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in a changed voice, "but your father was never an intimate friend of mine."
Ibarra slowly withdrew his extended hand, looking greatly surprised, and turned to encounter the gloomy gaze of the lieutenant fixed
on him.
"Young man, are you the son of Don Rafael Ibarra?" he asked.
The youth bowed. Fray Damaso partly rose in his chair and stared fixedly at the lieutenant.
"Welcome back to your country! And may you be happier in it than your father was!" exclaimed the officer in a trembling voice. "I
knew him well and can say that he was one of the worthiest and most honorable men in the Philippines."
"Sir," replied Ibarra, deeply moved, "the praise you bestow upon my father removes my doubts about the manner of his death, of which I, his son, am yet ignorant."
The eyes of the old soldier filled with tears and turning away hastily he withdrew. The young man thus found himself alone in the center of the room. His host having disappeared, he saw no one who might introduce him to the young ladies, many of whom were watching him with interest. After a few moments of hesitation he started toward them in a simple and natural manner.
"Allow me," he said, "to overstep the rules of strict [17]etiquette. It has been seven years since I have been in my own country and upon returning to it I cannot suppress my admiration and refrain from paying my respects to its most precious ornaments, the ladies."
But as none of them ventured a reply, he found himself obliged to retire. He then turned toward a group of men who, upon seeing him approach, arranged themselves in a semicircle.
"Gentlemen," he addressed them, "it is a custom in Germany, when a stranger finds himself at a function and there is no one to introduce him to those present, that he give his name and so introduce himself. Allow me to adopt this usage here, not to introduce foreign customs when our own are so beautiful, but because I find myself driven to it by necessity. I have already paid my respects
to the skies and to the ladies of my native land; now I wish to greet its citizens, my fellow-countrymen. Gentlemen, my name is Juan
Crisostomo Ibarra y Magsalin."
The others gave their names, more or less obscure, and unimportant here.
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"My name is A------," said one youth dryly, as he made a slight bow.
"Then I have the honor of addressing the poet whose works have done so much to keep up my enthusiasm for my native land. It is said that you do not write any more, but I could not learn the reason."
"The reason? Because one does not seek inspiration in order to debase himself and lie. One writer has been imprisoned for having put a very obvious truth into verse. They may have called me a poet but they sha'n't call me a fool."
"And may I enquire what that truth was?"
"He said that the lion's son is also a lion. He came very near to being exiled for it," replied the strange youth, moving away from the
group.
A man with a smiling face, dressed in the fashion of the natives of the country, with diamond studs in his shirt-bosom, [18]came up at that moment almost running. He went directly to Ibarra and grasped his hand, saying, "Senor Ibarra, I've been eager to make your acquaintance. Capitan Tiago is a friend of mine and I knew your respected father. I am known as Capitan Tinong and live in Tondo, where you will always be welcome. I hope that you will honor me with a visit. Come and dine with us tomorrow." He smiled and rubbed his hands.
"Thank you," replied Ibarra, warmly, charmed with such amiability, "but tomorrow morning I must leave for San Diego." "How unfortunate! Then it will be on your return."
"Dinner is served!" announced a waiter from the cafe La Campana, and the guests began to file out toward the table, the women,
especially the Filipinas, with great hesitation. [19]
[Contents] Chapter III The Dinner
Jele, jele, bago quiere.1
Fray Sibyla seemed to be very content as he moved along tranquilly with the look of disdain no longer playing about his thin, refined lips. He even condescended to speak to the lame doctor, De Espadana, who answered in monosyllables only, as he was somewhat
of a stutterer. The Franciscan was in a frightful humor, kicking at the chairs and even elbowing a cadet out of his way. The lieutenant was grave while the others talked vivaciously, praising the magnificence of the table. Dona Victorina, however, was just turning up her nose in disdain when she suddenly became as furious as a trampled serpent--the lieutenant had stepped on the train of her gown.
"Haven't you any eyes?" she demanded.
"Yes, senora, two better than yours, but the fact is that I was admiring your frizzes," retorted the rather ungallant soldier as he moved
away from her.
As if from instinct the two friars both started toward the head of the table, perhaps from habit, and then, as might have been expected, the same thing happened that occurs with the competitors for a university position, who openly exalt the qualifications and superiority of their opponents, later giving to understand that just the contrary was meant, and who murmur and grumble when they do not receive the appointment.
[20]"For you, Fray Damaso." "For you, Fray Sibyla."
"An older friend of the family--confessor of the deceased lady--age, dignity, and authority--"
"Not so very old, either! On the other hand, you are the curate of the district," replied Fray Damaso sourly, without taking his hand from the back of the chair.
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"Since you command it, I obey," concluded Fray Sibyla, disposing himself to take the seat. "I don't command it!" protested the Franciscan. "I don't command it!"
Fray Sibyla was about to seat himself without paying any more attention to these protests when his eyes happened to encounter those of the lieutenant. According to clerical opinion in the Philippines, the highest secular official is inferior to a friar-cook: cedant arma togae, said Cicero in the Senate--cedant arma cottae, say the friars in the Philippines.2
But Fray Sibyla was a well-bred person, so he said, "Lieutenant, here we are in the world and not in the church. The seat of honor belongs to you." To judge from the tone of his voice, however, even in the world it really did belong to him, and the lieutenant, either to keep out of trouble or to avoid sitting between two friars, curtly declined.
None of the claimants had given a thought to their host. Ibarra noticed him watching the scene with a smile of satisfaction. "How's this, Don Santiago, aren't you going to sit down with us?"
But all the seats were occupied; Lucullus was not to sup in the house of Lucullus.
"Sit still, don't get up!" said Capitan Tiago, placing his hand on the young man's shoulder. "This fiesta is for the special purpose of giving thanks to the Virgin for your [21]safe arrival. Oy! Bring on the tinola! I ordered tinola as you doubtless have not tasted any for so long a time."
A large steaming tureen was brought in. The Dominican, after muttering the benedicite, to which scarcely any one knew how to respond, began to serve the contents. But whether from carelessness or other cause, Padre Damaso received a plate in which a bare neck and a tough wing of chicken floated about in a large quantity of soup amid lumps of squash, while the others were eating
legs and breasts, especially Ibarra, to whose lot fell the second joints. Observing all this, the Franciscan mashed up some pieces of
squash, barely tasted the soup, dropped his spoon noisily, and roughly pushed his plate away. The Dominican was very busy talking
to the rubicund youth.
"How long have you been away from the country?" Laruja asked Ibarra. "Almost seven years."
"Then you have probably forgotten all about it."
"Quite the contrary. Even if my country does seem to have forgotten me, I have always thought about it."
"How do you mean that