Nationalists -- Philippines -- Fiction; Philippine fiction (Spanish) -- Translations into English; Philippines -- History -- Fiction
Conjecturing that Calle Anloague was to be the scene of action, thither
the youth directed his steps, hurrying forward and getting ahead of the
carriages, which were, in fact, all moving toward the former house of
Capitan Tiago—there they were assembling in search of a ball, but
actually to dance in the air! Basilio smiled when he noticed the pairs
of civil-guards who formed the escort, and from their number he could
guess the importance of the fiesta and the guests. The house overflowed
with people and poured floods of light from its windows, the entrance
was carpeted and strewn with flowers. Upstairs there, perhaps in his
former solitary room, an orchestra was playing lively airs, which did
not completely drown the confused tumult of talk and laughter.
Don Timoteo Pelaez was reaching the pinnacle of fortune, and the
reality surpassed his dreams. He was, at last, marrying his son to the
rich Gomez heiress, and, thanks to the money Simoun had lent him, he
had royally furnished that big house, purchased for half its value, and
was giving in it a splendid fiesta, with the foremost divinities of the
Manila Olympus for his guests, to gild him with the light of their
prestige. Since that morning there had been recurring to him, with the
persistence of a popular song, some vague phrases that he had read in
the communion service. “Now has the fortunate hour come! Now draws nigh
the happy moment! Soon there will be fulfilled in you the admirable
words of Simoun—‘I live, and yet not I alone, but the Captain-General
liveth in me.’” The Captain-General the patron of his son! True, he had
not attended the ceremony, where Don Custodio had represented him, but
he would come to dine, he would bring a wedding-gift, a lamp which not
even Aladdin’s—between you and me, Simoun was presenting the lamp.
Timoteo, what more could you desire?
The transformation that Capitan Tiago’s house had undergone was
considerable—it had been richly repapered, while the smoke and the
smell of opium had been completely eradicated. The immense sala,
widened still more by the colossal mirrors that infinitely multiplied
the lights of the chandeliers, was carpeted throughout, for the salons
of Europe had carpets, and even though the floor was of wide boards
brilliantly polished, a carpet it must have too, since nothing should
be lacking. The rich furniture of Capitan Tiago had disappeared and in
its place was to be seen another kind, in the style of Louis XV. Heavy
curtains of red velvet, trimmed with gold, with the initials of the
bridal couple worked on them, and upheld by garlands of artificial
orange-blossoms, hung as portières and swept the floor with their wide
fringes, likewise of gold. In the corners appeared enormous Japanese
vases, alternating with those of Sèvres of a clear dark-blue, placed
upon square pedestals of carved wood.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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