Noli Me Tángere

he 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.