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Updated: May 25, 2025
"On the fact that, the hours for the classes having to come at night," continued Pecson in the same tone, as if he were quoting known and recognized formulas, "there may be invoked as an obstacle the immorality of the thing, as was done in the case of the school at Malolos." "Another!
When they had quieted down a little, Pecson replied, "Good, good, very good, but one supposition: if in spite of all that, the General consults and consults and consults, and afterwards refuses the permit?" This question fell like a dash of cold water. All turned to Sandoval, who was taken aback. "Then " he stammered. "Then?"
Sandoval, as a Peninsular and a liberal, became furious at this. "But pshaw!" he exclaimed, "that is holding a bad opinion of his Excellency! I know that he's quite a friar-lover, but in such a matter as this he won't let the friars interfere. Will you tell me, Pecson, on what you base your belief that the General has no judgment of his own?"
"Well, not long ago there was a dispute between some private persons and certain friars, and the acting Governor rendered a decision that it should be settled by the Provincial of the Order concerned," replied Pecson, again breaking out into a laugh, as though he were dealing with an insignificant matter, he cited names and dates, and promised documents that would prove how justice was dispensed.
"No, gentlemen," observed Pecson with his clownish grin, "to celebrate the event there's nothing like a banquet in a pansitería, served by the Chinamen without camisas. I insist, without camisas!"
Pecson, Tadeo, and Juanito Pelaez were all alike suspended the first receiving his dismissal with his foolish grin and declaring his intention of becoming an officer in some court, while Tadeo, with his eternal holiday realized at last, paid for an illumination and made a bonfire of his books.
All live at its cost, all share in its feast, and afterwards there is no worse country than the Philippines, there is no government more imperfect. Let us then dedicate the pansit to the country and to the government." "Agreed!" many exclaimed. "I protest!" cried Isagani. "Respect for the weaker, respect for the victims," called Pecson in a hollow voice, waving a chicken-bone in the air.
So it was that Padre Irene, fulfilling at the same time his duties as a friend and a critic, had initiated the applause to encourage her, for Serpolette deserved it. Meanwhile, the young men were waiting for the cancan. Pecson became all eyes, but there was everything except cancan.
An outburst of applause greeted this announcement. They fell to embracing one another and their eyes filled with tears. Pecson alone preserved his skeptical smile. The bearer of such good news was Makaraig, the young man at the head of the movement.
"Nevertheless," objected Pecson, "Victor Hugo " "Victor Hugo, my friend Pecson, if Victor Hugo is a poet, it is because he owes it to Spain, because it is an established fact, it is a matter beyond all doubt, a thing admitted even by the Frenchmen themselves, so envious of Spain, that if Victor Hugo has genius, if he 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 most beautiful concepts of his mind born.
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