To the Flowers of Heidelberg

Jose Rizal wrote To the Flowers of Heidelberg on April 24, 1886 while he was in Germany
and studying to be a good ophthalmologist. He was fascinated by the flowers in spring in
Heidelberg and wrote this poem feeling a deep longing for his family and his country.
Go to my country, go, O foreign flowers,
sown by the traveler along the road,
and under that blue heaven
that watches over my loved ones,
recount the devotion
the pilgrim nurses for his native sod!
Go and say say that when dawn
opened your chalices for the first time
beside the icy Neckar,
you saw him silent beside you,
thinking of her constant vernal clime.
Say that when dawn
which steals your aroma
was whispering playful love songs to your young
sweet petals, he, too, murmured
canticles of love in his native tongue;
that in the morning when the sun first traces
the topmost peak of Koenigssthul in gold
and with a mild warmth raises
to life again the valley, the glade, the forest,
he hails that sun, still in its dawning,
that in his country in full zenith blazes.
And tell of that day
when he collected you along the way
among the ruins of a feudal castle,
on the banks of the Neckar, or in a forest nook.
Recount the words he said
as, with great care,
between the pages of a worn-out book
he pressed the flexible petals that he took.

Bonifacio, Andres. "What the Filipinos Should Know." In The Writings and
Trial of Andres Bonifacio, trans. Teodoro A. Agoncillo and S. V. Epistola.
Manila: Antonio J. Villegas; Manila Bonifacio Centennial Commission;
University of the Philippines, 1963. 2-3.
[2]
What the Filipinos Should Know1
The Filipinos, who in early times were governed by our true countrymen before the
coming of the Spaniards, were living in great abundance and prosperity. They were
at peace with the inhabitants of the neighboring countries, especially with the
Japanese with whom they traded and exchanged goods of all kinds. The means of
livelihood increased tremendously, and for this reason, everybody had a nobility of
heart, whilst young and old, including women, knew how to read and write in our
autochthonous alphabet. The Spaniards came and offered us friendship. The selfgoverning people, because they were ably convinced that we shall be guided
toward a better condition and led to a path of knowledge, were crumpled by the
honeyed words of deceit. Even so, they [the Spaniards] were obliged to follow the
customs of the Filipinos, their agreement having been sealed and made binding by
means of an oath that consisted in taking a quantity of blood from each other's
vein, mixing and drinking it, as a token of their true and loyal promise not to be
faithless to what had been agreed upon. This was called the Blood Compact of King
Sikatuna and Legazpi, who represented the King of Spain. 2

More than three hundred years have elapsed since then, and for that length of time
we have been bountifully supplying the needs of Legazpi's countrymen, we have
been feeding them lavishly, even if we had to suffer privation and extreme hunger;
we have spent our wealth, blood and life itself in their defense; we even went so far
as to fight our own countrymen who refused to submit to them; and likewise, we
combated the Chinese and the Dutch who attempted to wrest the Philippines from
them.3
Now, for all this, what is the tangible concession that has been bestowed upon our
country in exchange for what we have done? What do we see in the way of keeping
faith with their promise that was the cause of our sacrifices? None but treachery is
the reward for our munificence, and instead of keeping their promise that we would
be led to the path of knowledge, they have blinded us and contaminated us with
their meanness of character and forcibly destroyed the sanctity of our country's
[3]
customs. We have been nurtured in a false belief and the honor of our people has

been dragged into the mire of evil. And if we dare beg for a little love, they retaliate
by banishing us and tearing us away from our beloved children, wives, and aged
parents. Every sigh that escapes our breast is branded as a grave sin and is
immediately punished with brute ferocity.4
Now nothing can be considered stable in our loves; our peace is now always
disturbed by the moans and lamentations, by the sighs and griefs of innumerable
orphans, widows and parents of the countrymen who were wronged by the Spanish
usurpers; now we are being deluged by the streaming tears of a mother whose son
was put to death, by the wails of tender children orphaned by cruelty and whose
every tear that falls is like molten lead that scars the painful wound of our suffering
hearts; now we are more and more being bound with the chains of slavery, chains
that are shameful to every man of honor. What, then, must we do? The sun of
reason that shines in the East clearly shows to our eyes that have long been blinded
the path that we ought to follow: by its light we can see the claws of cruelty
threatening us with death. Reason tells us that we cannot expect anything but more
and more sufferings, more and more treachery, more and more insults, and more
and more slavery. Reason tells us not to fritter away time hoping for the promised
prosperity that will never come and will never materialize. Reason teaches us to rely
on ourselves and not to depend on others for our living. Reason tells us to be united
in sentiment, in thought, and in purpose in order that we may have the strength to
find the means of combating the prevailing evils in our country. 5
It is now time for the light of truth to shine; it is now time for us to show that we
have feelings, honor, shame, and mutual cooperation. Now is the time to commence
the diffusion of the noble and great gospel that will rend asunder the thick curtain
that obfuscates our minds; now is the time for the Filipinos to know the sources of
their misfortunes. Now is the time to realize that for every move we make we are
stepping on and heading toward the brink of the abyss of death that our enemies
have dug to ensnare us.
Therefore, O my countrymen! let us open the eyes of our minds and voluntarily
consecrate our strength to what is good in the true and full faith that the prosperity
of the land of our birth, which is aimed at, will come to pass.

Ileto literally (and more accurately) translates the title as "What the Tagalogs
Should Know." Reynaldo Clemena Ileto, Pasyon and Revolution: Popular Movements
in the Philippines, 1840-1910 (Quezon City: Ateneo de Manila University Press, 1989
[1979]), p. 82.
2

Ileto's translation:

In the early days, before the Spaniards set foot on our soil which was governed by

our compatriots, Katagalugan enjoyed a life of great abundance (kasaganaan) and

prosperity (kaginhawaan). She maintained good relations with her neighbors,
especially with Japan, and maintained trade relationships with them all. That is why
there was wealth and good behavior in everyone; young and old, women included,
could read and write using their own alphabet. Then the Spaniards came and
appeared to offer to guide us toward increased betterment and awakening of our
minds; our leaders became seduced by the sweetness of such enticing words. The
Spaniards, however, were required to comply with the existing customs of the
Tagalogs, and to bind their agreements by means of an oath, which consisted of
taking blood from each other's veins, mixing and drinking it as a sign of genuine
and wholehearted sincerity in pledging not to be traitorous to their agreement. This
was called the "Blood Compact" of King Sikatuna and Legaspi, the representative of
the King of Spain.
Ileto, Pasyon, p. 83
3

Ileto's translation:

Since then, for three hundred years, we have been giving a most prosperous life to
the race of Legaspi; we have let them enjoy abundance and fatten themselves,
even if we ourselves were deprived and hungry. We have wasted our wealth and
blood in defending them even against our own countrymen who refused to submit
to their rule; and we have fought the Chinese and the Hollanders who tried to take
Katagalugan from them.
Ileto, Pasyon, p. 84.
4

Ileto's translation:

Now, after all this, what prosperity (ginhawa) have they given to our land? Do we
see them fulfilling their side of the contract which we ourselves fulfilled with
sacrifices? We see nothing but treachery as a reward for our favors; as their
fulfillment of the promise to awaken us to a better life, they have only blinded us
more, contaminating us with their lowly behavior, forcibly destroying the good
customs of our land. They have awakened us to false beliefs, and have cast into a
mire the honor (puri) of our land. And if we beg for scraps of compassion, their reply
is banishment and separation from our beloved children, spouses, [end of page 84]
and parents. Every sigh we utter is branded by them a great sin and punished with
inhuman cruelty.
Ileto, Pasyon, p. 84-5.
5

Ileto's translation, beginning with the second sentence of the paragraph:

What should be done, then? The sun of reason that shines in the East clearly shows,
to our eyes long blind, the way (landas) that must be taken; its liwanag [end of Ileto,
page 85] enables us to see the claws of those of inhuman character who brought us
death. Reason (katwiran) shows that we cannot expect anything but more and more
hardships, more and more treachery, more and more contempt, more and more
enslavement. Reason tells us not to waste our time waiting for the promised
ginhawa that will never arrive. Reason tells us that we must rely upon ourselves
alone and never entrust our right to life to anybody. Reason tells us to be one in
loob, one in thought, so that we may have the strength in finding that evil,reigning
in our land.

Light and Darkness (novel)

Light and Darkness or Light and Dark ( Mei An?) is the last novel by Natsume Sseki. It was
incomplete at time of his death in 1916. It has been translated into English by V. H. Viglielmo and John
Nathan.
History
Mei An was first published in daily serialized installments in the Tokyo and Osaka editions of the Asahi
Shimbun beginning on May 16, 1916. It was the ninth and last of his novels to be serialized by the
newspaper.[1]
In a letter to the paper's editor, Sseki explained that because of his illnessa combination of bleeding
ulcers, intestinal catarrh, and hemorrhoidshe only began work on the novel a week before the
serialization was scheduled to run.[1] He also remarked that he was able to complete nine installments
before the serialization was published, a lead he managed to maintain until his death on December 9,
1916.
The writing of the novel became increasingly problematic for Sseki as his illness worsened over the
year. On November 16, less than a month before his death, Sseki confided to a pupil the toll that the
writing of the novel was taking on him: "It troubles me that Mei An gets longer and longer. I'm still
writing. I'm sure this will continue into the new year."[1]
By November 21 Sseki had become too ill to continue work on the novel. He died on December 9,
leaving the novel unfinished. 188 installments had been completed; a manuscript with the number "189"
penned in the upper right corner was found on his desk after his death. [1] The following year, Iwanami
Shoten published the extant 188 installments in book form. Despite being incomplete, the novel is the
longest work Sseki ever wroteover 200 pages longer than his I Am a Cat and approximately twice the
length of his other novels.[1]

The Columbia University Press translation includes the Spot drawings: Illustrations by Natori Shunsen,
published in the daily serial of Light and Dark (Meian) in Ashai Shimbun, May 16 December 14, 1916
(Collected in Natsum soseki ibokushu bessatsu [ Tokyo: Kyuryudo, 1980], 6469) as noted on the title
page verso.
Plot
In the novel, protagonist O-Nobu suspects her husband, Tsuda, of loving another woman and tries to find
the truth. Tsuda, who cannot forget his past lover, goes to a hospital for a minor operation. O-Nobu visits
her and husbands relatives in order to get some extra financial support since the couple are extravagant.
Kobayashi, who is an unemployed former friend, visits and threatens Tsuda that if he does not treat him in
a good manner, he will reveal Tsudas past to O-Nobu. He also visits O-Nobu but nothing happens. After
Kobayashi leaves, Tsudas sister comes to visit him and tries to make him realize how he should act
towards his parents as a son. After that, Mrs. Yoshikawa, the wife of Tsudas boss and a meddler, visits
him and also trying to make him change his attitudes. She sends him away to an onsen where Tsuda
finally meets his former lover, Kiyoko. She is now married to another man.

A summary of My Father Goes to Court by

Carlos Bulosan
The story takes place in a city in the Philippines. It is about a boy and his large family that is
happy and healthy, though they often go hungry. This is contrasted to their rich neighbors who
have plenty of good food, but their children are thin and sickly. Because the poor children can
smell the rich family's food over the fence, the rich man brings a charge against the poor family
for stealing the spirit of his family's food. The case goes to court, and the poor father agrees to
pay the rich neighbor back. He collects coins from his friends in his hat, shakes the coins in the
hat, and says that the rich man hearing the coins jiggling is a fair payback for the charge of
stealing the spirit of food by merely smelling it. The judge rules in the poor father's favor, and
the rich man gets nothing more than the "spirit" of the money the poor father collected.

My Father Goes To Court (Carlos Bulusan)

When I was four, I lived with my mother and brothers and sisters in a small town on the island of
Luzon. Fathers farm had been destroyed in 1918 by one of our sudden Philippine floods, so
several years afterwards we all lived in the town though he preferred living in the country. We
had as a next door neighbour a very rich man, whose sons and daughters seldom came out of the
house. While we boys and girls played and sang in the sun, his children stayed inside and kept
the windows closed. His house was so tall that his children could look in the window of our
house and watched us played, or slept, or ate, when there was any food in the house to eat.
Now, this rich mans servants were always frying and cooking something good, and the aroma of
the food was wafted down to us form the windows of the big house. We hung about and took all
the wonderful smells of the food into our beings. Sometimes, in the morning, our whole family

stood outside the windows of the rich mans house and listened to the musical sizzling of thick
strips of bacon or ham. I can remember one afternoon when our neighbours servants roasted
three chickens. The chickens were young and tender and the fat that dripped into the burning
coals gave off an enchanting odour. We watched the servants turn the beautiful birds and inhaled
the heavenly spirit that drifted out to us.
Some days the rich man appeared at a window and glowered down at us. He looked at us one by
one, as though he were condemning us. We were all healthy because we went out in the sun and
bathed in the cool water of the river that flowed from the mountains into the sea. Sometimes we
wrestled with one another in the house before we went to play. We were always in the best of
spirits and our laughter was contagious. Other neighbours who passed by our house often
stopped in our yard and joined us in laughter.
As time went on, the rich mans children became thin and anaemic, while we grew even more
robust and full of life. Our faces were bright and rosy, but theirs were pale and sad. The rich man
started to cough at night; then he coughed day and night. His wife began coughing too. Then the
children started to cough, one after the other. At night their coughing sounded like the barking of
a herd of seals. We hung outside their windows and listened to them. We wondered what
happened. We knew that they were not sick from the lack of nourishment because they were still
always frying something delicious to eat.
One day the rich man appeared at a window and stood there a long time. He looked at my sisters,
who had grown fat in laughing, then at my brothers, whose arms and legs were like the molave,
which is the sturdiest tree in the Philippines. He banged down the window and ran through his
house, shutting all the windows.
From that day on, the windows of our neighbours house were always closed. The children did
not come out anymore. We could still hear the servants cooking in the kitchen, and no matter
how tight the windows were shut, the aroma of the food came to us in the wind and drifted
gratuitously into our house.
One morning a policeman from the presidencia came to our house with a sealed paper. The rich
man had filed a complaint against us. Father took me with him when he went to the town clerk
and asked him what it was about. He told Father the man claimed that for years we had been
stealing the spirit of his wealth and food.
When the day came for us to appear in court, father brushed his old Army uniform and borrowed
a pair of shoes from one of my brothers. We were the first to arrive. Father sat on a chair in the
centre of the courtroom. Mother occupied a chair by the door. We children sat on a long bench by
the wall. Father kept jumping up from his chair and stabbing the air with his arms, as though we
were defending himself before an imaginary jury.
The rich man arrived. He had grown old and feeble; his face was scarred with deep lines. With
him was his young lawyer. Spectators came in and almost filled the chairs. The judge entered the
room and sat on a high chair. We stood in a hurry and then sat down again.

After the courtroom preliminaries, the judge looked at the Father. Do you have a lawyer? he
asked.
I dont need any lawyer, Judge, he said.
Proceed, said the judge.
The rich mans lawyer jumped up and pointed his finger at Father. Do you or you do not agree
that you have been stealing the spirit of the complaints wealth and food?
I do not! Father said.
Do you or do you not agree that while the complaints servants cooked and fried fat legs of
lamb or young chicken breast you and your family hung outside his windows and inhaled the
heavenly spirit of the food?
I agree. Father said.
Do you or do you not agree that while the complaint and his children grew sickly and tubercular
you and your family became strong of limb and fair in complexion?
I agree. Father said.
How do you account for that?
Father got up and paced around, scratching his head thoughtfully. Then he said, I would like to
see the children of complaint, Judge.
Bring in the children of the complaint.
They came in shyly. The spectators covered their mouths with their hands, they were so amazed
to see the children so thin and pale. The children walked silently to a bench and sat down without
looking up. They stared at the floor and moved their hands uneasily.
Father could not say anything at first. He just stood by his chair and looked at them. Finally he
said, I should like to cross examine the complaint.
Proceed.
Do you claim that we stole the spirit of your wealth and became a laughing family while yours
became morose and sad? Father said.
Yes.
Do you claim that we stole the spirit of your food by hanging outside your windows when your
servants cooked it? Father said.

Yes.
Then we are going to pay you right now, Father said. He walked over to where we children
were sitting on the bench and took my straw hat off my lap and began filling it up with centavo
pieces that he took out of his pockets. He went to Mother, who added a fistful of silver coins. My
brothers threw in their small change.
May I walk to the room across the hall and stay there for a few minutes, Judge? Father said.
As you wish.
Thank you, father said. He strode into the other room with the hat in his hands. It was almost
full of coins. The doors of both rooms were wide open.
Are you ready? Father called.
Proceed. The judge said.
The sweet tinkle of the coins carried beautifully in the courtroom. The spectators turned their
faces toward the sound with wonder. Father came back and stood before the complaint.
Did you hear it? he asked.
Hear what? the man asked.
The spirit of the money when I shook this hat? he asked.
Yes.
Then you are paid, Father said.
The rich man opened his mouth to speak and fell to the floor without a sound. The lawyer rushed
to his aid. The judge pounded his gravel.
Case dismissed. He said.
Father strutted around the courtroom the judge even came down from his high chair to shake
hands with him. By the way, he whispered, I had an uncle who died laughing.
You like to hear my family laugh, Judge? Father asked?
Why not?
Did you hear that children? father said.

My sisters started it. The rest of us followed them soon the spectators were laughing with us,
holding their bellies and bending over the chairs. And the laughter of the judge was the loudest of
all.

Wedding Dance
By Amador Daguio
Awiyao reached for the upper horizontal log which served as the edge of theheadhigh threshold.
Clinging to the log, he lifted himself with one bound thatcarried him across to the narrow door.
He slid back the cover, stepped inside,then pushed the cover back in place. After some moments
during which heseemed to wait, he talked to the listening darkness."I'm sorry this had to be done.
I am really sorry. But neither of us can help it."The sound of the gangsas beat through the walls
of the dark house likemuffled roars of falling waters. The woman who had moved with a
startwhen the sliding door opened had been hearing the gangsas for she did notknow how long.
There was a sudden rush of fire in her. She gave no sign thatshe heard Awiyao, but continued to
sit unmoving in the darkness.But Awiyao knew that she heard him and his heart pitied her. He
crawled onall fours to the middle of the room; he knew exactly where the stove was.With bare
fingers he stirred the covered smoldering embers, and blew into thestove. When the coals began
to glow, Awiyao put pieces of pine on them, thenfull round logs as his arms. The room
brightened."Why don't you go out," he said, "and join the dancing women?" He felt apang inside
him, because what he said was really not the right thing to sayand because the woman did not
stir. "You should join the dancers," he said,"as if--as if nothing had happened." He looked at the
woman huddled in acorner of the room, leaning against the wall. The stove fire played
withstrange moving shadows and lightsupon her face. She was partly sullen, but her sullenness
was not because ofanger or hate."Go out--go out and dance. If you really don't hate me for this
separation, goout and dance. One of the men will see you dance well; he will like yourdancing,
he will marry you. Who knows but that, with him, you will beluckier than you were with me."

DEAD STARS
by Paz Marquez Benitez

Photo courtesy of NASA

THROUGH the open window the air-steeped outdoors passed into

his room, quietly enveloping him, stealing into his very thought.
Esperanza, Julia, the sorry mess he had made of life, the years to
come even now beginning to weigh down, to crush--they lost
concreteness, diffused into formless melancholy. The tranquil
murmur of conversation issued from the brick-tiled azotea where
Don Julian and Carmen were busy puttering away among the rose
pots.
"Papa, and when will the 'long table' be set?"
"I don't know yet. Alfredo is not very specific, but I understand
Esperanza wants it to be next month."
Carmen sighed impatiently. "Why is he not a bit more decided, I
wonder. He is over thirty, is he not? And still a bachelor!
Esperanza must be tired waiting."
"She does not seem to be in much of a hurry either," Don Julian
nasally commented, while his rose scissors busily snipped away.
"How can a woman be in a hurry when the man does not hurry
her?" Carmen returned, pinching off a worm with a careful,
somewhat absent air. "Papa, do you remember how much in love
he was?"
"In love? With whom?"
"With Esperanza, of course. He has not had another love affair that
I know of," she said with good-natured contempt. "What I mean is
that at the beginning he was enthusiastic--flowers, serenades,

Footnote to Youth by Jose Garcia Villa

The sun was salmon and hazy in the west. Dodong thought to himself he would tell
his father about Teangwhen he got home, after he had unhitched the carabao from
the plow, and let it to its shed and fed it. He washesitant about saying it, but he
wanted his father to know. What he had to say was of serious import as it
wouldmark a climacteric in his life. Dodong finally decided to tell it, at a thought
came to him his father might refuse toconsider it. His father was silent hard-working
farmer who chewed areca nut, which he had learned to do fromhis mother,
Dodong's grandmother.I will tell it to him. I will tell it to him.The ground was broken
up into many fresh wounds and fragrant with a sweetish earthy smell. Many
slender soft worms emerged from the furrows and then burrowed again deeper into
the soil. A short colorless wormmarched blindly to Dodong's foot and crawled calmly
over it. Dodong go tickled and jerked his foot, flinging theworm into the air. Dodong
did not bother to look where it fell, but thought of his age, seventeen, and he said
tohimself he was not young any more.Dodong unhitched the carabao leisurely and
gave it a healthy tap on the hip. The beast turned its head to lookat him with dumb
faithful eyes. Dodong gave it a slight push and the animal walked alongside him to
its shed.He placed bundles of grass before it land the carabao began to eat. Dodong
looked at it without interests.Dodong started homeward, thinking how he would
break his news to his father. He wanted to marry, Dodongdid. He was seventeen, he
had pimples on his face, the down on his upper lip already was dark--these meanthe
was no longer a boy. He was growing into a man--he was a man. Dodong felt
insolent and big at the thoughtof it although he was by nature low in statue.
Thinking himself a man grown, Dodong felt he could do anything.He walked faster,
prodded by the thought of his virility. A small angled stone bled his foot, but he
dismissed itcursorily. He lifted his leg and looked at the hurt toe and then went on
walking. In the cool sundown he thoughtwild you dreams of himself and Teang.

Teang, his girl. She had a small brown face and small black eyes andstraight glossy
hair. How desirable she was to him. She made him dream even during the
day.Dodong tensed with desire and looked at the muscles of his arms. Dirty. This
fieldwork was healthy, invigorating but it begrimed you, smudged you terribly. He
turned back the way he hadcome, then he marched obliquely to a creek.Dodong
stripped himself and laid his clothes, a gray undershirt and red kundiman shorts, on
the grass. The hewent into the water, wet his body over, and rubbed at it vigorously.
He was not long in bathing, then hemarched homeward again. The bath made him
feel cool.It was dusk when he reached home. The petroleum lamp on the ceiling
already was lighted and the lowunvarnished square table was set for supper. His
parents and he sat down on the floor around the table to eat.They had fried freshwater fish, rice, bananas, and caked sugar.Dodong ate fish and rice, but did not
partake of the fruit. The bananas were overripe and when one held themthey felt
more fluid than solid. Dodong broke off a piece of the cakes sugar, dipped it in his
glass of water andate it. He got another piece and wanted some more, but he
thought of leaving the remainder for his parents.Dodong's mother removed the
dishes when they were through and went out to the batalan to wash them.
Shewalked with slow careful steps and Dodong wanted to help her carry the dishes
out, but he was tired and nowfelt lazy. He wished as he looked at her that he had a
sister who could help his mother in the housework. Hepitied her, doing all the
housework alone.His father remained in the room, sucking a diseased tooth. It was
paining him again, Dodong knew. Dodonghad told him often and again to let the
town dentist pull it out, but he was afraid, his father was. He did not tellthat to
Dodong, but Dodong guessed it. Afterward Dodong himself thought that if he had a
decayed tooth hewould be afraid to go to the dentist; he would not be any bolder
than his father.Dodong said while his mother was out that he was going to marry
Teang. There it was out, what he had to say,and over which he had done so much
thinking. He had said it without any effort at all and without self-

What is "Three Generations" by Nick

Joaquin about?
A:

Quick Answer
According to "Philippine Short Stories 1941-1955," the story "Three Generations" by Nick
Joaquin follows Celo Monzon and his terrible childhood. He reflects on the unhappiness he
experienced as a child after his own son decides to enter the priesthood. The story focuses on
themes of sexuality, inheritance, traditions and acceptance as Monzon comes to terms with his
grandfather's behavior during his childhood.

Full Answer
According to the Encyclopedia Britannica, Nick Joaquin is a Filipino author best known for his
representations of Filipino culture in his works. He wrote novels, poems, plays, essays and
biographies, most of which focus completely on Filipino culture, characters and themes.

His famous works include a novel titled "The Woman Who Had Two Navels" and the play "A
Portrait of the Artist as Filipino." While some of his best-known works are novels and plays, and
he also made a name for himself in the short story genre, of which his short story entitled "Three
Generations" is a part. He was a historian who studied the Golden Age of Spain in the
Philippines, and many of his short stories, including "Three Generations," deal with this era.
Short stories from this era dealt with Roman Catholicism and its impact on his characters.