Bab Bab 29 · Chapter XXIX

The Morning

At the first flush of dawn bands of music awoke the tired people of the

town with lively airs. Life and movement reawakened, the bells began

to chime, and the explosions commenced. It was the last day of the

fiesta, in fact the fiesta proper. Much was hoped for, even more than

on the previous day. The Brethren of the Venerable Tertiary Order were

more numerous than those of the Holy Rosary, so they smiled piously,

secure that they would humiliate their rivals. They had purchased a

greater number of tapers, wherefor the Chinese dealers had reaped a

harvest and in gratitude were thinking of being baptized, although

some remarked that this was not so much on account of their faith in

Catholicism as from a desire to get a wife. To this the pious women

answered, "Even so, the marriage of so many Chinamen at once would

be little short of a miracle and their wives would convert them."

The people arrayed themselves in their best clothes and dragged out

from their strong-boxes all their jewelry. The sharpers and gamblers

all shone in embroidered camisas with large diamond studs, heavy

gold chains, and white straw hats. Only the old Sage went his way

as usual in his dark-striped sinamay camisa buttoned up to the neck,

loose shoes, and wide gray felt hat.

"You look sadder than ever!" the teniente-mayor accosted him. "Don't

you want us to be happy now and then, since we have so much to

weep over?"

"To be happy doesn't mean to act the fool," answered the old man. "It's

the senseless orgy of every year! And all for no end but to squander

money, when there is so much misery and want. Yes, I understand it all,

it's the same orgy, the revel to drown the woes of all."

"You know that I share your opinion, though," replied Don Filipo,

half jestingly and half in earnest. "I have defended it, but what

can one do against the gobernadorcillo and the curate?"

"Resign!" was the old man's curt answer as he moved away.

Don Filipo stood perplexed, staring after the old man. "Resign!" he

muttered as he made his way toward the church. "Resign! Yes, if this

office were an honor and not a burden, yes, I would resign."

The paved court in front of the church was filled with people; men

and women, young and old, dressed in their best clothes, all crowded

together, came and went through the wide doors. There was a smell

of powder, of flowers, of incense, and of perfumes, while bombs,

rockets, and serpent-crackers made the women run and scream, the

children laugh. One band played in front of the convento, another

escorted the town officials, and still others marched about the

streets, where floated and waved a multitude of banners. Variegated

colors and lights distracted the sight, melodies and explosions the

hearing, while the bells kept up a ceaseless chime. Moving all about

were carriages whose horses at times became frightened, frisked and

reared all of which, while not included in the program of the fiesta,

formed a show in itself, free and by no means the least entertaining.

The _hermano mayor_ for this day had sent servants to seek in the

streets for whomsoever they might invite, as did he who gave the

feast of which the Gospel tells us. Almost by force were urged

invitations to partake of chocolate, coffee, tea, and sweetmeats,

these invitations not seldom reaching the proportions of a demand.

There was to be celebrated the high mass, that known as the dalmatic,

like the one of the day before, about which the worthy correspondent

wrote, only that now the officiating priest was to be Padre Salvi,

and that the alcalde of the province, with many other Spaniards and

persons of note, was to attend it in order to hear Padre Damaso,

who enjoyed a great reputation in the province. Even the alferez,

smarting under the preachments of Padre Salvi, would also attend in

order to give evidence of his good-will and to recompense himself,

if possible, for the bad spells the curate had caused him.

Such was the reputation of Padre Damaso that the correspondent wrote

beforehand to the editor of his newspaper:

"As was announced in my badly executed account of yesterday, so it

has come to pass. We have had the especial pleasure of listening

to the Very Reverend Fray Damaso Verdolagas, former curate of this

town, recently transferred to a larger parish in recognition of

his meritorious services. The illustrious and holy orator occupied

the pulpit of the Holy Ghost and preached a most eloquent and

profound sermon, which edified and left marveling all the faithful

who had waited so anxiously to see spring from his fecund lips

the restoring fountain of eternal life. Sublimity of conception,

boldness of imagination, novelty of phraseology, gracefulness of style,

naturalness of gestures, cleverness of speech, vigor of ideas--these

are the traits of the Spanish Bossuet, who has justly earned such

a high reputation not only among the enlightened Spaniards but even

among the rude Indians and the cunning sons of the Celestial Empire."

But the confiding correspondent almost saw himself obliged to erase

what he had written. Padre Damaso complained of a cold that he had

contracted the night before, for after singing a few merry songs he

had eaten three plates of ice-cream and attended the show for a short

time. As a result of all this, he wished to renounce his part as the

spokesman of God to men, but as no one else was to be found who was so

well versed in the life and miracles of San Diego,--the curate knew

them, it is true, but it was his place to celebrate mass,--the other

priests unanimously declared that the tone of Padre Damaso's voice

could not be improved upon and that it would be a great pity for

him to forego delivering such an eloquent sermon as he had written

and memorized. Accordingly, his former housekeeper prepared for him

lemonade, rubbed his chest and neck with liniment and olive-oil,

massaged him, and wrapped him in warm cloths. He drank some raw

eggs beaten up in wine and for the whole morning neither talked nor

breakfasted, taking only a glass of milk and a cup of chocolate with a

dozen or so of crackers, heroically renouncing his usual fried chicken

and half of a Laguna cheese, because the housekeeper affirmed that

cheese contained salt and grease, which would aggravate his cough.

"All for the sake of meriting heaven and of converting us!" exclaimed

the Tertiary Sisters, much affected, upon being informed of these

sacrifices.

"May Our Lady of Peace punish him!" muttered the Sisters of the Holy

Rosary, unable to forgive him for leaning to the side of their rivals.

At half past eight the procession started from the shadow of the

canvas canopy. It was the same as that of the previous day but for

the introduction of one novelty: the older members of the Venerable

Tertiary Order and some maidens dressed as old women displayed long

gowns, the poor having them of coarse cloth and the rich of silk,

or rather of Franciscan _guingón_, as it is called, since it is most

used by the reverend Franciscan friars. All these sacred garments

were genuine, having come from the convento in Manila, where the

people may obtain them as alms at a fixed price, if a commercial term

may be permitted; this fixed price was liable to increase but not to

reduction. In the convento itself and in the nunnery of St. Clara [86]

are sold these same garments which possess, besides the special merit

of gaining many indulgences for those who may be shrouded in them,

the very special merit of being dearer in proportion as they are old,

threadbare, and unserviceable. We write this in case any pious reader

need such sacred relics--or any cunning rag-picker of Europe wish to

make a fortune by taking to the Philippines a consignment of patched

and grimy garments, since they are valued at sixteen pesos or more,

according to their more or less tattered appearance.

San Diego de Alcala was borne on a float adorned with plates of

repoussé silver. The saint, though rather thin, had an ivory bust

which gave him a severe and majestic mien, in spite of abundant kingly

bangs like those of the Negrito. His mantle was of satin embroidered

with gold.

Our venerable father, St. Francis, followed the Virgin as on yesterday,

except that the priest under the canopy this time was Padre Salvi

and not the graceful Padre Sibyla, so refined in manner. But if the

former lacked a beautiful carriage he had more than enough unction,

walking half bent over with lowered eyes and hands crossed in mystic

attitude. The bearers of the canopy were the same cabezas de barangay,

sweating with satisfaction at seeing themselves at the same time

semi-sacristans, collectors of the tribute, redeemers of poor erring

humanity, and consequently Christs who were giving their blood for

the sins of others. The surpliced coadjutor went from float to float

carrying the censer, with the smoke from which he from time to time

regaled the nostrils of the curate, who then became even more serious

and grave.

So the procession moved forward slowly and deliberately to the

sound of bombs, songs, and religious melodies let loose into the

air by bands of musicians that followed the floats. Meanwhile,

the _hermano mayor_ distributed candles with such zeal that many of

the participants returned to their homes with light enough for four

nights of card-playing. Devoutly the curious spectators knelt at the

passage of the float of the Mother of God, reciting Credos and Salves

fervently. In front of a house in whose gaily decorated windows were

to be seen the alcalde, Capitan Tiago, Maria Clara, and Ibarra, with

various Spaniards and young ladies, the float was detained. Padre

Salvi happened to raise his eyes, but made not the slightest movement

that might have been taken for a salute or a recognition of them. He

merely stood erect, so that his cope fell over his shoulders more

gracefully and elegantly.

In the street under the window was a young woman of pleasing

countenance, dressed in deep mourning, carrying in her arms a young

baby. She must have been a nursemaid only, for the child was white

and ruddy while she was brown and had hair blacker than jet. Upon

seeing the curate the tender infant held out its arms, laughed with

the laugh that neither causes nor is caused by sorrow, and cried out

stammeringly in the midst of a brief silence, "Pa-pa! Papa! Papa!" The

young woman shuddered, slapped her hand hurriedly over the baby's

mouth and ran away in dismay, with the baby crying.

Malicious ones winked at each other, and the Spaniards who had

witnessed the short scene smiled, while the natural pallor of Padre

Salvi changed to the hue of poppies. Yet the people were wrong,

for the curate was not acquainted with the woman at all, she being

a stranger in the town.