“But remember that it yields to the government, without any effort, more than four hundred and fifty thousand pesos,” objected Padre Irene, who was getting more and more on the governmental side.
“Enough, enough, enough!” exclaimed his Excellency, to end the discussion. “I have my own plans in this regard and will devote special attention to the matter of public instruction. Is there anything else?”
The secretary looked uneasily toward Padre Sibyla and Padre Irene. The cat was about to come out of the bag. Both prepared themselves.
“The petition of the students requesting authorization to open an academy of Castilian,” answered the secretary.
A general movement was noted among those in the room. After glancing at one another they fixed their eyes on the General to learn what his disposition would be. For six months the petition had lain there awaiting a decision and had become converted into a kind of casus belli in certain circles. His Excellency had lowered his eyes, as if to keep his thoughts from being read.
The silence became embarrassing, as the General understood, so he asked the high official, “What do you think?”
“What should I think, General?” responded the person addressed, with a shrug of his shoulders and a bitter smile. “What should I think but that the petition is just, very just, and that I am surprised that six months should have been taken to consider it.”
“The fact is that it involves other considerations,” said Padre Sibyla coldly, as he half closed his eyes.
The high official again shrugged his shoulders, like one who did not comprehend what those considerations could be.
“Besides the intemperateness of the demand,” went on the Dominican, “besides the fact that it is in the nature of an infringement on our prerogatives—”
Padre Sibyla dared not go on, but looked at Simoun.
“The petition has a somewhat suspicious character,” corroborated that individual, exchanging a look with the Dominican, who winked several times.
Padre Irene noticed these things and realized that his cause was almost lost—Simoun was against him.
“It’s a peaceful rebellion, a revolution on stamped paper,” added Padre Sibyla.
“Revolution? Rebellion?” inquired the high official, staring from one to the other as if he did not understand what they could mean.
“It’s headed by some young men charged with being too radical and too much interested in reforms, not to use stronger terms,” remarked the secretary, with a look at the Dominican. “Among them is a certain Isagani, a poorly balanced head, nephew of a native priest—”
“He’s a pupil of mine,” put in Padre Fernandez, “and I’m much pleased with him.”
“Puñales, I like your taste!” exclaimed Padre Camorra. “On the steamer we nearly had a fight. He’s so insolent that when I gave him a shove aside he returned it.”
“There’s also one Makaragui or Makarai—”
“Makaraig,” Padre Irene joined in. “A very pleasant and agreeable young man.”
Then he murmured into the General’s ear, “He’s the one I’ve talked to you about, he’s very rich. The Countess recommends him strongly.”
“Ah!”
“A medical student, one Basilio—”
“Of that Basilio, I’ll say nothing,” observed Padre Irene, raising his hands and opening them, as if to say Dominus vobiscum. “He’s too deep for me. I’ve never succeeded in fathoming what he wants or what he is thinking about. It’s a pity that Padre Salví isn’t present to tell us something about his antecedents. I believe that I’ve heard that when a boy he got into trouble with the Civil Guard. His father was killed in—I don’t remember what disturbance.”
Simoun smiled faintly, silently, showing his sharp white teeth.
“Aha! Aha!” said his Excellency nodding. “That’s the kind we have! Make a note of that name.”
“But, General,” objected the high official, seeing that the matter was taking a bad turn, “up to now nothing positive is known against these young men. Their position is a very just one, and we have no right to deny it on the ground of mere conjectures. My opinion is that the government, by exhibiting confidence in the people and in its own stability, should grant what is asked, then it could freely revoke the permission when it saw that its kindness was being abused—reasons and pretexts would not be wanting, we can watch them. Why cause disaffection among some young men, who later on may feel resentment, when what they ask is commanded by royal decrees?”
Padre Irene, Don Custodio, and Padre Fernandez nodded in agreement.
“But the Indians must not understand Castilian, you know,” cried Padre Camorra. “They mustn’t learn it, for then they’ll enter into arguments with us, and the Indians must not argue, but obey and pay. They mustn’t try to interpret the meaning of the laws and the books, they’re so tricky and pettifogish! Just as soon as they learn Castilian they become enemies of God and of Spain. Just read the Tandang Basio Macunat—that’s a book! It tells truths like this!” And he held up his clenched fists.
Padre Sibyla rubbed his hand over his tonsure in sign of impatience. “One word,” he began in the most conciliatory tone, though fuming with irritation, “here we’re not dealing with the instruction in Castilian alone. Here there is an underhand fight between the students and the University of Santo Tomás. If the students win this, our prestige will be trampled in the dirt, they will say that they’ve beaten us and will exult accordingly. Then, goodbye to moral strength, goodbye to everything! The first dike broken down, who will restrain this youth? With our fall we do no more than signal your own. After us, the government!”
“Puñales, that’s not so!” exclaimed Padre Camorra. “We’ll see first who has the biggest fists!”
At this point Padre Fernandez, who thus far in the discussion had merely contented himself with
