XVII.

STORY OF A SCHOOLMASTER.

The lake, girt with hills, lies tranquil, as if it had not been shaken by yesterday's tempest. At the first gleam of light which wakes the phosphorescent spirits of the water, almost on the bounds of the horizon, gray silhouettes slowly take shape. These are the barks of fishermen drawing in their nets; cascos and paraos shaking out their sails.

From a height, two men in black are silently surveying the lake. One is Ibarra, the other a young man of humble dress and melancholy face.

"This is the place," said the stranger, "where the gravedigger brought us, Lieutenant Guevara and me."

Ibarra uncovered, and stood a long time as if in prayer.

When the first horror at the story of his father's desecrated grave had passed, he had bravely accepted what could not be undone. Private wrongs must go unavenged, if one would not add to the wrongs of the country: Ibarra had been trained to live for these islands, daughters of Spain. In his country, too, a charge against a monk was a charge against the Church, and Crisostomo was a loyal Catholic; if he knew how in his mind to separate the Church from her unworthy sons, most of his fellow-countrymen did not. And, again, his intimate life was all here. The last of his race, his home was his family; he loved ideally, and he loved the goddaughter of the malevolent priest. He was rich, and therefore powerful still--and he was young. Ibarra had taken up his life again as he had found it.

His prayer finished, he warmly grasped the young man's hand.

"Do not thank me," said the other; "I owe everything to your father. I came here unknown; your father protected me, encouraged my work, furnished the poor children with books. How far away that good time seems!"

"And now?"

"Ah! now we get along as best we can."

Ibarra was silent.

"How many pupils have you?"

"More than two hundred on the list--in the classes, fifty-five."

"And how is that?"

The schoolmaster smiled sadly.

"It is a long story."

"Don't think I ask from curiosity," said Ibarra. "I have thought much about it, and it seems to me better to try to carry out my father's ideas than to weep or to avenge his death. I wish to inspire myself with his spirit. That is why I ask this question."

"The country will bless your memory, senor, if you carry out the splendid projects of your father. You wish to know the obstacles I meet? In a word, the plan of instruction is hopeless. The children read, write, learn by heart passages, sometimes whole books, in Castilian, without understanding a single word. Of what use is such a school to the children of our peasants!"

"You see the evil, what remedy do you propose?"

"I have none," said the young man; "one cannot struggle alone against so many needs and against certain influences. I tried to remedy the evil of which I just spoke; I tried to carry out the order of the Government, and began to teach the children Spanish. The beginning was excellent, but one day Brother Damaso sent for me. I went up immediately, and I said good-day to him in Castilian. Without replying, he burst into laughter. At length he said, with a sidelong glance: 'What buenos dias! buenos dias! It's very pretty. You know Spanish?' and he began to laugh again."

Ibarra could not repress a smile.

"You laugh," said the teacher, "and I, too, now; but I assure you I had no desire to then. I started to reply, I don't know what, but Brother Damaso interrupted:

"'Don't wear clothes that are not your own,' he said in Tagal; 'be content to speak your own language. Do you know about Ciruela? Well, Ciruela was a master who could neither read nor write, yet he kept school.' And he left the room, slamming the door behind him. What was I to do? What could I, against him, the highest authority of the pueblo, moral, political, and civil; backed by his order, feared by the Government, rich, powerful, always obeyed and believed. To withstand him was to lose my place, and break off my career without hope of another. Every one would have sided with the priest. I should have been called proud, insolent, no Christian, perhaps even anti-Spanish and filibustero. Heaven forgive me if I denied my conscience and my reason, but I was born here, must live here, I have a mother, and I abandoned myself to my fate, as a cadaver to the wave that rolls it."

"And you lost all hope? You have tried nothing since?"

"I was rash enough to try two more experiments, one after our change of curates; but both proved offensive to the same authority. Since then I have done my best to convert the poor babies into parrots."

"Well, I have cheerful news for you," said Ibarra. "I am soon to present to the Government a project that will help you out of your difficulties, if it is approved."

The school-teacher shook his head.

"You will see, Senor Ibarra, that your projects--I've heard something of them--will no more be realized than were mine!"