The Social Cancer, by José Rizal - Home

CHAPTER LVIII 265
"My son-in-law hasn't done anything and he's got handcuffs on!" Ibarra turned to the guards. "Bind me, and
bind me well, elbow to elbow," he said.
"We haven't any order."
"Bind me!" And the soldiers obeyed.
The alferez appeared on horseback, armed to the teeth, ten or fifteen more soldiers following him.
Each prisoner had his family there to pray for him, to weep for him, to bestow on him the most endearing
names--all save Ibarra, who had no one, even Ñor Juan and the schoolmaster having disappeared.
"Look what you've done to my husband and my son!" Doray cried to him. "Look at my poor son! You've
robbed him of his father!"
So the sorrow of the families was converted into anger toward the young man, who was accused of having
started the trouble. The alferez gave the order to set out.
"You're a coward!" the mother-in-law of Andong cried after Ibarra. "While others were fighting for you, you
hid yourself, coward!"
"May you be accursed!" exclaimed an old man, running along beside him. "Accursed be the gold amassed by
your family to disturb our peace! Accursed! Accursed!"
"May they hang you, heretic!" cried a relative of Albino's. Unable to restrain himself, he caught up a stone and
threw it at the youth.
This example was quickly followed, and a rain of dirt and stones fell on the wretched young man. Without
anger or complaint, impassively he bore the righteous vengeance of so many suffering hearts. This was the
parting, the farewell, offered to him by the people among whom were all his affections. With bowed head, he
was perhaps thinking of a man whipped through the streets of Manila, of an old woman falling dead at the
sight of her son's head; perhaps Elias's history was passing before his eyes.
The alferez found it necessary to drive the crowd back, but the stone-throwing and the insults did not cease.
One mother alone did not wreak vengeance on him for her sorrows, Capitana Maria. Motionless, with lips
contracted and eyes full of silent tears, she saw her two sons move away; her firmness, her dumb grief
surpassed that of the fabled Niobe.
So the procession moved on. Of the persons who appeared at the few open windows those who showed most
pity for the youth were the indifferent and the curious. All his friends had hidden themselves, even Capitan
Basilio himself, who forbade his daughter Sinang to weep.
Ibarra saw the smoking ruins of his house--the home of his fathers, where he was born, where clustered the
fondest recollections of his childhood and his youth. Tears long repressed started into his eyes, and he bowed
his head and wept without having the consolation of being able to hide his grief, tied as he was, nor of having
any one in whom his sorrow awoke compassion. Now he had neither country, nor home, nor love, nor friends,
nor future!
From a slight elevation a man gazed upon the sad procession. He was an old man, pale and emaciated,
wrapped in a woolen blanket, supporting himself with difficulty on a staff. It was the old Sage, Tasio, who, on
hearing of the event, had left his bed to be present, but his strength had not been sufficient to carry him to the
town hall. The old man followed the cart with his gaze until it disappeared in the distance and then remained