Chapter Chapter 1 · Chapter I

A Social Gathering

On the last of October Don Santiago de los Santos, popularly known as

Capitan Tiago, gave a dinner. In spite of the fact that, contrary to

his usual custom, he had made the announcement only that afternoon,

it was already the sole topic of conversation in Binondo and adjacent

districts, and even in the Walled City, for at that time Capitan

Tiago was considered one of the most hospitable of men, and it was

well known that his house, like his country, shut its doors against

nothing except commerce and all new or bold ideas. Like an electric

shock the announcement ran through the world of parasites, bores,

and hangers-on, whom God in His infinite bounty creates and so kindly

multiplies in Manila. Some looked at once for shoe-polish, others

for buttons and cravats, but all were especially concerned about how

to greet the master of the house in the most familiar tone, in order

to create an atmosphere of ancient friendship or, if occasion should

arise, to excuse a late arrival.

This dinner was given in a house on Calle Anloague, and although we do

not remember the number we will describe it in such a way that it may

still be recognized, provided the earthquakes have not destroyed it. We

do not believe that its owner has had it torn down, for such labors are

generally entrusted to God or nature--which Powers hold the contracts

also for many of the projects of our government. It is a rather large

building, in the style of many in the country, and fronts upon the arm

of the Pasig which is known to some as the Binondo River, and which,

like all the streams in Manila, plays the varied rôles of bath, sewer,

laundry, fishery, means of transportation and communication, and even

drinking water if the Chinese water-carrier finds it convenient. It

is worthy of note that in the distance of nearly a mile this important

artery of the district, where traffic is most dense and movement most

deafening, can boast of only one wooden bridge, which is out of repair

on one side for six months and impassable on the other for the rest of

the year, so that during the hot season the ponies take advantage of

this permanent _status quo_ to jump off the bridge into the water,

to the great surprise of the abstracted mortal who may be dozing

inside the carriage or philosophizing upon the progress of the age.

The house of which we are speaking is somewhat low and not exactly

correct in all its lines: whether the architect who built it was

afflicted with poor eyesight or whether the earthquakes and typhoons

have twisted it out of shape, no one can say with certainty. A wide

staircase with green newels and carpeted steps leads from the tiled

entrance up to the main floor between rows of flower-pots set upon

pedestals of motley-colored and fantastically decorated Chinese

porcelain. Since there are neither porters nor servants who demand

invitation cards, we will go in, O you who read this, whether friend or

foe, if you are attracted by the strains of the orchestra, the lights,

or the suggestive rattling of dishes, knives, and forks, and if you

wish to see what such a gathering is like in the distant Pearl of

the Orient. Gladly, and for my own comfort, I should spare you this

description of the house, were it not of great importance, since we

mortals in general are very much like tortoises: we are esteemed and

classified according to our shells; in this and still other respects

the mortals of the Philippines in particular also resemble tortoises.

If we go up the stairs, we immediately find ourselves in a spacious

hallway, called there, for some unknown reason, the _caida_, which

tonight serves as the dining-room and at the same time affords a

place for the orchestra. In the center a large table profusely and

expensively decorated seems to beckon to the hanger-on with sweet

promises, while it threatens the bashful maiden, the simple _dalaga_,

with two mortal hours in the company of strangers whose language and

conversation usually have a very restricted and special character.

Contrasted with these terrestrial preparations are the motley paintings

on the walls representing religious matters, such as "Purgatory,"

"Hell," "The Last Judgment," "The Death of the Just," and "The Death

of the Sinner."

At the back of the room, fastened in a splendid and elegant framework,

in the Renaissance style, possibly by Arévalo, is a glass case in

which are seen the figures of two old women. The inscription on this

reads: "Our Lady of Peace and Prosperous Voyages, who is worshiped in

Antipolo, visiting in the disguise of a beggar the holy and renowned

Capitana Inez during her sickness." [15] While the work reveals little

taste or art, yet it possesses in compensation an extreme realism,

for to judge from the yellow and bluish tints of her face the sick

woman seems to be already a decaying corpse, and the glasses and other

objects, accompaniments of long illness, are so minutely reproduced

that even their contents may be distinguished. In looking at these

pictures, which excite the appetite and inspire gay bucolic ideas, one

may perhaps be led to think that the malicious host is well acquainted

with the characters of the majority of those who are to sit at his

table and that, in order to conceal his own way of thinking, he has

hung from the ceiling costly Chinese lanterns; bird-cages without

birds; red, green, and blue globes of frosted glass; faded air-plants;

and dried and inflated fishes, which they call _botetes_. The view is

closed on the side of the river by curious wooden arches, half Chinese

and half European, affording glimpses of a terrace with arbors and

bowers faintly lighted by paper lanterns of many colors.

In the sala, among massive mirrors and gleaming chandeliers, the

guests are assembled. Here, on a raised platform, stands a grand

piano of great price, which tonight has the additional virtue of not

being played upon. Here, hanging on the wall, is an oil-painting of a

handsome man in full dress, rigid, erect, straight as the tasseled cane

he holds in his stiff, ring-covered fingers--the whole seeming to say,

"Ahem! See how well dressed and how dignified I am!" The furnishings

of the room are elegant and perhaps uncomfortable and unhealthful,

since the master of the house would consider not so much the comfort

and health of his guests as his own ostentation, "A terrible thing

is dysentery," he would say to them, "but you are sitting in European

chairs and that is something you don't find every day."

This room is almost filled with people, the men being separated from

the women as in synagogues and Catholic churches. The women consist of

a number of Filipino and Spanish maidens, who, when they open their

mouths to yawn, instantly cover them with their fans and who murmur

only a few words to each other, any conversation ventured upon dying

out in monosyllables like the sounds heard in a house at night, sounds

made by the rats and lizards. Is it perhaps the different likenesses

of Our Lady hanging on the walls that force them to silence and a

religious demeanor or is it that the women here are an exception?

A cousin of Capitan Tiago, a sweet-faced old woman, who speaks Spanish

quite badly, is the only one receiving the ladies. To offer to the

Spanish ladies a plate of cigars and _buyos_, to extend her hand to

her countrywomen to be kissed, exactly as the friars do,--this is

the sum of her courtesy, her policy. The poor old lady soon became

bored, and taking advantage of the noise of a plate breaking, rushed

precipitately away, muttering, "_Jesús!_ Just wait, you rascals!" and

failed to reappear.

The men, for their part, are making more of a stir. Some cadets

in one corner are conversing in a lively manner but in low tones,

looking around now and then to point out different persons in the room

while they laugh more or less openly among themselves. In contrast,

two foreigners dressed in white are promenading silently from one end

of the room to the other with their hands crossed behind their backs,

like the bored passengers on the deck of a ship. All the interest and

the greatest animation proceed from a group composed of two priests,

two civilians, and a soldier who are seated around a small table on

which are seen bottles of wine and English biscuits.

The soldier, a tall, elderly lieutenant with an austere countenance--a

Duke of Alva straggling behind in the roster of the Civil Guard--talks

little, but in a harsh, curt way. One of the priests, a youthful

Dominican friar, handsome, graceful, polished as the gold-mounted

eyeglasses he wears, maintains a premature gravity. He is the curate

of Binondo and has been in former years a professor in the college of

San Juan de Letran, [16] where he enjoyed the reputation of being a

consummate dialectician, so much so that in the days when the sons

of Guzman [17] still dared to match themselves in subtleties with

laymen, the able disputant B. de Luna had never been able either to

catch or to confuse him, the distinctions made by Fray Sibyla leaving

his opponent in the situation of a fisherman who tries to catch eels

with a lasso. The Dominican says little, appearing to weigh his words.

Quite in contrast, the other priest, a Franciscan, talks much and

gesticulates more. In spite of the fact that his hair is beginning to

turn gray, he seems to be preserving well his robust constitution,

while his regular features, his rather disquieting glance, his wide

jaws and herculean frame give him the appearance of a Roman noble in

disguise and make us involuntarily recall one of those three monks of

whom Heine tells in his "Gods in Exile," who at the September equinox

in the Tyrol used to cross a lake at midnight and each time place in

the hand of the poor boatman a silver piece, cold as ice, which left

him full of terror. [18] But Fray Damaso is not so mysterious as they

were. He is full of merriment, and if the tone of his voice is rough

like that of a man who has never had occasion to correct himself and

who believes that whatever he says is holy and above improvement, still

his frank, merry laugh wipes out this disagreeable impression and even

obliges us to pardon his showing to the room bare feet and hairy legs

that would make the fortune of a Mendieta in the Quiapo fairs. [19]

One of the civilians is a very small man with a black beard, the only

thing notable about him being his nose, which, to judge from its size,

ought not to belong to him. The other is a rubicund youth, who seems

to have arrived but recently in the country. With him the Franciscan

is carrying on a lively discussion.

"You'll see," the friar was saying, "when you've been here a few

months you'll be convinced of what I say. It's one thing to govern

in Madrid and another to live in the Philippines."

"But--"

"I, for example," continued Fray Damaso, raising his voice still

higher to prevent the other from speaking, "I, for example, who can

look back over twenty-three years of bananas and _morisqueta_, know

whereof I speak. Don't come at me with theories and fine speeches,

for I know the Indian. [20] Mark well that the moment I arrived in the

country I was assigned to a toxin, small it is true, but especially

devoted to agriculture. I didn't understand Tagalog very well then,

but I was, soon confessing the women, and we understood one another

and they came to like me so well that three years later, when I was

transferred to another and larger town, made vacant by the death of

the native curate, all fell to weeping, they heaped gifts upon me,

they escorted me with music--"

"But that only goes to show--"

"Wait, wait! Don't be so hasty! My successor remained a shorter

time, and when he left he had more attendance, more tears, and more

music. Yet he had been more given to whipping and had raised the fees

in the parish to almost double."

"But you will allow me--"

"But that isn't all. I stayed in the town of San Diego twenty years

and it has been only a few months since I left it."

Here he showed signs of chagrin.

"Twenty years, no one can deny, are more than sufficient to get

acquainted with a town. San Diego has a population of six thousand

souls and I knew every inhabitant as well as if I had been his mother

and wet-nurse. I knew in which foot this one was lame, where the

shoe pinched that one, who was courting that girl, what affairs she

had had and with whom, who was the real father of the child, and so

on--for I was the confessor of every last one, and they took care not

to fail in their duty. Our host, Santiago, will tell you whether I am

speaking the truth, for he has a lot of land there and that was where

we first became friends. Well then, you may see what the Indian is:

when I left I was escorted by only a few old women and some of the

tertiary brethren--and that after I had been there twenty years!"

"But I don't see what that has to do with the abolition of the tobacco

monopoly," [21] ventured the rubicund youth, taking advantage of the

Franciscan's pausing to drink a glass of sherry.

Fray Damaso was so greatly surprised that he nearly let his glass

fall. He remained for a moment staring fixedly at the young man.

"What? How's that?" he was finally able to exclaim in great

wonderment. "Is it possible that you don't see it as clear as

day? Don't you see, my son, that all this proves plainly that the

reforms of the ministers are irrational?"

It was now the youth's turn to look perplexed. The lieutenant wrinkled

his eyebrows a little more and the small man nodded toward Fray Damaso

equivocally. The Dominican contented himself with almost turning his

back on the whole group.

"Do you really believe so?" the young man at length asked with great

seriousness, as he looked at the friar with curiosity.

"Do I believe so? As I believe the Gospel! The Indian is so indolent!"

"Ah, pardon me for interrupting you," said the young man, lowering

his voice and drawing his chair a little closer, "but you have said

something that awakens all my interest. Does this indolence actually,

naturally, exist among the natives or is there some truth in what a

foreign traveler says: that with this indolence we excuse our own,

as well as our backwardness and our colonial system. He referred to

other colonies whose inhabitants belong to the same race--"

"Bah, jealousy! Ask Señor Laruja, who also knows this country. Ask him

if there is any equal to the ignorance and indolence of the Indian."

"It's true," affirmed the little man, who was referred to as Señor

Laruja. "In no part of the world can you find any one more indolent

than the Indian, in no part of the world."

"Nor more vicious, nor more ungrateful!"

"Nor more unmannerly!"

The rubicund youth began to glance about nervously. "Gentlemen," he

whispered, "I believe that we are in the house of an Indian. Those

young ladies--"

"Bah, don't be so apprehensive! Santiago doesn't consider himself an

Indian--and besides, he's not here. And what if he were! These are

the nonsensical ideas of the newcomers. Let a few months pass and you

will change your opinion, after you have attended a lot of fiestas

and _bailúhan_, slept on cots, and eaten your fill of _tinola_."

"Ah, is this thing that you call _tinola_ a variety of lotus which

makes people--er--forgetful?"

"Nothing of the kind!" exclaimed Fray Damaso with a smile. "You're

getting absurd. _Tinola_ is a stew of chicken and squash. How long

has it been since you got here?"

"Four days," responded the youth, rather offended.

"Have you come as a government employee?"

"No, sir, I've come at my own expense to study the country."

"Man, what a rare bird!" exclaimed Fray Damaso, staring at him with

curiosity. "To come at one's own expense and for such foolishness! What

a wonder! When there are so many books! And with two fingerbreadths

of forehead! Many have written books as big as that! With two

fingerbreadths of forehead!"

The Dominican here brusquely broke in upon the conversation. "Did

your Reverence, Fray Damaso, say that you had been twenty years in

the town of San Diego and that you had left it? Wasn't your Reverence

satisfied with the town?"

At this question, which was put in a very natural and almost

negligent tone, Fray Damaso suddenly lost all his merriment and stopped

laughing. "No!" he grunted dryly, and let himself back heavily against

the back of his chair.

The Dominican went on in a still more indifferent tone. "It must be

painful to leave a town where one has been for twenty years and which

he knows as well as the clothes he wears. I certainly was sorry to

leave Kamiling and that after I had been there only a few months. But

my superiors did it for the good of the Orders for my own good."

Fray Damaso, for the first time that evening, seemed to be very

thoughtful. Suddenly he brought his fist down on the arm of his chair

and with a heavy breath exclaimed: "Either Religion is a fact or it

is not! That is, either the curates are free or they are not! The

country is going to ruin, it is lost!" And again he struck the arm

of his chair.

Everybody in the sala turned toward the group with astonished

looks. The Dominican raised his head to stare at the Franciscan from

under his glasses. The two foreigners paused a moment, stared with an

expression of mingled severity and reproof, then immediately continued

their promenade.

"He's in a bad humor because you haven't treated him with deference,"

murmured Señor Laruja into the ear of the rubicund youth.

"What does your Reverence mean? What's the trouble?" inquired the

Dominican and the lieutenant at the same time, but in different tones.

"That's why so many calamities come! The ruling powers support

heretics against the ministers of God!" continued the Franciscan,

raising his heavy fists.

"What do you mean?" again inquired the frowning lieutenant, half

rising from his chair.

"What do I mean?" repeated Fray Damaso, raising his voice and facing

the lieutenant. "I'll tell you what I mean. I, yes I, mean to say that

when a priest throws out of his cemetery the corpse of a heretic,

no one, not even the King himself, has any right to interfere and

much less to impose any punishment! But a little General--a little

General Calamity--"

"Padre, his Excellency is the Vice-Regal Patron!" shouted the soldier,

rising to his feet.

"Excellency! Vice-Regal Patron! What of that!" retorted the Franciscan,

also rising. "In other times he would have been dragged down a

staircase as the religious orders once did with the impious Governor

Bustamente. [22] Those were indeed the days of faith."

"I warn you that I can't permit this! His Excellency represents his

Majesty the King!"

"King or rook! What difference does that make? For us there is no

king other than the legitimate [23]--"

"Halt!" shouted the lieutenant in a threatening tone, as if he were

commanding his soldiers. "Either you withdraw what you have said or

tomorrow I will report it to his Excellency!"

"Go ahead--right now--go on!" was the sarcastic rejoinder of Fray

Damaso as he approached the officer with clenched fists. "Do you think

that because I wear the cloth, I'm afraid? Go now, while I can lend

you my carriage!"

The dispute was taking a ludicrous turn, but fortunately the

Dominican intervened. "Gentlemen," he began in an authoritative

tone and with the nasal twang that so well becomes the friars,

"you must not confuse things or seek for offenses where there are

none. We must distinguish in the words of Fray Damaso those of the

man from those of the priest. The latter, as such, _per se_, can

never give offense, because they spring from absolute truth, while

in those of the man there is a secondary distinction to be made:

those which he utters _ab irato_, those which he utters _ex ore_,

but not _in corde_, and those which he does utter _in corde_. These

last are the only ones that can really offend, and only according to

whether they preexisted as a motive _in mente_, or arose solely _per

accidens_ in the heat of the discussion, if there really exist--"

"But I, by _accidens_ and for my own part, understand his motives,

Padre Sibyla," broke in the old soldier, who saw himself about to

be entangled in so many distinctions that he feared lest he might

still be held to blame. "I understand the motives about which your

Reverence is going to make distinctions. During the absence of Padre

Damaso from San Diego, his coadjutor buried the body of an extremely

worthy individual--yes, sir, extremely worthy, for I had had dealings

with him many times and had been entertained in his house. What

if he never went to confession, what does that matter? Neither do

I go to confession! But to say that he committed suicide is a lie,

a slander! A man such as he was, who has a son upon whom he centers

his affection and hopes, a man who has faith in God, who recognizes

his duties to society, a just and honorable man, does not commit

suicide. This much I will say and will refrain from expressing the

rest of my thoughts here, so please your Reverence."

Then, turning his back on the Franciscan, he went on: "Now then, this

priest on his return to the town, after maltreating the poor coadjutor,

had the corpse dug up and taken away from the cemetery to be buried I

don't know where. The people of San Diego were cowardly enough not to

protest, although it is true that few knew of the outrage. The dead

man had no relatives there and his only son was in Europe. But his

Excellency learned of the affair and as he is an upright man asked

for some punishment--and Padre Damaso was transferred to a better

town. That's all there is to it. Now your Reverence can make your

distinctions."

So saying, he withdrew from the group.

"I'm sorry that I inadvertently brought up so delicate a subject,"

said Padre Sibyla sadly. "But, after all, if there has been a gain

in the change of towns--"

"How is there to be a gain? And what of all the things that

are lost in moving, the letters, and the--and everything that is

mislaid?" interrupted Fray Damaso, stammering in the vain effort to

control his anger.

Little by little the party resumed its former tranquillity. Other

guests had come in, among them a lame old Spaniard of mild and

inoffensive aspect leaning on the arm of an elderly Filipina,

who was resplendent in frizzes and paint and a European gown. The

group welcomed them heartily, and Doctor De Espadaña and his

señora, the _Doctora_ Doña Victorina, took their seats among our

acquaintances. Some newspaper reporters and shopkeepers greeted one

another and moved about aimlessly without knowing just what to do.

"But can you tell me, Señor Laruja, what kind of man our host

is?" inquired the rubicund youth. "I haven't been introduced to

him yet."

"They say that he has gone out. I haven't seen him either."

"There's no need of introductions here," volunteered Fray

Damaso. "Santiago is made of the right stuff."

"No, he's not the man who invented gunpowder," [24] added Laruja.

"You too, Señor Laruja," exclaimed Doña Victorina in mild reproach,

as she fanned herself. "How could the poor man invent gunpowder if,

as is said, the Chinese invented it centuries ago?"

"The Chinese! Are you crazy?" cried Fray Damaso. "Out with you! A

Franciscan, one of my Order, Fray What-do-you-call-him Savalls,

[25] invented it in the--ah the seventh century!"

"A Franciscan? Well, he must have been a missionary in China, that

Padre Savalls," replied the lady, who did not thus easily part from

her beliefs.

"Schwartz, [26] perhaps you mean, señora," said Fray Sibyla, without

looking at her.

"I don't know. Fray Damaso said a Franciscan and I was only repeating."

"Well, Savalls or Chevas, what does it matter? The difference of

a letter doesn't make him a Chinaman," replied the Franciscan in

bad humor.

"And in the fourteenth century, not the seventh," added the Dominican

in a tone of correction, as if to mortify the pride of the other friar.

"Well, neither does a century more or less make him a Dominican."

"Don't get angry, your Reverence," admonished Padre Sibyla,

smiling. "So much the better that he did invent it so as to save his

brethren the trouble."

"And did you say, Padre Sibyla, that it was in the fourteenth

century?" asked Doña Victorina with great interest. "Was that before

or after Christ?"

Fortunately for the individual questioned, two persons entered

the room.