XXXIV.

RIGHT AND MIGHT.

It was ten o'clock in the evening. The first rockets were slowly going up in the dark sky, where bright-colored balloons shone like new stars. On the ridge-poles of the houses men were seen armed with bamboo poles, with pails of water at hand. Their dark silhouettes against the clear gray of the night seemed phantoms come to share in the gayety of men. They were there to look out for balloons that might fall burning.

Crowds of people were going toward the plaza to see the last play at the theatre. Bengal fires burned here and there, grouping the merry-makers fantastically.

The grand estrade was magnificently illuminated. Thousands of lights were fixed round the pillars, hung from the roof and clustered near the ground.

In front of the stage the orchestra was tuning its instruments. The dignitaries of the pueblo, the Spaniards, and wealthy strangers occupied seats in rows. The people filled the rest of the place; some had brought benches, rather to mount them than to sit on them, and others noisily protested against this.

Comings and goings, cries, exclamations, bursts of laughter, jokes, a whistle, swelled the tumult. Here the leg of a bench gave way and precipitated those on it, to the delight of the spectators; there was a dispute for place; and a little beyond a fracas of glasses and bottles. It was Andeng, carrying a great tray of drinks, and unfortunately she had encountered her fiance, who was disposed to profit by the occasion.

The lieutenant, Don Filipo, was in charge of the spectacle, for the gobernadorcillo was playing monte, of which he was a passionate devotee. Don Filipo was talking with old Tasio, who was on the point of leaving.

"Aren't you going to see the play?"

"No, thank you! My own mind suffices for rambling and dreaming," replied the philosopher, laughing. "But I have a question to propose. Have you ever observed the strange nature of our people? Pacific, they love warlike spectacles; democratic, they adore emperors, kings, and princes; irreligious, they ruin themselves in the pomps of the ritual; the nature of our women is gentle, but they have deliriums of delight when a princess brandishes a lance. Do you know the cause of all this? Well----"

The arrival of Maria Clara and her friends cut short the conversation. Don Filipo accompanied them to their places. Then came the curate, with his usual retinue.

The evening began with Chananay and Marianito in "Crispino and the Gossip." The scene fixed the attention of every one. The act was ending when Ibarra entered. His coming excited a murmur, and eyes turned from him to the curate. But Crisostomo observed nothing. He gracefully saluted Maria and her friends and sat down. The only one who spoke to him was Sinang.

"Have you been watching the fireworks?" she asked.

"No, little friend, I had to accompany the governor-general."

"That was too bad!"

Brother Salvi had risen, gone to Don Filipo, and appeared to be having with him a serious discussion. He spoke with heat, the lieutenant calmly and quietly.

"I am sorry not to be able to satisfy your reverence, but Senor Ibarra is one of the chief contributors to the fete, and has a perfect right to be here so long as he creates no disturbance."

"But is it not creating a disturbance to scandalize all good Christians?"

"Father," replied Don Filipo, "my slight authority does not permit me to interfere in religious matters. Let those who fear Senor Ibarra's contact avoid him: he forces himself upon no one; the senor alcalde and the captain-general have been in his company all the afternoon; it hardly becomes me to give them a lesson."

"If you do not put him out of the place, we shall go."

"I should be very sorry, but I have no authority to remove him."

The curate repented of his threat, but there was now no remedy. He motioned to his companions, who rose reluctantly, and all went out, not without hostile glances toward Ibarra.

The whisperings and murmurs began again. Several people came up to Crisostomo and said:

"We are with you; pay no attention to them!"

"To whom?" he asked in astonishment.

"Those who have gone out because you are here; they say you are excommunicated."

Ibarra, surprised, not knowing what to say, looked about him. Maria's face was hidden.

"Is it possible? Are we yet in the middle ages?" he began. But he checked himself and said to the girls:

"I must excuse myself; I will be back to go home with you."

"Oh, stay!" said Sinang. "Yeyeng is going to dance!"

"I cannot, little friend."

While Yeyeng was coming forward, two soldiers of the guard approached Don Filipo and demanded that the representation be stopped.

"And why?" he asked in surprise.

"Because the alferez and his wife have been fighting; they want to sleep."

"Tell the alferez we have the permission of the alcalde of the province, and nobody in the pueblo can overrule that, not even the gobernadorcillo."

"But we have our orders to stop the performance."

Don Filipo shrugged his shoulders and turned his back. The Comedy Company of Tondo was about to give a play, and the audience was settling for its enjoyment.

The Filipino is passionately fond of the theatre; he listens in silence, never hisses, and applauds with measure. Does not the spectacle please him? He chews his buyo and goes out quietly, not to trouble those who may like it. He expects in his plays a combat every fifteen seconds, and all the rest of the time repartee between comic personages, or terrifying metamorphoses. The comedy chosen for this fete was "Prince Villardo, or the Nails Drawn from the Cellar of Infamy," comedy with sorcery and fireworks.

Prince Villardo presented himself, defying the Moors, who held his father prisoner. He threatened to cut off all their heads at a single stroke and send them into the moon.

Fortunately for the Moors, as they were preparing for the combat, a tumult arose. The music stopped, and the musicians assailed the theatre with their instruments, which went flying in all directions. The valiant Villardo, unprepared for so many foes, threw down his sword and buckler and took to flight, and the Moors, seeing the hasty leave of so terrible a Christian, made bold to follow him. Cries, exclamations, and imprecations rose on all sides, people ran against one another, lights went out, children screamed, and benches were overturned in a hurly-burly. Some cried fire, some cried "The tulisanes!"

What had happened? The two guards had driven off the musicians, and the lieutenant and some of the cuadrilleros were vainly trying to check their flight.

"Take those two men to the tribunal!" cried Don Filipo. "Don't let them escape!"

When the crowd had recovered from its fright and taken account of what had happened, indignation broke forth.

"That's why they are for!" cried a woman, brandishing her arms; "to trouble the pueblo! They are the real tulisanes! Fire the barracks!"

Stones rained on the group of cuadrilleros leading off the guards, and the cry to fire the barracks was repeated. Chananay in her costume of Leonora in "Il Trovatore" was talking with Ratia, in schoolmaster's dress; Yeyeng, wrapped in a shawl, was attended by Prince Villardo, while the Moors tried to console the mortified musicians; but already the crowd had determined upon action, and Don Filipo was doing his best to hold them in check.

"Do nothing rash!" he cried. "To-morrow we will demand satisfaction; we shall have justice; I promise you justice!"

"No," replied some; "that's what they did at Calamba: they promised justice, and the alcalde didn't do a thing! We will take justice for ourselves! To the barracks!"

Don Filipo, looking about for some one to aid him, saw Ibarra.

"For heaven's sake, Senor Ibarra, keep the people here while I go for the cuadrilleros!"

"What can I do?" demanded the perplexed young fellow; but Don Filipo was already in the distance.

Ibarra, in his turn, looked about for aid, and saw Elias. He ran to him, took him by the arm, and, speaking in Spanish, begged him to do what he could for order. The helmsman disappeared in the crowd. Animated discussions were heard, and rapid questions; then, little by little, the mass began to dissolve and to wear a less hostile attitude. It was time; the soldiers arrived with bayonets fixed.

As Ibarra was about to enter his house that night a little man in mourning, having a great scar on his left cheek, placed himself in front of him and bowed humbly.

"What can I do for you?" asked Crisostomo.

"Senor, my name is Jose; I am the brother of the man killed this morning."

"Ah," said Ibarra, "I assure you I am not insensible to your loss. What do you wish of me?"

"Senor, I wish to know how much you are going to pay my brother's family."

"Pay!" repeated Crisostomo, not without annoyance. "We will talk of this again; come to me to-morrow."

"But tell me simply what you will give," insisted Jose.

"I tell you we will talk of it another day, not now," said Ibarra, more impatiently.

"Ah! You think because we are poor----"

Ibarra interrupted him.

"Don't try my patience too far," he said, moving on. Jose looked after him with a smile full of hatred.

"It is easy to see he is a grandson of the man who exposed my father to the sun," he murmured between his teeth. "The same blood!" Then in a changed tone he added: "But if you pay well--friends!"