The Social Cancer, by José Rizal - Home
The Social Cancer, by José Rizal - Home
The Social Cancer, by José Rizal - Home
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CHAPTER XXIII 112<br />
the cares and sorrows of the married state, yet not passing over its joys.<br />
<strong>The</strong>y then asked Maria Clara to sing, but she protested that all her songs were sad ones. This protest, however,<br />
was overruled so she held back no longer. Taking the harp, she played a short prelude and then sang in a<br />
harmonious and vibrating voice full of feeling:<br />
Sweet are the hours in one's native land, Where all is dear the sunbeams bless; Life-giving breezes sweep the<br />
strand, And death is soften'd <strong>by</strong> love's caress.<br />
Warm kisses play on mother's lips, On her fond, tender breast awaking; When round her neck the soft arm<br />
slips, And bright eyes smile, all love partaking.<br />
Sweet is death for one's native land, Where all is dear the sunbeams bless; Dead is the breeze that sweeps the<br />
strand, Without a mother, home, or love's caress.<br />
<strong>The</strong> song ceased, the voice died away, the harp became silent, and they still listened; no one applauded. <strong>The</strong><br />
young women felt their eyes fill with tears, and Ibarra seemed to be unpleasantly affected. <strong>The</strong> youthful pilot<br />
stared motionless into the distance.<br />
Suddenly a thundering roar was heard, such that the women screamed and covered their ears; it was the<br />
ex-theological student blowing with all the strength of his lungs on the tambuli, or carabao horn. Laughter and<br />
cheerfulness returned while tear-dimmed eyes brightened. "Are you trying to deafen us, you heretic?" cried<br />
Aunt Isabel.<br />
"Madam," replied the offender gravely, "I once heard of a poor trumpeter on the banks of the Rhine who, <strong>by</strong><br />
playing on his trumpet, won in marriage a rich and noble maiden."<br />
"That's right, the trumpeter of Sackingen!" exclaimed Ibarra, unable to resist taking part in the renewed<br />
merriment.<br />
"Do you hear that?" went on Albino. "Now I want to see if I can't have the same luck." So saying, he began to<br />
blow with even more force into the resounding horn, holding it close to the ears of the girls who looked<br />
saddest. As might be expected, a small tumult arose and the mothers finally reduced him to silence <strong>by</strong> beating<br />
him with their slippers [71] and pinching him.<br />
"My, oh my!" he complained as he felt of his smarting arms, "what a distance there is between the Philippines<br />
and the banks of the Rhine! O tempora! O mores! Some are given honors and others sanbenitos!"<br />
All laughed at this, even the grave Victoria, while Sinang, she of the smiling eyes, whispered to Maria Clara,<br />
"Happy girl! I, too, would sing if I could!"<br />
Andeng at length announced that the soup was ready to receive its guests, so the young fisherman climbed up<br />
into the pen placed at the narrower end of the corral, over which might be written for the fishes, were they<br />
able to read and understand Italian, "Lasciate ogni speranza voi ch' entrante," [72] for no fish that gets in<br />
there is ever released except <strong>by</strong> death. This division of the corral encloses a circular space so arranged that a<br />
man can stand on a platform in the upper part and draw the fish out with a small net.<br />
"I shouldn't get tired fishing there with a pole and line," commented Sinang, trembling with pleasant<br />
anticipation.<br />
All were now watching and some even began to believe that they saw the fishes wriggling about in the net and<br />
showing their glittering scales. But when the youth lowered his net not a fish leaped up.