perhaps some day you may be as I am!"
The alferez returned, watch in hand, to superintend the lowering.
"Slowly, slowly!" cried Dona Consolacion, as she kept her gaze fixed on the wretch. "Be careful!"
The well-sweep moved gently downwards. Tarsilo rubbed against the jutting stones and filthy weeds that grew in the crevices. Then the sweep stopped while the alferez counted the seconds.
"Lift him up!" he ordered, at the end of a half-minute. The silvery and harmonious tinkling of the drops of water falling back indicated the prisoner's return to the light. Now that the sweep was heavier he rose rapidly. Pieces of stone and pebbles torn from the walls fell noisily. His forehead and hair smeared with filthy slime, his face covered with cuts and bruises, his body wet and dripping, he appeared to the eyes of the silent crowd. The wind made him shiver with cold.
"Will you talk?" he was asked.
"Take care of my sister," murmured the unhappy boy as he gazed beseechingly toward one of the cuadrilleros.
The bamboo sweep again creaked, and the condemned boy once more disappeared. Dona Consolacion observed that the water remained quiet. The alferez counted a minute.
When Tarsilo again came up his features were contracted and livid. With his bloodshot eyes wide open, he looked at the bystanders.
"Are you going to talk?" the alferez again demanded in dismay.
Tarsilo shook his head, and they again lowered him. His eyelids were closing as the pupils continued to stare at the sky where the fleecy clouds floated; he doubled back his neck so that he might still see the light of day, but all too soon he had to go down into the water, and that foul curtain shut out the sight of the world from him forever.
A minute passed. The watchful Muse saw large bubbles rise to the surface of the water. "He's thirsty," she commented with a laugh. The water again became still.
This time the alferez did not give the signal for a minute and a half. Tarsilo's features were now no longer contracted. The half-raised lids left the whites of his eyes showing, from his mouth poured muddy water streaked with blood, but his body did not tremble in the chill breeze.
Pale and terrified, the silent bystanders gazed at one another. The alferez made a sign that they should take the body down, and then moved away thoughtfully. Dona Consolation applied the lighted end of her cigar to the bare legs, but the flesh did not twitch and the fire was extinguished.
"He strangled himself," murmured a cuadrillero. "Look how he turned his tongue back as if trying to swallow it."
The other prisoner, who had watched this scene, sweating and trembling, now stared like a lunatic in all directions. The alferez ordered the directorcillo to question him.
"Sir, sir," he groaned, "I'll tell everything you want me to."
"Good! Let's see, what's your name?"
"Andong, sir!"
"Bernardo--Leonardo--Ricardo--Eduardo--Gerardo--or what?"
"Andong, sir!" repeated the imbecile.
"Put it down Bernardo, or whatever it may be," dictated the alferez.
"Surname?"
The man gazed at him in terror.
"What name have you that is added to the name Andong?"
"Ah, sir! Andong the Witless, sir!"
The bystander's could not restrain a smile. Even the alferez paused
in his pacing about.
"Occupation?"
"Pruner of coconut trees, sir, and servant of my mother-in-law."
"Who ordered you to attack the barracks?"
"No one, sir!"
"What, no one? Don't lie about it or into the well you go! Who ordered you? Say truly!"
"Truly, sir!"
"Who?"
"Who, sir!"
"I'm asking you who ordered you to start the revolution?"
"What revolution, sir?"
"This one, for you were in the yard by the barracks last night."
"Ah, sir!" exclaimed Andong, blushing.
"Who's guilty of that?"
"My mother-in-law, sir!"
Surprise and laughter followed these words. The alferez stopped and stared not unkindly at the wretch, who, thinking that his words had produced a good effect, went on with more spirit: "Yes, sir, my mother-in-law doesn't give me anything to eat but what is rotten and unfit, so last night when I came by here with my belly aching I saw the yard of the barracks near and I said to myself, 'It's night-time, no one will see me.' I went in--and then many shots sounded--"
A blow from the rattan cut his speech short.
"To the jail," ordered the alferez. "This afternoon, to the capital!"

LVIII. The Accursed

Soon the news spread through the town that the prisoners were about to set out. At first it was heard with terror; afterward came the weeping and wailing. The families of the prisoners ran about in distraction, going from the convento to the barracks, from the barracks to the town hall, and finding no consolation anywhere, filled the air with cries and groans. The curate had shut himself up on a plea of illness; the alferez had increased the guards, who received the supplicating women with the butts of their rifles; the gobernadorcillo, at best a useless creature, seemed to be more foolish and more useless than ever. In front of the jail the women who still had strength enough ran to and fro, while those who had not sat down on the ground and called upon the names of their beloved.
Although the sun beat down fiercely, not one of these unfortunates thought of going away. Doray, the erstwhile merry and happy wife of Don Filipo, wandered about dejectedly, carrying in her arms their infant son, both weeping. To the advice of friends that she go back home to avoid exposing her baby to an attack of fever, the disconsolate woman replied, "Why should he live, if he isn't going to have a father to rear him?"
"Your husband is innocent. Perhaps he'll come back."
"Yes, after we're all dead!"
Capitana Tinay wept and called upon her son Antonio. The courageous Capitana Maria gazed silently toward the small grating behind which were her twin-boys, her only sons.
There was present also the mother-in-law of the pruner of coco-palms, but she was not weeping; instead, she paced back and forth, gesticulating with uplifted arms, and haranguing the crowd: "Did you ever see anything like it? To arrest my Andong, to shoot at him, to put him in the stocks, to take him to the capital, and only because-- because he had a new pair of pantaloons! This calls for vengeance! The civil-guards are committing abuses! I swear that if I ever again catch one of them in my garden, as has often happened, I'll chop him up, I'll chop him up, or else--let him try to chop me up!" Few persons, however, joined in the protests of the Mussulmanish mother-in-law.
"Don Crisostomo is to blame for all this," sighed a woman.
The schoolmaster was also in the crowd, wandering about bewildered. Nor Juan did not rub his hands, nor was he carrying his rule and plumb-bob; he was dressed in black, for he had heard the bad news and, true to his habit of looking upon the future as already assured, was in mourning for Ibarra's death.
At two o'clock in the afternoon an open cart drawn by two oxen stopped in front of the town hall. This was at once set upon by the people, who attempted to unhitch the oxen and destroy it. "Don't do that!" said Capitana Maria. "Do you want to make them walk?" This consideration acted as a restraint on the prisoners' relatives.
Twenty soldiers came out and surrounded the cart; then the prisoners appeared. The first was Don Filipo, bound. He greeted his wife smilingly, but Doray broke out into bitter weeping and two guards had difficulty in preventing her from embracing her husband. Antonio, the son of Capitana Tinay, appeared crying like a baby, which only added to the lamentations of his family. The witless Andong broke out into tears at sight of his mother-in-law, the cause of his misfortune. Albino, the quondam theological student, was also bound, as were Capitana Maria's twins. All three were grave and serious. The last to come out was Ibarra, unbound, but conducted between two guards. The pallid youth looked about him for a friendly face.
"He's the one that's to blame!" cried many voices. "He's to blame and he goes loose!"
"My son-in-law hasn't done anything and he's got handcuffs on!" Ibarra turned to the guards. "Bind me, and bind me well, elbow to elbow," he said.
"We haven't any order."
"Bind me!" And the soldiers obeyed.
The alferez appeared on horseback, armed to the teeth, ten or fifteen more soldiers following him.
Each prisoner had his family there to pray for him, to weep for him, to bestow on him the most endearing names--all save Ibarra, who had no one, even Nor Juan and the schoolmaster having disappeared.
"Look what you've done to my husband and my son!" Doray cried to him. "Look at my poor son! You've robbed him of his father!"
So the sorrow of the families was converted into anger toward the young man, who was accused of having started the trouble. The alferez gave the order to set out.
"You're a coward!" the mother-in-law of Andong cried after Ibarra. "While others were fighting for you, you hid yourself, coward!"
"May you be accursed!" exclaimed an old man, running along beside him. "Accursed be the gold amassed by your family to disturb our peace! Accursed! Accursed!"
"May they hang you, heretic!" cried a relative of Albino's. Unable to restrain himself, he caught up a stone and threw it at the youth.
This example was quickly followed, and a rain of dirt and stones fell on the wretched young man. Without anger or complaint, impassively he bore the righteous vengeance of so many suffering hearts. This was the parting, the farewell, offered to him by the people among whom were all his affections. With bowed head, he was perhaps thinking of a man whipped through the streets of Manila, of an old woman falling dead at the sight of her son's head; perhaps Elias's history was passing before his eyes.
The alferez found it necessary to drive the crowd back, but the stone-throwing and the insults did not cease. One mother alone did not wreak vengeance on him for her sorrows, Capitana Maria. Motionless, with lips contracted and eyes full of silent tears, she saw her two sons move away; her firmness, her dumb grief surpassed that of the fabled Niobe.
So the procession moved on. Of the persons who appeared at the few open windows those who showed most pity for the youth were the indifferent and the curious. All his friends had hidden themselves, even Capitan Basilio himself, who forbade his daughter Sinang to weep.
Ibarra saw the smoking ruins of his house--the home of his fathers, where he was born, where clustered the fondest recollections of his childhood and his youth. Tears long repressed started into his eyes, and he bowed his head and wept without having the consolation of being able to hide his grief, tied as he was, nor of having any one in whom his sorrow awoke compassion. Now he had neither country, nor home, nor love, nor friends, nor future!
From a slight elevation a man gazed upon the sad procession. He was an old man, pale and emaciated, wrapped in a woolen blanket, supporting himself with difficulty on a staff. It was the old Sage, Tasio, who, on hearing of the event, had left his bed to be present, but his strength had not been sufficient to carry him to the town hall. The old man followed the cart with his gaze until it disappeared in the distance and then remained for some time afterward with his head bowed, deep in thought. Then he stood up and laboriously made his way toward his house, pausing to rest at every step. On the following day some herdsmen found him dead on the very threshold of his solitary home.