Gradually the truth is unfolded to him, the legalized murder of his father, the dishonor to his father’s ashes; for, buried in a cemetery, the body of the elder Ibarra has been, at the friar’s orders, disinterred [73] and cast into the lake. Still he does not quite perceive what part Damaso has played in this nor understand that he himself is pricked next upon the roll of death. Soon or late, he must learn all. Then will devolve upon him the duty of vengeance. For safety’s sake the friar plans to silence him betimes. Meanwhile, the youth, in whom Rizal has typified the large generous notions he himself once entertained of Utopia under the rule of Spain, gives himself to projects for the elevation of his countrymen. He is impressed with the darkness of ignorance around him, with the almost comic futility of the educational system, which is no system at all. Meeting an old schoolmaster, he discusses these conditions, and thus is laid bare to us the means by which the native mind is kept in its prison-house. “How many pupils have you now?” asked Ibarra, with interest, after a pause. “More than two hundred on the roll, but only about twenty-five in actual attendance.” “How does that happen?” ... The schoolmaster shook his head sadly. “A poor teacher struggles against not only prejudice but also against certain influences. First, it would be necessary to have a suitable place and not to do as I must do at present—hold the classes under the convento by the side of the padre’s carriage. There the children, who like to read aloud, very naturally disturb the padre, and he often comes down, nervous, especially when he has his attacks, yells at them, and even insults me. You know that one can neither teach nor learn under such conditions....” The curate is the same Father Damaso, the friar with whom Ibarra’s father had quarreled. In his overbearing arrogance he has wantonly insulted the poor schoolmaster, who goes on thus with his narrative: