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When his grief was somewhat soothed, Father Dámaso was introduced by Doña Victorina to the young Linares, who approached the friar with respect. Father Dámaso gazed at him in silence from head to foot. He took the letter which the young man handed to him and read it apparently without understanding it, for he asked him: "And who are you?"
Padre Damaso dropped his head on his chest and remained silent for a long time. "Daughter in God," he exclaimed at length in a broken voice, "forgive me for having made you unhappy without knowing it. I was thinking of your future, I desired your happiness. How could I permit you to marry a native of the country, to see you an unhappy wife and a wretched mother?
As he turned about, he came face to face with the lieutenant just approaching. "My boy, are you the son of Don Rafael Ibarra?" The young man bowed in acquiescence. Father Dámaso settled back into his arm-chair and fixed his eyes upon the lieutenant. "Welcome to your country! May you be more happy in it than was your father!" exclaimed the officer in a trembling voice.
Believe me, little girl, time will wipe away everything. Later on you will forget, you will love, you will love your husband Linares." "The nunnery or death!" "The nunnery, the nunnery, or death!" exclaimed Padre Damaso. "Maria, I am now an old man, I shall not be able much longer to watch over you and your welfare.
"It must be painful to leave a town where one has been for twenty years and which he knows as well as the clothes he wears. I certainly was sorry to leave Kamiling and that after I had been there only a few months. But my superiors did it for the good of the Orders for my own good." Fray Damaso, for the first time that evening, seemed to be very thoughtful.
At last Pierre raised his eyes to the Vatican, but facing the piazza there was here merely a confused jumble of walls, amidst which only two gleams of light appeared on the floor of the papal apartments. The Court of San Damaso was, however, lighted, for the conservatory-like glass-work of two of its sides sparkled as with the reflection of gas lamps which could not be seen.
Fray Damaso arose with an effort, but the youth caught him by the neck and shook him until he again fell doubled over on his knees. "Señor Ibarra! Señor Ibarra!" stammered some. But no one, not even the alferez himself, dared to approach the gleaming knife, when they considered the youth's strength and the condition of his mind. All seemed to be paralyzed. "You, here!
Juan Crisostomo Ibarra is a young Filipino, who, after studying for seven years in Europe, returns to his native land to find that his father, a wealthy landowner, has died in prison as the result of a quarrel with the parish curate, a Franciscan friar named Padre Damaso.
Padre Damaso smashed a lamp with his fist because up to now he hasn't won on a single card. The Consul has lost on his cocks and in the bank all that he won from us at the fiesta of Biñan and at that of the Virgin of the Pillar in Santa Cruz.
"A father's memory is more sacred!" replied Capitana Maria. "No one, not even the Pope himself, much less Padre Damaso, may profane such a holy memory." "That's true!" murmured Capitana Tinay, admiring the wisdom of both. "Where did you get such good ideas?" "But the excommunication and the condemnation?" exclaimed Sister Rufa.
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