An Eagle Flight
Copyright© 2024 by José Rizal
His Excellency.
“I want to talk with that young man,” said the general to one of his aids; “he rouses all my interest.”
“He has been sent for, my general; but there is here another young man of Manila who insists upon seeing you. We told him you have not the time; that you did not come to give audiences. He replied that Your Excellency has always the time to do justice.”
The general, perplexed, turned to the alcalde.
“If I am not mistaken,” said the alcalde, with an inclination of the head, “it is a student who this morning had trouble with Father Dámaso about the sermon.”
“Another still? Has this monk started out to put the province to revolt, or does he think he commands here? Admit the young man!” And the governor got up and walked nervously back and forth.
In the ante-chamber some Spanish officers and all the functionaries of the pueblo were talking in groups. All the monks, too, except Father Dámaso, had come to pay their respects to the governor.
“His Excellency begs your reverences to attend a moment,” said the aide-de-camp. “Enter, young man!”
The young Manilian who confounded the Tagalo with the Greek entered, trembling.
Every one was greatly astonished. His Excellency must be much annoyed to make the monks wait this way. Said Brother Sibyla:
“I have nothing to say to him, and I’m wasting my time here.”
“I also,” said an Augustin. “Shall we go?”
“Would it not be better to find out what he thinks?” asked Brother Salvi. “We should avoid a scandal, and we could remind him—of his duty——”
“Your reverences may enter,” said the aid, conducting back the young man, who came out radiant.
The fathers went in and saluted the governor.
“Who among your reverences is the Brother Dámaso?” demanded His Excellency at once, without asking them to be seated or inquiring for their health, and without any of those complimentary phrases which form the repertory of dignitaries.
“Señor, Father Dámaso is not with us,” replied Father Sibyla, in a tone almost as dry.
“Your Excellency’s servant is ill,” added the humble Brother Salvi. “We come, after saluting Your Excellency and inquiring for his health, to speak in the name of Your Excellency’s respectful servant, who has had the misfortune——”
“Oh!” interrupted the captain-general, with a nervous smile, while he twirled a chair on one leg. “If all the servants of my Excellency were like the Father Dámaso, I should prefer to serve my Excellency myself!”
Their reverences did not seem to know what to reply.
“Won’t your reverences sit down?” added the governor in more conventional tone.
Captain Tiago, in evening dress and walking on tiptoe, came in, leading by the hand Maria Clara, hesitating, timid. Overcoming her agitation, she made her salute, at once ceremonial and graceful.
“This sigñorita is your daughter!” exclaimed the surprised governor. “Happy the fathers whose daughters are like you, sigñorita. They have told me about you, and I wish to thank you in the name of His Majesty the King, who loves the peace and tranquillity of his subjects, and in my own name, in that of a father who has daughters. If there is anything you would wish, sigñorita——”
“Señor!” protested Maria, trembling.
“The Señor Don Juan Crisóstomo Ibarra awaits Your Excellency’s orders,” announced the ringing voice of the aide-de-camp.
“Permit me, sigñorita, to see you again before I leave the pueblo. I have yet things to say to you. Señor acalde, Your Highness will accompany me on the walk I wish to take after the private conference I shall have with the Señor Ibarra.”
“Your Excellency,” said Father Salvi humbly, “will permit us to inform him that the Señor Ibarra is excommunicated——”
The general broke in.
“I am happy,” he said, “in being troubled about nothing but the state of Father Dámaso. I sincerely desire his complete recovery, for, at his age, a voyage to Spain in search of health would be somewhat disagreeable. But all depends upon him. Meanwhile, God preserve the health of your reverences!”
All retired.
“In his own case also everything depends upon him,” murmured Brother Salvi as he went out.
“We shall see who makes the earliest voyage to Spain!” added another Franciscan.
“I shall go immediately,” said Father Sibyla, in vexation.
“We, too,” grumbled the Augustins.
Both parties bore it ill that for the fault of a Franciscan His Excellency should have received them so coldly.
In the ante-chamber they encountered Ibarra, who a few hours before had been their host. There was no exchange of greetings, but there were eloquent looks. The alcalde, on the contrary, gave Ibarra his hand. On the threshold Crisóstomo met Maria coming out. Looks spoke again, but very differently this time.
Though this encounter with the monks had seemed to him of bad augury, Ibarra presented himself in the utmost calm. He bowed profoundly. The captain-general came forward.
“It gives me the greatest satisfaction, Señor Ibarra, to take you by the hand. I hope for your entire confidence.” And he examined the young man with evident satisfaction.
“Señor, so much kindness——”
“Your surprise shows that you did not expect a friendly reception; that was to doubt my fairness.”
“A friendly reception, señor, for an insignificant subject of His Majesty, like myself, is not fairness, but favor.”
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