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 VII 51<br />
"Could I forget you? <strong>The</strong> thought of you has ever been with me, strengthening me amid the dangers of travel,<br />
and has been a comfort to my soul's loneliness in foreign lands. <strong>The</strong> thoughts of you have neutralized the<br />
lotus-effect of Europe, which erases from the memories of so many of our countrymen the hopes and<br />
misfortunes of our fatherland. In dreams I saw you standing on the shore at Manila, gazing at the far horizon<br />
wrapped in the warm light of the early dawn. I heard the slow, sad song that awoke in me sleeping affections<br />
and called back to the memory of my heart the first years of our childhood, our joys, our pleasures, and all that<br />
happy past which you gave life to while you were in our town. It seemed to me that you were the fairy, the<br />
spirit, the poetic incarnation of my fatherland, beautiful, unaffected, lovable, frank, a true daughter of the<br />
Philippines, that beautiful land which unites with the imposing virtues of the mother country, Spain, the<br />
admirable qualities of a young people, as you unite in your being all that is beautiful and lovely, the<br />
inheritance of both races" so indeed the love of you and that of my fatherland have become fused into one.<br />
"Could I forget you? Many times have I thought that I heard the sound of your piano and the accents of your<br />
voice. When in Germany, as I wandered at twilight in the woods, peopled with the fantastic creations of its<br />
poets and the mysterious legends of past generations, always I called upon your name, imagining that I saw<br />
you in the mists that rose from the depths of the valley, or I fancied that I heard your voice in the rustling of<br />
the leaves. When from afar I heard the songs of the peasants as they returned from their labors, it seemed to<br />
me that their tones harmonized with my inner voices, that they were singing for you, and thus they lent reality<br />
to my illusions and dreams. At times I became lost among the mountain paths and while the night descended<br />
slowly, as it does there, I would find myself still wandering, seeking my way among the pines and beeches<br />
and oaks. <strong>The</strong>n when some scattering rays of moonlight slipped down into the clear spaces left in the dense<br />
foliage, I seemed to see you in the heart of the forest as a dim, loving shade wavering about between the spots<br />
of light and shadow. If perhaps the nightingale poured forth his varied trills, I fancied it was because he saw<br />
you and was inspired <strong>by</strong> you.<br />
"Have I thought of you? <strong>The</strong> fever of love not only gave warmth to the snows but colored the ice! <strong>The</strong><br />
beautiful skies of Italy with their clear depths reminded me of your eyes, its sunny landscape spoke to me of<br />
your smile; the plains of Andalusia with their scent-laden airs, peopled with oriental memories, full of<br />
romance and color, told me of your love! On dreamy, moonlit nights, while boating oil the Rhine, I have<br />
asked myself if my fancy did not deceive me as I saw you among the poplars on the banks, on the rocks of the<br />
Lorelei, or in the midst of the waters, singing in the silence of the night as if you were a comforting fairy<br />
maiden sent to enliven the solitude and sadness of those ruined castles!"<br />
"I have not traveled like you, so I know only your town and Manila and Antipolo," she answered with a smile<br />
which showed that she believed all he said. "But since I said good-<strong>by</strong> to you and entered the convent, I have<br />
always thought of you and have only put you out of my mind when ordered to do so <strong>by</strong> my confessor, who<br />
imposed many penances upon me. I recalled our games and our quarrels when we were children. You used to<br />
pick up the most beautiful shells and search in the river for the roundest and smoothest pebbles of different<br />
colors that we might play games with them. You were very stupid and always lost, and <strong>by</strong> way of a forfeit I<br />
would slap you with the palm of my hand, but I always tried not to strike you hard, for I had pity on you. In<br />
those games you cheated much, even more than I did, and we used to finish our play in a quarrel. Do you<br />
remember that time when you became really angry at me? <strong>The</strong>n you made me suffer, but afterwards, when I<br />
thought of it in the convent, I smiled and longed for you so that we might quarrel again--so that we might<br />
once more make up. We were still children and had gone with your mother to bathe in the brook under the<br />
shade of the thick bamboo. On the banks grew many flowers and plants whose strange names you told me in<br />
Latin and Spanish, for you were even then studying in the Ateneo. [44] I paid no attention, but amused myself<br />
<strong>by</strong> running after the needle-like dragon-flies and the butterflies with their rainbow colors and tints of<br />
mother-of-pearl as they swarmed about among the flowers. Sometimes I tried to surprise them with my hands<br />
or to catch the little fishes that slipped rapidly about amongst the moss and stones in the edge of the water.<br />
Once you disappeared suddenly and when you returned you brought a crown of leaves and orange blossoms,<br />
which you placed upon my head, calling me Chloe. For yourself you made one of vines. But your mother<br />
snatched away my crown, and after mashing it with a stone mixed it with the gogo with which she was going