Why were the windows in the alferez’s house closed? Where was the masculine face and the flannel shirt of the Medusa or Muse of the Civil Guard while the procession was passing? Could she have understood how unpleasant was the sight of the swelling veins of her forehead, filled, it seemed, not with blood but with vinegar and bile; of her large cigar, that worthy ornament of her red lips; and of her envious look; could she have understood all of that, and, giving way to a generous impulse, have refrained from disturbing the gayety of the crowd by her sinister apparition?  
Alas! Her generous impulses lived only in the golden age.
 
Her house was sad because other people were merry, as Sinang put it. There neither lanterns nor flags could be seen. In fact, if the sentry were not walking up and down in front of the gate, you would have said that the house was unoccupied.
 
A feeble light illumined the disarranged sala, and made transparent the oyster-shell windows filled with spider-webs and covered with dust. The Se?ora, according to her custom, her hands folded, sat in a wide arm-chair. She was dressed the same as every day, that is to say, outrageously out of taste. In detail, she had a handkerchief tied around her head, while short, slender locks of tangled hair hung down on either side; a blue flannel shirt over another shirt which should have been white; and a faded-out skirt which moulded itself to her slender thighs as she sat with her legs crossed and nervously wiggled her foot. From her mouth, came big puffs of smoke, which she fastidiously blew up in the space toward which she looked when her eyes were open. [130]
 
That morning the Se?ora had not heard mass, not because she had not cared to hear it, for on the contrary she wanted to show herself to the multitude and to hear the sermon, but because her husband had not permitted her to do so. As was usually the case, his prohibition was accompanied by two or three insults, oaths and threats of kicking. The alferez understood that his “female” dressed herself in a ridiculous manner, and that it was not fitting to expose her to the eyes of the people from the capital nor even the country districts.
 
But she did not understand it that way. She knew that she was beautiful, attractive, that she had the manners of a queen and that she dressed much better and more gorgeously than Maria Clara herself, though to be sure the latter wore a tapis over her skirt while she wore only the skirt. The alferez had to say to her: “Oh, shut your mouth or I’ll kick you till you do!”
 
Do?a Consolacion did not care to be kicked, but she planned revenge.
 
The dark face of the Se?ora never had inspired confidence in anybody, not even when she painted it. That morning she was exceptionally uneasy, and as she walked from one end of the sala to the other, in silence and as if meditating something terrible, her eyes shone like those of a serpent about to be crushed. Her look was cold, luminous, and penetrating and had something vicious, loathsome and cruel in it.
 
The slightest defect in anything, the most insignificant or unusual noise brought forth an obscene and infamous expression; but no one responded. To offer an excuse was a crime.
 
So the day passed. Encountering no obstacle in her way—her husband had been invited out—she became saturated with bile.
 
Everything around bent itself before her. She met no resistance, there was nothing upon which she could discharge the vials of her wrath. Soldiers and servants crawled before her.
 
That she might not hear the rejoicing going on outside, she ordered the windows to be closed, and charged the sentry not to permit any one to enter. She tied a handkerchief [131]around her head to prevent it from bursting; and, in spite of the fact that the sun was still shining brightly, she ordered the lamps lighted.
 
A madwoman who had been detained for disturbing the public peace was taken to the barracks. The alferez was not there at the time and the unhappy woman had to pass the night seated on a bench. The following day the alferez returned. Fearing lest the unhappy woman should become the butt of the crowd during the fiesta, he ordered the soldiers who were guarding her to treat her with pity and give her something to eat. Thus the demented woman passed two days.
 
Whether the proximity to Captain Tiago’s house made it possible for the sad song of Maria Clara to reach her ears, whether other strains of music awoke in her memories of old songs, or whether there was some other cause for it, at any rate, the madwoman began that night to sing with a sweet and melancholy voice the songs of her youth. The soldiers heard her and kept silent. Those songs brought back memories of the old times.
 
Do?a Consolacion also heard it in her sorrow, and became interested in the person who was singing.
 
“Tell her to come upstairs at once!” she ordered, after some seconds of meditation. Something like a smile passed over her dry lips.
 
They brought the woman and she presented herself without any discomposure, and without manifesting either fear or surprise.
 
“Orderly, tell this woman in Tagalog to sing!” said the alfereza. “She don’t understand me; she does not know Spanish.”
 
The demented woman understood the orderly and sang the song “Night.”
 
Do?a Consolacion listened to the beginning with a mocking smile which disappeared gradually from her lips. She became attentive, then more serious and pensive. The woman’s voice, the sentiment of the verses and the song itself impressed her. That dry and burning heart was perhaps softened. She understood the song well: “Sadness, cold, and dampness, wrapped in the mantle of Night descend from the sky,” as the folk song [132]puts it. It seemed that they were also descending upon her heart. “The withered flower which during the day has paraded its dress, desirous of applause and full of vanity, at nightfall repenting, makes an effort to raise its faded petals to the sky, and begs for a little shade in which to hide itself, so as to die without the mockery of the light which saw it in its pomp, to die without the vanity of its pride being seen, and begging for a drop of dew, to weep over it. The night bird, leaving its solitary retreat in the hollow of the old tree, disturbs the melancholy of the forests....”
 
“No, no! Do not sing!” exclaimed the alfereza in perfect Tagalog and raising to her feet somewhat agitated. “Don’t sing! Those verses hurt me!”
 
The demented woman stopped. The orderly muttered “Bah!” and exclaimed “She knows how to patá Tagalog!” and stood looking at the se?ora full of surprise.
 
The Muse understood that she had been caught, and was ashamed. As her nature was not that of a woman, her shame took the form of rage and hatred. She pointed out the door to the impudent orderly and with a kick closed it behind him. She took several turns about the room, twisting a whip between her nervous hands, and then, stopping suddenly in front of the demented woman, said in Spanish: “Dance!”
 
The demented one did not move.
 
“Dance! Dance!” she repeated in a threatening voice.
 
The poor woman looked at the Se?ora, her eyes devoid of expression. The alfereza raised one arm and then the other, shaking them in a menacing way.
 
She then leaped up in the air, and jumped around urging the other woman to imitate her. The band in the procession could be heard playing a slow,............