CHAPTER XXII
THE PERFORMANCE
The interior of the theater presented a lively aspect. It was filledfrom top to bottom, with people standing in the corridors and inthe aisles, fighting to withdraw a head from some hole where theyhad inserted it, or to shove an eye between a collar and an ear. Theopen boxes, occupied for the most part by ladies, looked like basketsof flowers, whose petals--the fans--shook in a light breeze, whereinhummed a thousand bees. However, just as there are flowers of strongor delicate fragrance, flowers that kill and flowers that console,so from our baskets were exhaled like emanations: there were to beheard dialogues, conversations, remarks that bit and stung. Threeor four boxes, however, were still vacant, in spite of the latenessof the hour. The performance had been advertised for half-past eightand it was already a quarter to nine, but the curtain did not go up,as his Excellency had not yet arrived. The gallery-gods, impatientand uncomfortable in their seats, started a racket, clapping theirhands and pounding the floor with their canes.
"Boom--boom--boom! Ring up the curtain! Boom--boom--boom!"
The artillerymen were not the least noisy. Emulators of Mars, asBen-Zayb called them, they were not satisfied with this music; thinkingthemselves perhaps at a bullfight, they made remarks at the ladies whopassed before them in words that are euphemistically called flowersin Madrid, although at times they seem more like foul weeds. Withoutheeding the furious looks of the husbands, they bandied from one toanother the sentiments and longings inspired by so many beauties.
In the reserved seats, where the ladies seemed to be afraid to venture,as few were to be seen there, a murmur of voices prevailed amidsuppressed laughter and clouds of tobacco smoke. They discussed themerits of the players and talked scandal, wondering if his Excellencyhad quarreled with the friars, if his presence at such a show wasa defiance or mere curiosity. Others gave no heed to these matters,but were engaged in attracting the attention of the ladies, throwingthemselves into attitudes more or less interesting and statuesque,flashing diamond rings, especially when they thought themselves thefoci of insistent opera-glasses, while yet another would address arespectful salute to this or that senora or senorita, at the same timelowering his head gravely to whisper to a neighbor, "How ridiculousshe is! And such a bore!"
The lady would respond with one of her most gracious smiles and anenchanting nod of her head, while murmuring to a friend sitting near,amid lazy flourishes of her fan, "How impudent he is! He's madly inlove, my dear."
Meanwhile, the noise increased. There remained only two vacantboxes, besides that of his Excellency, which was distinguished byits curtains of red velvet. The orchestra played another waltz, theaudience protested, when fortunately there arose a charitable hero todistract their attention and relieve the manager, in the person ofa man who had occupied a reserved seat and refused to give it up toits owner, the philosopher Don Primitivo. Finding his own argumentsuseless, Don Primitivo had appealed to an usher. "I don't care to,"the hero responded to the latter's protests, placidly puffing at hiscigarette. The usher appealed to the manager. "I don't care to," wasthe response, as he settled back in the seat. The manager went away,while the artillerymen in the gallery began to sing out encouragementto the usurper.
Our hero, now that he had attracted general attention, thought thatto yield would be to lower himself, so he held on to the seat, whilehe repeated his answer to a pair of guards the manager had calledin. These, in consideration of the rebel's rank, went in search oftheir corporal, while the whole house broke out into applause at thefirmness of the hero, who remained seated like a Roman senator.
Hisses were heard, and the inflexible gentleman turned angrily to seeif they were meant for him, but the galloping of horses resoundedand the stir increased. One might have said that a revolution hadbroken out, or at least a riot, but no, the orchestra had suspendedthe waltz and was playing the royal march: it was his Excellency, theCaptain-General and Governor of the islands, who was entering. Alleyes sought and followed him, then lost sight of him, until hefinally appeared in his box. After looking all about him and makingsome persons happy with a lordly salute, he sat down, as though hewere indeed the man for whom the chair was waiting. The artillerymenthen became silent and the orchestra tore into the prelude.
Our students occupied a box directly facing that of Pepay, thedancing girl. Her box was a present from Makaraig, who had alreadygot on good terms with her in order to propitiate Don Custodio. Pepayhad that very afternoon written a note to the illustrious arbiter,asking for an answer and appointing an interview in the theater. Forthis reason, Don Custodio, in spite of the active opposition hehad manifested toward the French operetta, had gone to the theater,which action won him some caustic remarks on the part of Don Manuel,his ancient adversary in the sessions of the Ayuntamiento.
"I've come to judge the operetta," he had replied in the tone of aCato whose conscience was clear.
So Makaraig was exchanging looks of intelligence with Pepay, who wasgiving him to understand that she had something to tell him. As thedancing girl's face wore a happy expression, the students auguredthat a favorable outcome was assured. Sandoval, who had just returnedfrom making calls in other boxes, also assured them that the decisionhad been favorable, that that very afternoon the Superior Commissionhad considered and approved it. Every one was jubilant, even Pecsonhaving laid aside his pessimism when he saw the smiling Pepay displaya note. Sandoval and Makaraig congratulated one another, Isagani aloneremaining cold and unsmiling. What had happened to this young man?
Upon entering the theater, Isagani had caught sight of Paulita in abox, with Juanito Pelaez talking to her. He had turned pale, thinkingthat he must be mistaken. But no, it was she herself, she who greetedhim with a gracious smile, while her beautiful eyes seemed to beasking pardon and promising explanations. The fact was that they hadagreed upon Isagani's going first to the theater to see if the showcontained anything improper for a young woman, but now he found herthere, and in no other company than that of his rival. What passed inhis mind is indescribable: wrath, jealousy, humiliation, resentmentraged within him, and there were moments even when he wished thatthe theater would fall in; he had a violent desire to laugh aloud,to insult his sweetheart, to challenge his rival, to make a scene, butfinally contented himself with sitting quiet and not looking at her atall. He was conscious of the beautiful plans Makaraig and Sandoval weremaking, but they sounded like distant echoes, while the notes of thewaltz seemed sad and lugubrious, the whole audience stupid and foolish,and several times he had to make an effort to keep back the tears. Ofthe trouble stirred up by the hero who refused to give up the seat,of the arrival of the Captain-General, he was scarcely conscious. Hestared toward the drop-curtain, on which was depicted a kind ofgallery with sumptuous red hangings, affording a view of a garden inwhich a fountain played, yet how sad the gallery looked to him and howmelancholy the painted landscape! A thousand vague recollections surgedinto his memory like distant echoes of music heard in the night, likesongs of infancy, the murmur of lonely forests and gloomy rivulets,moonlit nights on the shore of the sea spread wide before his eyes. Sothe enamored youth considered himself very wretched and stared fixedlyat the ceiling so that the tears should not fall from his eyes.
A burst of applause drew him from these meditations. The curtainhad just risen, and the merry chorus of peasants of Corneville waspresented, all dressed in cotton caps, with heavy wooden sabots ontheir feet. Some six or seven girls, well-rouged on the lips andcheeks, with large black circles around their eyes to increase theirbrilliance, displayed white arms, fingers covered with diamonds,round and shapely limbs. While they were chanting the Norman phrase"_Allez, marchez! Allez, marchez!_" they smiled at their differentadmirers in the reserved seats with such openness that Don Custodio,after looking toward Pepay's box to assure himself that she wasnot doing the same thing with some other admirer, set down in hisnote-book this indecency, and to make sure of it lowered his head alittle to see if the actresses were not showing their k
nees.
"Oh, these Frenchwomen!" he muttered, while his imagination lostitself in considerations somewhat more elevated, as he made comparisonsand projects.
"_Quoi v'la tous les cancans d'la s'maine!_" sang Gertrude, a prouddamsel, who was looking roguishly askance at the Captain-General.
"We're going to have the cancan!" exclaimed Tadeo, the winner of thefirst prize in the French class, who had managed to make out thisword. "Makaraig, they're going to dance the cancan!"
He rubbed his hands gleefully. From the moment the curtain rose,Tadeo had been heedless of the music. He was looking only for theprurient, the indecent, the immoral in actions and dress, and withhis scanty French was sharpening his ears to catch the obscenitiesthat the austere guardians of the fatherland had foretold.
Sandoval, pretending to know French, had converted himself into akind of interpreter for his friends. He knew as much about it asTadeo, but the published synopsis helped him and his fancy suppliedthe rest. "Yes," he said, "they're going to dance the cancan--she'sgoing to lead it."
Makaraig and Pecson redoubled their attention, smiling in anticipation,while Isagani looked away, mortified to think that Paulita shouldbe present at such a show and reflecting that it was his duty tochallenge Juanito Pelaez the next day.
But the young men waited in vain. Serpolette came on, a charming girl,in her cotton cap, provoking and challenging. "_Hein, qui parle deSerpolette?_" she demanded of the gossips, with her arms akimbo ina combative attitude. Some one applauded, and after him all those inthe reserved seats. Without changing her girlish attitude, Serpolettegazed at the person who had started the applause and paid him with asmile, displaying rows of little teeth that looked like a string ofpearls in a case of red velvet.
Tadeo followed her gaze and saw a man in a false mustache with anextraordinarily large nose. "By the monk's cowl!" he exclaimed. "It'sIrene!"
"Yes," corroborated Sandoval, "I saw him behind the scenes talkingwith the actresses."
The truth was that Padre Irene, who was a melomaniac of the firstdegree and knew French well, had been sent to the theater by PadreSalvi as a sort of religious detective, or so at least he toldthe persons who recognized him. As a faithful critic, who shouldnot be satisfied with viewing the piece from a distance, he wishedto examine the actresses at first hand, so he had mingled in thegroups of admirers and gallants, had penetrated into the greenroom,where was whispered and talked a French required by the situation,a _market French_, a language that is readily comprehensible for thevender when the buyer seems disposed to pay well.
Serpolette was surrounded by two gallant officers, a sailor, and alawyer, when she caught sight of him moving about, sticking the tipof his long nose into all the nooks and corners, as though with ithe were ferreting out all the mysteries of the stage. She ceased herchatter, knitted her eyebrows, then raised them, opened her lips andwith the vivacity of a _Parisienne_ left her admirers to hurl herselflike a torpedo upon our critic.
"_Tiens, tiens, Toutou! Mon lapin!_" she cried, catching Padre Irene'sarm and shaking it merrily, while the air rang with her silvery laugh.
"Tut, tut!" objected Padre Irene, endeavoring to conceal himself.
"_Mais, comment! Toi ici, grosse bete! Et moi qui t'croyais--_"
"_'Tais pas d'tapage, Lily! Il faut m'respecter! 'Suis ici l'Pape!_"
With great difficulty Padre Irene made her listen to reason, for Lilywas _enchantee_ to meet in Manila an old friend who reminded her ofthe _coulisses_ of the Grand Opera House. So it was that Padre Irene,fulfilling at the same time his duties as a friend and a critic, hadinitiated the applause to encourage her, for Serpolette deserved it.
Meanwhile, the young men were waiting for the cancan. Pecson becameall eyes, but there was everything except cancan. There was presentedthe scene in which, but for the timely arrival of the representativesof the law, the women would have come to blows and torn one another'shair out, incited thereto by the mischievous peasants, who, like ourstudents, hoped to see something more than the cancan.
Scit, scit, scit, scit, scit, scit, Disputez-vous, battez-vous, Scit, scit, scit, scit, scit, scit, Nous allons compter les coups.
The music ceased, the men went away, the women returned, a few ata time, and started a conversation among themselves, of which ourfriends understood nothing. They were slandering some absent person.
"They look like the Chinamen of the _pansiteria!_" whispered Pecson.
"But, the cancan?" asked Makaraig.
"They're talking about the most suitable place to dance it," gravelyresponded Sandoval.
"They look like the Chinamen of the _pansiteria_," repeated Pecsonin disgust.
A lady accompanied by her husband entered at that moment and took herplace in one of the two vacant boxes. She had the air of a queen andgazed disdainfully at the whole house, as if to say, "I've come laterthan all of you, you crowd of upstarts and provincials, I've come laterthan you!" There are persons who go to the theater like the contestantsin a mule-race: the last one in, wins, and we know very sensible menwho would ascend the scaffold rather than enter a theater before thefirst act. But the lady's triumph was of short duration--she caughtsight of the other box that was still empty, and began to scold herbetter half, thus starting such a disturbance that many were annoyed.
"Ssh! Ssh!"
"The blockheads! As if they understood French!" remarked the lady,gazing with supreme disdain in all directions, finally fixing herattention on Juanito's box, whence she thought she had heard animpudent hiss.
Juanito was in fact guilty, for he had been pretending to understandeverything, holding himself up proudly and applauding at times asthough nothing that was said escaped him, and this too without guidinghimself by the actors' pantomime, because he scarcely looked towardthe stage. The rogue had intentionally remarked to Paulita that,as there was so much more beautiful a woman close at hand, he didnot care to strain his eyes looking beyond her. Paulita had blushed,covered her face with her fan, and glanced stealthily toward whereIsagani, silent and morose, was abstractedly watching the show.
Paulita felt nettled and jealous. Would Isagani fall in love withany of those alluring actresses? The thought put her in a bad humor,so she scarcely heard the praises that Dona Victorina was heapingupon her own favorite.
Juanito was playing his part well: he shook his head at times in signof disapproval, and then there could be heard coughs and murmurs insome parts, at other times he smiled in approbation, and a second laterapplause resounded. Dona Victorina was charmed, even conceiving somevague ideas of marrying the young man the day Don Tiburcio shoulddie--Juanito knew French and De Espadana didn't! Then she began toflatter him, nor did he perceive the change in the drift of her talk,so occupied was he in watching a Catalan merchant who was sittingnext to the Swiss consul. Having observed that they were conversing inFrench, Juanito was getting his inspiration from their countenances,and thus grandly giving the cue to those about him.
Scene followed scene, character succeeded character, comic andridiculous like the bailiff and Grenicheux, imposing and winsome likethe marquis and Germaine. The audience laughed heartily at the slapdelivered by Gaspard and intended for the coward Grenicheux, which wasreceived by the grave bailiff, whose wig went flying through the air,producing disorder and confusion as the curtain dropped.
"Where's the cancan?" inquired Tadeo.
But the curtain rose again immediately, revealing a scene in a servantmarket, with three posts on which were affixed signs bearing theannouncements: _servantes_, _cochers_, and _domestiques_. Juanito, toimprove the opportunity, turned to Dona Victorina and said in a loudvoice, so that Paulita might hear and he convinced of his learning:
"_Servantes_ means servants, _domestiques_ domestics."
"And in what way do the _servantes_ differ from the_domestiques_?" asked Paulita.
Juanito was not found wanting. "_Domestiques_ are those that aredomesticated--haven't you noticed that some of them have the air ofsavages? Those are the
_servantes_."
"That's right," added Dona Victorina, "some have very bad manners--andyet I thought that in Europe everybody was cultivated. But as ithappens in France,--well, I see!"
"Ssh! Ssh!"
But what was Juanito's predicament when the time came for the openingof the market and the beginning of the sale, and the servants who wereto be hired placed themselves beside the signs that indicated theirclass! The men, some ten or twelve rough characters in livery, carryingbranches in their hands, took their place under the sign _domestiques_!
"Those are the domestics," explained Juanito.
"Really, they have the appearance of being only recently domesticated,"observed Dona Victorina. "Now let's have a look at the savages."
Then the dozen girls headed by the lively and merry Serpolette, deckedout in their best clothes, each wearing a big bouquet of flowers atthe waist, laughing, smiling, fresh and attractive, placed themselves,to Juanito's great desperation, beside the post of the _servantes_.
"How's this?" asked Paulita guilelessly. "Are those the savages thatyou spoke of?"
"No," replied the imperturbable Juanito, "there's a mistake--they'vegot their places mixed--those coming behind--"
"Those with the whips?"
Juanito nodded assent, but he was rather perplexed and uneasy.
"So those girls are the _cochers_?"
Here Juanito was attacked by such a violent fit of coughing that someof the spectators became annoyed.
"Put him out! Put the consumptive out!" called a voice.
Consumptive! To be called a consumptive before Paulita! Juanitowanted to find the blackguard and make him swallow that"consumptive." Observing that the women were trying to hold him back,his bravado increased, and he became more conspicuously ferocious. Butfortunately it was Don Custodio who had made the diagnosis, and he,fearful of attracting attention to himself, pretended to hear nothing,apparently busy with his criticism of the play.
"If it weren't that I am with you," remarked Juanito, rolling hiseyes like some dolls that are moved by clockwork, and to make theresemblance more real he stuck out his tongue occasionally.
Thus that night he acquired in Dona Victorina's eyes the reputationof being brave and punctilious, so she decided in her heart thatshe would marry him just as soon as Don Tiburcio was out of theway. Paulita became sadder and sadder in thinking about how the girlscalled _cochers_ could occupy Isagani's attention, for the name hadcertain disagreeable associations that came from the slang of herconvent school-days.
At length the first act was concluded, the marquis taking away asservants Serpolette and Germaine, the representative of timid beautyin the troupe, and for coachman the stupid Grenicheux. A burst ofapplause brought them out again holding hands, those who five secondsbefore had been tormenting one another and were about to come to blows,bowing and smiling here and there to the gallant Manila public andexchanging knowing looks with various spectators.
While there prevailed the passing tumult occasioned by those whocrowded one another to get into the greenroom and felicitate theactresses and by those who were going to make calls on the ladies inthe boxes, some expressed their opinions of the play and the players.
"Undoubtedly, Serpolette is the best," said one with a knowing air.
"I prefer Germaine, she's an ideal blonde."
"But she hasn't any voice."
"What do I care about the voice?"
"Well, for shape, the tall one."
"Pshaw," said Ben-Zayb, "not a one is worth a straw, not a one isan artist!"
Ben-Zayb was the critic for _El Grito de la Integridad_, and hisdisdainful air gave him great importance in the eyes of those whowere satisfied with so little.
"Serpolette hasn't any voice, nor Germaine grace, nor is thatmusic, nor is it art, nor is it anything!" he concluded with markedcontempt. To set oneself up as a great critic there is nothing likeappearing to be discontented with everything. Besides, the managementhad sent only two seats for the newspaper staff.
In the boxes curiosity was aroused as to who could be the possessorof the empty one, for that person, would surpass every one in chic,since he would be the last to arrive. The rumor started somewherethat it belonged to Simoun, and was confirmed: no one had seen thejeweler in the reserved seats, the greenroom, or anywhere else.
"Yet I saw him this afternoon with Mr. Jouay," some one said. "Hepresented a necklace to one of the actresses."
"To which one?" asked some of the inquisitive ladies.
"To the finest of all, the one who made eyes at his Excellency."
This information was received with looks of intelligence, winks,exclamations of doubt, of confirmation, and half-uttered commentaries.
"He's trying to play the Monte Cristo," remarked a lady who pridedherself on being literary.
"Or purveyor to the Palace!" added her escort, jealous of Simoun.
In the students' box, Pecson, Sandoval, and Isagani had remained,while Tadeo had gone to engage Don Custodio in conversation abouthis projects, and Makaraig to hold an interview with Pepay.
"In no way, as I have observed to you before, friend Isagani,"declared Sandoval with violent gestures and a sonorous voice, sothat the ladies near the box, the daughters of the rich man who wasin debt to Tadeo, might hear him, "in no way does the French languagepossess the rich sonorousness or the varied and elegant cadence of theCastilian tongue. I cannot conceive, I cannot imagine, I cannot formany idea of French orators, and I doubt that they have ever had anyor can have any now in the strict construction of the term orator,because we must not confuse the name orator with the words babblerand charlatan, for these can exist in any country, in all the regionsof the inhabited world, among the cold and curt Englishmen as amongthe lively and impressionable Frenchmen."
Thus he delivered a magnificent review of the nations, with hispoetical characterizations and most resounding epithets. Isagani noddedassent, with his thoughts fixed on Paulita, whom he had surprisedgazing at him with an expressive look which contained a wealth ofmeaning. He tried to divine what those eyes were expressing--thoseeyes that were so eloquent and not at all deceptive.
"Now you who are a poet, a slave to rhyme and meter, a son of theMuses," continued Sandoval, with an elegant wave of his hand, asthough he were saluting, on the horizon, the Nine Sisters, "do youcomprehend, can you conceive, how a language so harsh and unmusicalas French can give birth to poets of such gigantic stature as ourGarcilasos, our Herreras, our Esproncedas, our Calderons?"
"Nevertheless," objected Pecson, "Victor Hugo--"
"Victor Hugo, my friend Pecson, if Victor Hugo is a poet, it isbecause he owes it to Spain, because it is an established fact, itis a matter beyond all doubt, a thing admitted even by the Frenchmenthemselves, so envious of Spain, that if Victor Hugo has genius, ifhe really is a poet, it is because his childhood was spent in Madrid;there he drank in his first impressions, there his brain was molded,there his imagination was colored, his heart modeled, and the mostbeautiful concepts of his mind born. And after all, who is VictorHugo? Is he to be compared at all with our modern--"
This peroration was cut short by the return of Makaraig with adespondent air and a bitter smile on his lips, carrying in his handa note, which he offered silently to Sandoval, who read:
"MY DOVE: Your letter has reached me late, for I have already handed in my decision, and it has been approved. However, as if I had guessed your wish, I have decided the matter according to the desires of your proteges. I'll be at the theater and wait for you after the performance.
"Your duckling,
"CUSTODINING."
"How tender the man is!" exclaimed Tadeo with emotion.
"Well?" said Sandoval. "I don't see anything wrong about this--quitethe reverse!"
"Yes," rejoined Makaraig with his bitter smile, "decidedfavorably! I've just seen Padre Irene."
"What does Padre Irene say?" inquired Pecson.
"The same as Don Custodio, and the rascal st
ill had the audacityto congratulate me. The Commission, which has taken as its own thedecision of the arbiter, approves the idea and felicitates the studentson their patriotism and their thirst for knowledge--"
"Well?"
"Only that, considering our duties--in short, it says that in orderthat the idea may not be lost, it concludes that the directionand execution of the plan should be placed in charge of one ofthe religious corporations, in case the Dominicans do not wish toincorporate the academy with the University."
Exclamations of disappointment greeted the announcement. Isagani rose,but said nothing.
"And in order that we may participate in the management of theacademy," Makaraig went on, "we are intrusted with the collectionof contributions and dues, with the obligation of turning them overto the treasurer whom the corporation may designate, which treasurerwill issue us receipts."
"Then we're tax-collectors!" remarked Tadeo.
"Sandoval," said Pecson, "there's the gauntlet--take it up!"
"Huh! That's not a gauntlet--from its odor it seems more like a sock."
"The funniest, part of it," Makaraig added, "is that Padre Irene hasadvised us to celebrate the event with a banquet or a torchlightprocession--a public demonstration of the students _en masse_ torender thanks to all the persons who have intervened in the affair."
"Yes, after the blow, let's sing and give thanks. _Super fluminaBabylonis sedimus_!"
"Yes, a banquet like that of the convicts," said Tadeo.
"A banquet at which we all wear mourning and deliver funeral orations,"added Sandoval.
"A serenade with the Marseillaise and funeral marches," proposedIsagani.
"No, gentlemen," observed Pecson with his clownish grin, "to celebratethe event there's nothing like a banquet in a _pansiteria_, servedby the Chinamen without camisas. I insist, without camisas!"
The sarcasm and grotesqueness of this idea won it ready acceptance,Sandoval being the first to applaud it, for he had long wished to seethe interior of one of those establishments which at night appearedto be so merry and cheerful.
Just as the orchestra struck up for the second act, the young menarose and left the theater, to the scandal of the whole house.