CHAPTER LXIII

Christmas Eve

High up on the slope of the mountain near a roaring stream a hut built on the gnarled logs hides itself among the trees. Over its kogon thatch clambers the branching gourd-vine, laden with flowers and fruit. Deer antlers and skulls of wild boar, some with long tusks, adorn this mountain home, where lives a Tagalog family engaged in hunting and cutting firewood.

In the shade of a tree the grandsire was making brooms from the fibers of palm leaves, while a young woman was placing eggs, limes, and some vegetables in a wide basket. Two children, a boy and a girl, were playing by the side of another, who, pale and sad, with large eyes and a deep gaze, was seated on a fallen tree-trunk. In his thinned features we recognize Sisa's son, Basilio, the brother of Crispin.

"When your foot gets well," the little girl was saying to him, "we'll play hide-and-seek. I'll be the leader."

"You'll go up to the top of the mountain with us," added the little boy, "and drink deer blood with lime-juice and you'll get fat, and then I'll teach you how to jump from rock to rock above the torrent."

Basilio smiled sadly, stared at the sore on his foot, and then turned his gaze toward the sun, which shone resplendently.

"Sell these brooms," said the grandfather to the young woman, "and buy something for the children, for tomorrow is Christmas."

"Firecrackers, I want some firecrackers!" exclaimed the boy.

"I want a head for my doll," cried the little girl, catching hold of her sister's tapis.

"And you, what do you want?" the grandfather asked Basilio, who at the question arose laboriously and approached the old man.

"Sir," he said, "I've been sick more than a month now, haven't I?"

"Since we found you lifeless and covered with wounds, two moons have come and gone. We thought you were going to die."

"May God reward you, for we are very poor," replied Basilio. "But now that tomorrow is Christmas I want to go to the town to see my mother and my little brother. They will be seeking for me."

"But, my son, you're not yet well, and your town is far away. You won't get there by midnight."

"That doesn't matter, sir. My mother and my little brother must be very sad. Every year we spend this holiday together. Last year the three of us had a whole fish to eat. My mother will have been mourning and looking for me."

"You won't get to the town alive, boy! Tonight we're going to have chicken and wild boar's meat. My sons will ask for you when they come from the field."

"You have many sons while my mother has only us two. Perhaps she already believes that I'm dead! Tonight I want to give her a pleasant surprise, a Christmas gift, a son."

The old man felt the tears springing up into his eyes, so, placing his hands on the boy's head, he said with emotion: "You're like an old man! Go, look for your mother, give her the Christmas gift--from God, as you say. If I had known the name of your town I would have gone there when you were sick. Go, my son, and may God and the Lord Jesus go with you. Lucia, my granddaughter, will go with you to the nearest town."

"What! You're going away?" the little boy asked him. "Down there are soldiers and many robbers. Don't you want to see my firecrackers? Boom, boom, boom!"

"Don't you want to play hide-and-seek?" asked the little girl. "Have you ever played it? Surely there's nothing any more fun than to be chased and hide yourself?"

Basilio smiled, but with tears in his eyes, and caught up his staff. "I'll come back soon," he answered. "I'll bring my little brother, you'll see him and play with him. He's just about as big as you are."

"Does he walk lame, too?" asked the little girl. "Then we'll make him 'it' when we play hide-and-seek."

"Don't forget us," the old man said to him. "Take this dried meat as a present to your mother."

The children accompanied him to the bamboo bridge swung over the noisy course of the stream. Lucia made him support himself on her arm, and thus they disappeared from the children's sight, Basilio walking along nimbly in spite of his bandaged leg.

The north wind whistled by, making the inhabitants of San Diego shiver with cold. It was Christmas Eve and yet the town was wrapped in gloom. Not a paper lantern hung from the windows nor did a single sound in the houses indicate the rejoicing of other years.

In the house of Capitan Basilio, he and Don Filipo--for the misfortunes of the latter had made them friendly--were standing by a window-grating and talking, while at another were Sinang, her cousin Victoria, and the beautiful Iday, looking toward the street.

The waning moon began to shine over the horizon, illumining the clouds and making the trees and houses east long, fantastic shadows.

"Yours is not a little good fortune, to get off free in these times!" said Capitan Basilio to Don Filipo. "They've burned your books, yes, but others have lost more."

A woman approached the grating and gazed into the interior. Her eyes glittered, her features were emaciated, her hair loose and dishevelled. The moonlight gave her a weird aspect.

"Sisal" exclaimed Don Filipo in surprise. Then turning to Capitan Basilio, as the madwoman ran away, he asked, "Wasn't she in the house of a physician? Has she been cured?"

Capitan Basilio smiled bitterly. "The physician was afraid they would accuse him of being a friend of Don Crisostomo's, so he drove her from his house. Now she wanders about again as crazy as ever, singing, harming no one, and living in the woods."

"What else has happened in the town since we left it? I know that we have a new curate and another alferez."

"These are terrible times, humanity is retrograding," murmured Capitan Basilio, thinking of the past. "The day after you left they found the senior sacristan dead, hanging from a rafter in his own house. Padre Salvi was greatly affected by his death and took possession of all his papers. Ah, yes, the old Sage, Tasio, also died and was buried in the Chinese cemetery."

"Poor old man!" sighed Don Filipo. "What became of his books?"

"They were burned by the pious, who thought thus to please God. I was unable to save anything, not even Cicero's works. The gobernadorcillo did nothing to prevent it."

Both became silent. At that moment the sad and melancholy song of the madwoman was heard.

"Do you know when Maria Clara is to be married?" Iday asked Sinang.

"I don't know," answered the latter. "I received a letter from her but haven't opened it for fear of finding out. Poor Crisostomo!"

"They say that if it were not for Linares, they would hang Capitan Tiago, so what was Maria Clara going to do?" observed Victoria.

A boy limped by, running toward the plaza, whence came the notes of Sisa's song. It was Basilio, who had found his home deserted and in ruins. After many inquiries he had only learned that his mother was insane and wandering about the town--of Crispin not a word.

Basilio choked back his tears, stifled any expression of his sorrow, and without resting had started in search of his mother. On reaching the town he was just asking about her when her song struck his ears. The unhappy boy overcame the trembling in his limbs and ran to throw himself into his mother's arms.

The madwoman left the plaza and stopped in front of the house of the new alferez. Now, as formerly, there was a sentinel before the door, and a woman's head appeared at the window, only it was not the Medusa's but that of a comely young woman: alferez and unfortunate are not synonymous terms.

Sisa began to sing before the house with her gaze fixed on the moon, which soared majestically in the blue heavens among golden clouds. Basilio saw her, but did not dare to approach' her. Walking back and forth, but taking care not to get near the barracks, he waited for the time when she would leave that place.

The young woman who was at the window listening attentively to the madwoman's song ordered the sentinel to bring her inside, but when Sisa saw the soldier approach her and heard his voice she was filled with terror and took to flight at a speed of which only a demented person is capable. Basilio, fearing to lose her, ran after her, forgetful of the pains in his feet.

"Look how that boy's chasing the madwoman!" indignantly exclaimed a woman in the street. Seeing that he continued to pursue her, she picked up a stone and threw it at him, saying, "Take that! It's a pity that the dog is tied up!"

Basilio felt a blow on his head, but paid no attention to it as he continued running. Dogs barked, geese cackled, several windows opened to let out curious faces but quickly closed again from fear of another night of terror.

Soon they were outside of the town. Sisa began to moderate her flight, but still a great distance separated her from her pursuer.

"Mother!" he called to her when he caught sight of her. Scarcely had the madwoman heard his voice when she again took to flight.

"Mother, it's I!" cried the boy in desperation, but the madwoman did not heed him, so he followed panting. They had now passed the cultivated fields and were near the wood; Basilio saw his mother enter it and he also went in. The bushes and shrubs, the thorny vines and projecting roots of trees, hindered the movements of both. The son followed his mother's shadowy form as it was revealed from time to time by the moonlight that penetrated through the foliage and into the open spaces. They were in the mysterious wood of the Ibarra family.

The boy stumbled and fell several times, but rose again, each time without feeling pain. All his soul was centered in his eyes, following the beloved figure. They crossed the sweetly murmuring brook where sharp thorns of bamboo that had fallen on the sand at its margin pierced his bare feet, but he did not stop to pull them out.

To his great surprise he saw that his mother had plunged into the thick undergrowth and was going through the wooden gateway that opened into the tomb of the old Spaniard at the foot of the balete. Basilio tried to follow her in, but found the gate fastened. The madwoman defended the entrance with her emaciated arms and disheveled head, holding the gate shut with all her might.

"Mother, it's I, it's I! I'm Basilio, your son!" cried the boy as he let himself fall weakly.

But the madwoman did not yield. Bracing herself with her feet on the ground, she offered an energetic resistance. Basilio beat the gate with his fists, with his Mood-stained head, he wept, but in vain. Painfully he arose and examined the wall, thinking to scale it, but found no way to do so. He then walked around it and noticed that a branch of the fateful balete was crossed with one from another tree. This he climbed and, his filial love working miracles, made his way from branch to branch to the balete, from which he saw his mother still holding the gate shut with her head.

The noise made by him among the branches attracted Sisa's attention. She turned and tried to run, but her son, letting himself fall from the tree, caught her in his arms and covered her with kisses, losing consciousness as he did so.

Sisa saw his blood-stained forehead and bent over him. Her eyes seemed to start from their sockets as she peered into his face. Those pale features stirred the sleeping cells of her brain, so that something like a spark of intelligence flashed up in her mind and she recognized her son. With a terrible cry she fell upon the insensible body of the boy, embracing and kissing him. Mother and son remained motionless.

When Basilio recovered consciousness he found his mother lifeless. He called to her with the tenderest names, but she did not awake. Noticing that she was not even breathing, he arose and went to the neighboring brook to get some water in a banana leaf, with which to rub the pallid face of his mother, but the madwoman made not the least movement and her eyes remained closed.

Basilio gazed at her in terror. He placed his ear over her heart, but the thin, faded breast was cold, and her heart no longer beat. He put his lips to hers, but felt no breathing. The miserable boy threw his arms about the corpse and wept bitterly.

The moon gleamed majestically in the sky, the wandering breezes sighed, and down in the grass the crickets chirped. The night of light and joy for so many children, who in the warm bosom of the family celebrate this feast of sweetest memories--the feast which commemorates the first look of love that Heaven sent to earth--this night when in all Christian families they eat, drink, dance, sing, laugh, play, caress, and kiss one another--this night, which in cold countries holds such magic for childhood with its traditional pine-tree covered with lights, dolls, candies, and tinsel, whereon gaze the round, staring eyes in which innocence alone is reflected--this night brought to Basilio only orphanhood. Who knows but that perhaps in the home whence came the taciturn Padre Salvi children also played, perhaps they sang

"La Nochebuena se viene, La Nochebuena se va." [172]

For a long time the boy wept and moaned. When at last he raised his head he saw a man standing over him, gazing at the scene in silence.

"Are you her son?" asked the unknown in a low voice.

The boy nodded.

"What do you expect to do?"

"Bury her!"

"In the cemetery?"

"I haven't any money and, besides, the curate wouldn't allow it."

"Then?"

"If you would help me--"

"I'm very weak," answered the unknown as he sank slowly to the ground, supporting himself with both hands. "I'm wounded. For two days I haven't eaten or slept. Has no one come here tonight?"

The man thoughtfully contemplated the attractive features of the boy, then went on in a still weaker voice, "Listen! I, too, shall be dead before the day comes. Twenty paces from here, on the other side of the brook, there is a big pile of firewood. Bring it here, make a pyre, put our bodies upon it, cover them over, and set fire to the whole--fire, until we are reduced to ashes!"

Basilio listened attentively.

"Afterwards, if no one comes, dig here. You will find a lot of gold and it will all be yours. Take it and go to school."

The voice of the unknown was becoming every moment more unintelligible. "Go, get the firewood. I want to help you."

As Basilio moved away, the unknown turned his face toward the east and murmured, as though praying:

"I die without seeing the dawn brighten over my native land! You, who have it to see, welcome it--and forget not those who have fallen during the night!"

He raised his eyes to the sky and his lips continued to move, as if uttering a prayer. Then he bowed his head and sank slowly to the earth.

Two hours later Sister Rufa was on the back veranda of her house making her morning ablutions in order to attend mass. The pious woman gazed at the adjacent wood and saw a thick column of smoke rising from it. Filled with holy indignation, she knitted her eyebrows and exclaimed:

"What heretic is making a clearing on a holy day? That's why so many calamities come! You ought to go to purgatory and see if you could get out of there, savage!"

EPILOGUE

Since some of our characters are still living and others have been lost sight of, a real epilogue is impossible. For the satisfaction of the groundlings we should gladly kill off all of them, beginning with Padre Salvi and ending with Doña Victorina, but this is not possible. Let them live! Anyhow, the country, not ourselves, has to support them.

After Maria Clara entered the nunnery, Padre Damaso left his town to live in Manila, as did also Padre Salvi, who, while he awaits a vacant miter, preaches sometimes in the church of St. Clara, in whose nunnery he discharges the duties of an important office. Not many months had passed when Padre Damaso received an order from the Very Reverend Father Provincial to occupy a curacy in a remote province. It is related that he was so grievously affected by this that on the following day he was found dead in his bedchamber. Some said that he had died of an apoplectic stroke, others of a nightmare, but his physician dissipated all doubts by declaring that he had died suddenly.

None of our readers would now recognize Capitan Tiago. Weeks before Maria Clara took the vows he fell into a state of depression so great that he grew sad and thin, and became pensive and distrustful, like his former friend, Capitan Tinong. As soon as the doors of the nunnery closed he ordered his disconsolate cousin, Aunt Isabel, to collect whatever had belonged to his daughter and his dead wife and to go to make her home in Malabon or San Diego, since he wished to live alone thenceforward, tie then devoted himself passionately to _liam-pó_ and the cockpit, and began to smoke opium. He no longer goes to Antipolo nor does he order any more masses, so Doña Patrocinia, his old rival, celebrates her triumph piously by snoring during the sermons. If at any time during the late afternoon you should walk along Calle Santo Cristo, you would see seated in a Chinese shop a small man, yellow, thin, and bent, with stained and dirty finger nails, gazing through dreamy, sunken eyes at the passers-by as if he did not see them. At nightfall you would see him rise with difficulty and, supporting himself on his cane, make his way to a narrow little by-street to enter a grimy building over the door of which may be seen in large red letters: FUMADERO PUBLICO DE ANFION. [173] This is that Capitan Tiago who was so celebrated, but who is now completely forgotten, even by the very senior sacristan himself.

Doña Victorina has added to her false frizzes and to her _Andalusization_, if we may be permitted the term, the new custom of driving the carriage horses herself, obliging Don Tiburcio to remain quiet. Since many unfortunate accidents occurred on account of the weakness of her eyes, she has taken to wearing spectacles, which give her a marvelous appearance. The doctor has never been called upon again to attend any one and the servants see him many days in the week without teeth, which, as our readers know, is a very bad sign. Linares, the only defender of the hapless doctor, has long been at rest in Paco cemetery, the victim of dysentery and the harsh treatment of his cousin-in-law.

The victorious alferez returned to Spain a major, leaving his amiable spouse in her flannel camisa, the color of which is now indescribable. The poor Ariadne, finding herself thus abandoned, also devoted herself, as did the daughter of Minos, to the cult of Bacchus and the cultivation of tobacco; she drinks and smokes with such fury that now not only the girls but even the old women and little children fear her.

Probably our acquaintances of the town of San Diego are still alive, if they did not perish in the explosion of the steamer "_Lipa_," which was making a trip to the province. Since no one bothered himself to learn who the unfortunates were that perished in that catastrophe or to whom belonged the legs and arms left neglected on Convalescence Island and the banks of the river, we have no idea whether any acquaintance of our readers was among them or not. Along with the government and the press at the time, we are satisfied with the information that the only friar who was on the steamer was saved, and we do not ask for more. The principal thing for us is the existence of the virtuous priests, whose reign in the Philippines may God conserve for the good of our souls. [174]

Of Maria Clara nothing more is known except that the sepulcher seems to guard her in its bosom. We have asked several persons of great influence in the holy nunnery of St. Clara, but no one has been willing to tell us a single word, not even the talkative devotees who receive the famous fried chicken-livers and the even more famous sauce known as that "of the nuns," prepared by the intelligent cook of the Virgins of the Lord.

Nevertheless: On a night in September the hurricane raged over Manila, lashing the buildings with its gigantic wings. The thunder crashed continuously. Lightning flashes momentarily revealed the havoc wrought by the blast and threw the inhabitants into wild terror. The rain fell in torrents. Each flash of the forked lightning showed a piece of roofing or a window-blind flying through the air to fall with a horrible crash. Not a person or a carriage moved through the streets. When the hoarse reverberations of the thunder, a hundred times re-echoed, lost themselves in the distance, there was heard the soughing of the wind as it drove the raindrops with a continuous tick-tack against the concha-panes of the closed windows.

Two patrolmen sheltered themselves under the eaves of a building near the nunnery, one a private and the other a _distinguido_.

"What's the use of our staying here?" said the private.

"No one is moving about the streets. We ought to get into a house. My _querida_ lives in Calle Arzobispo."

"From here over there is quite a distance and we'll get wet," answered the _distinguido_.

"What does that matter just so the lightning doesn't strike us?"

"Bah, don't worry! The nuns surely have a lightningrod to protect them."

"Yes," observed the private, "but of what use is it when the night is so dark?"

As he said this he looked upward to stare into the darkness. At that moment a prolonged streak of lightning flashed, followed by a terrific roar.

"_Nakú! Susmariosep!_" exclaimed the private, crossing himself and catching hold of his companion. "Let's get away from here."

"What's happened?"

"Come, come away from here," he repeated with his teeth rattling from fear.

"What have you seen?"

"A specter!" he murmured, trembling with fright.

"A specter?"

"On the roof there. It must be the nun who practises magic during the night."

The _distinguido_ thrust his head out to look, just as a flash of lightning furrowed the heavens with a vein of fire and sent a horrible crash earthwards. "_Jesús!_" he exclaimed, also crossing himself.

In the brilliant glare of the celestial light he had seen a white figure standing almost on the ridge of the roof with arms and face raised toward the sky as if praying to it. The heavens responded with lightning and thunderbolts!

As the sound of the thunder rolled away a sad plaint was heard.

"That's not the wind, it's the specter," murmured the private, as if in response to the pressure of his companion's hand.

"Ay! Ay!" came through the air, rising above the noise of the rain, nor could the whistling wind drown that sweet and mournful voice charged with affliction.

Again the lightning flashed with dazzling intensity.

"No, it's not a specter!" exclaimed the _distinguido_.

"I've seen her before. She's beautiful, like the Virgin! Let's get away from here and report it."

The private did not wait for him to repeat the invitation, and both disappeared.

Who was moaning in the middle of the night in spite of the wind and rain and storm? Who was the timid maiden, the bride of Christ, who defied the unchained elements and chose such a fearful night under the open sky to breathe forth from so perilous a height her complaints to God? Had the Lord abandoned his altar in the nunnery so that He no longer heard her supplications? Did its arches perhaps prevent the longings of the soul from rising up to the throne of the Most Merciful?

The tempest raged furiously nearly the whole night, nor did a single star shine through the darkness. The despairing plaints continued to mingle with the soughing of the wind, but they found Nature and man alike deaf; God had hidden himself and heard not.

On the following day, after the dark clouds had cleared away and the sun shone again brightly in the limpid sky, there stopped at the door of the nunnery of St. Clara a carriage, from which alighted a man who made himself known as a representative of the authorities. He asked to be allowed to speak immediately with the abbess and to see all the nuns.

It is said that one of these, who appeared in a gown all wet and torn, with tears and tales of horror begged the man's protection against the outrages of hypocrisy. It is also said that she was very beautiful and had the most lovely and expressive eyes that were ever seen.

The representative of the authorities did not accede to her request, but, after talking with the abbess, left her there in spite of her tears and pleadings. The youthful nun saw the door close behind him as a condemned person might look upon the portals of Heaven closing against him, if ever Heaven should come to be as cruel and unfeeling as men are. The abbess said that she was a madwoman. The man may not have known that there is in Manila a home for the demented; or perhaps he looked upon the nunnery itself as an insane asylum, although it is claimed that he was quite ignorant, especially in a matter of deciding whether a person is of sound mind.

It is also reported that General J---- thought otherwise, when the matter reached his ears. He wished to protect the madwoman and asked for her. But this time no beautiful and unprotected maiden appeared, nor would the abbess permit a visit to the cloister, forbidding it in the name of Religion and the Holy Statutes. Nothing more was said of the affair, nor of the ill-starred Maria Clara.

GLOSSARY

_abá_: A Tagalog exclamation of wonder, surprise, etc., often used to introduce or emphasize a contradictory statement.

_abaka_: "Manila hemp," the fiber of a plant of the banana family.

_achara_: Pickles made from the tender shoots of bamboo, green papayas, etc.

_alcalde_: Governor of a province or district with both executive and judicial authority.

_alferez_: Junior officer of the Civil Guard, ranking next below a lieutenant.

_alibambang_: A leguminous plant whose acid leaves are used in cooking.

_alpay_: A variety of nephelium, similar but inferior to the Chinese lichi.

_among_: Term used by the natives in addressing a priest, especially a friar: from the Spanish _amo_, master.

_amores-secos_: "Barren loves," a low-growing weed whose small, angular pods adhere to clothing.

_andas_: A platform with handles, on which an image is borne in a procession.

_asuang_: A malignant devil reputed to feed upon human flesh, being especially fond of new-born babes.

_até_: The sweet-sop.

_Audiencia_: The administrative council and supreme court of the Spanish régime.

_Ayuntamiento_: A city corporation or council, and by extension the building in which it has its offices; specifically, in Manila, the capitol.

_azotea_: The flat roof of a house or any similar platform; a roof-garden.

_babaye_: Woman (the general Malay term).

_baguio_: The local name for the typhoon or hurricane.

_bailúhan_: Native dance and feast: from the Spanish _baile_.

_balete_: The Philippine banyan, a tree sacred in Malay folk-lore.

_banka_: A dugout canoe with bamboo supports or outriggers.

_Bilibid_: The general penitentiary at Manila.

_buyo_: The masticatory prepared by wrapping a piece of areca-nut with a little shell-lime in a betel-leaf: the _pan_ of British India.

_cabeza de barangay_: Headman and tax collector for a group of about fifty families, for whose "tribute" he was personally responsible.

_calle_: Street.

_camisa_: 1. A loose, collarless shirt of transparent material worn by men outside the trousers.

2. A thin, transparent waist with flowing sleeves, worn by women.

_camote_: A variety of sweet potato.

_capitan_: "Captain," a title used in addressing or referring to the gobernadorcillo or a former occupant of that office.

_carambas_: A Spanish exclamation denoting surprise or displeasure.

_carbineer_: Internal-revenue guard.

_cedula_: Certificate of registration and receipt for poll-tax.

_chico_: The sapodilla plum.

_Civil Guard_: Internal quasi-military police force of Spanish officers and native soldiers.

_cochero_: Carriage driver: coachman.

_Consul_: A wealthy merchant; originally, a member of the _Consulado_, the tribunal, or corporation, controlling the galleon trade.

_cuadrillero_: Municipal guard.

_cuarto_: A copper coin, one hundred and sixty of which were equal in value to a silver peso.

_cuidao_: "Take care!" "Look out!" A common exclamation, from the Spanish _cuidado_.

_dálag_: The Philippine _Ophiocephalus_, the curious walking mudfish that abounds in the paddy-fields during the rainy season.

_dalaga_: Maiden, woman of marriageable age.

_dinding_: House-wall or partition of plaited bamboo wattle.

_director, directorcillo_: The town secretary and clerk of the gobernadorcillo.

_distinguido_: A person of rank serving as a private soldier but exempted from menial duties and in promotions preferred to others of equal merit.

_escribano_: Clerk of court and official notary.

_filibuster_: A native of the Philippines who was accused of advocating their separation from Spain.

_gobernadorcillo_: "Petty governor," the principal municipal official.

_gogo_: A climbing, woody vine whose macerated stems are used as soap; "soap-vine."

_guingón_: Dungaree, a coarse blue cotton cloth.

_hermano mayor_: The manager of a fiesta.

_husi_: A fine cloth made of silk interwoven with cotton, abaka, or pineapple-leaf fibers.

_ilang-ilang_: The Malay "flower of flowers," from which the well-known essence is obtained.

_Indian_: The Spanish designation for the Christianized Malay of the Philippines was _indio_ (Indian), a term used rather contemptuously, the name _Filipino_ being generally applied in a restricted sense to the children of Spaniards born in the Islands.

_kaingin_: A woodland clearing made by burning off the trees and underbrush, for planting upland rice or camotes.

_kalan_: The small, portable, open, clay fireplace commonly used in cooking.

_kalao_: The Philippine hornbill. As in all Malay countries, this bird is the object of curious superstitions. Its raucous cry, which may be faintly characterized as hideous, is said to mark the hours and, in the night-time, to presage death or other disaster.

_kalikut_: A short section of bamboo in which the _buyo_ is mixed; a primitive betel-box.

_kamagon_: A tree of the ebony family, from which fine cabinet-wood is obtained. Its fruit is the _mabolo_, or date-plum.

_kasamá_: Tenants on the land of another, to whom they render payment in produce or by certain specified services.

_kogon_: A tall, rank grass used for thatch.

_kris_: A Moro dagger or short sword with a serpentine blade.

_kundíman_: A native song.

_kupang_: A large tree of the Mimosa family.

_kuriput_: Miser, "skinflint."

_lanson_: The langsa, a delicious cream-colored fruit about the size of a plum. In the Philippines, its special habitat is the country around the Lake of Bay.

_liam-pó_: A Chinese game of chance (?).

_lomboy_: The jambolana, a small, blue fruit with a large stone.

_Malacañang_: The palace of the Captain-General in Manila: from the vernacular name of the place where it stands, "fishermen's resort."

_mankukúlan_: An evil spirit causing sickness and other misfortunes, and a person possessed of such a demon.

_morisqueta_: Rice boiled without salt until dry, the staple food of the Filipinos.

_Moro_: Mohammedan Malay of southern Mindanao and Sulu.

_mutya_: Some object with talismanic properties, "rabbit's foot."

_nakú_: A Tagalog exclamation of surprise, wonder, etc.

_nipa_: Swamp-palm, with the imbricated leaves of which the roots and sides of the common Filipino houses are constructed.

_nito_: A climbing fern whose glossy, wiry leaves are used for making fine hats, cigar-cases, etc.

_novena_: A devotion consisting of prayers recited on nine consecutive days, asking for some special favor; also, a booklet of these prayers.

_oy_: An exclamation to attract attention, used toward inferiors and in familiar intercourse: probably a contraction of the Spanish imperative, _oye_, "listen!"

_pakó_: An edible fern.

_palasán_: A thick, stout variety of rattan, used for walking-sticks.

_pandakaki_: A low tree or shrub with small, star-like flowers.

_pañuelo_: A starched neckerchief folded stiffly over the shoulders, fastened in front and falling in a point behind: the most distinctive portion of the customary dress of the Filipino women.

_papaya_: The tropical papaw, fruit of the "melon-tree."

_paracmason_: Freemason, the _bête noire_ of the Philippine friar.

_peseta_: A silver coin, in value one-fifth of a peso or thirty-two cuartos.

_peso_: A silver coin, either the Spanish peso or the Mexican dollar, about the size of an American dollar and of approximately half its value.

_piña_: Fine cloth made from pineapple-leaf fibers.

_proper names_: The author has given a simple and sympathetic touch to his story throughout by using the familiar names commonly employed among the Filipinos in their home-life. Some of these are nicknames or pet names, such as Andong, Andoy, Choy, Neneng ("Baby"), Puté, Tinchang, and Yeyeng. Others are abbreviations or corruptions of the Christian names, often with the particle ng or ay added, which is a common practice: Andeng, Andrea; Doray, Teodora; Iday, Brigida (Bridget); Sinang, Lucinda (Lucy); Sipa, Josefa; Sisa, Narcisa; Teo, Teodoro (Theodore); Tiago, Santiago (James); Tasio, Anastasio; Tiká, Escolastica; Tinay, Quintina; Tinong, Saturnino.

_Provincial_: Head of a religious order in the Philippines.

_querida_: Paramour, mistress: from the Spanish, "beloved."

_real_: One-eighth of a peso, twenty cuartos.

_sala_: The principal room in the more pretentious Philippine houses.

_salabat_: An infusion of ginger.

_salakot_: Wide hat of palm or bamboo and rattan, distinctively Filipino.

_sampaguita_: The Arabian jasmine: a small, white, very fragrant flower, extensively cultivated, and worn in chaplets and rosaries by the women and girls--the typical Philippine flower.

_santol_: The Philippine sandal-tree.

_sawali_: Plaited bamboo wattle.

_sinamay_: A transparent cloth woven from abaka fibers.

_sinigang_: Water with vegetables or some acid fruit, in which fish are boiled; "fish soup."

_Susmariosep_: A common exclamation: contraction of the Spanish, _Jesús, María, y José_, the Holy Family.

_tabí_: The cry of carriage drivers to warn pedestrians.

_talibon_: A short sword, the "war bolo."

_tapa_: Jerked meat.

_tápis_: A piece of dark cloth or lace, often richly worked or embroidered, worn at the waist somewhat in the fashion of an apron: a distinctive portion of the native women's attire, especially among the Tagalogs.

_tarambulo_: A low weed whose leaves and fruit pedicles are covered with short, sharp spines.

_teniente-mayor_: Senior lieutenant, the senior member of the town council and substitute for the gobernadorcillo.

_tikas-tikas_: A variety of canna bearing bright red flowers.

_tertiary brethren_: Members of a lay society affiliated with a regular monastic order, especially the Venerable Tertiary Order of the Franciscans.

_timbaín_: The "water-cure," and hence, any kind of torture. The primary meaning is "to draw water from a well," from _timba_, pail.

_tikbalang_: An evil spirit, capable of assuming various forms, but said to appear usually in the shape of a tall black man with disproportionately long legs: the "bogey man" of Tagalog children.

_tulisan_: Outlaw, bandit. Under the old régime in the Philippines the tulisanes were those who, on account of real or fancied grievances against the authorities, or from fear of punishment for crime, or from an instinctive desire to return to primitive simplicity, foreswore life in the towns "under the bell," and made their homes in the mountains or other remote places. Gathered in small bands with such arms as they could secure, they sustained themselves by highway robbery and the levying of blackmail from the country folk.

_zacate_: Native grass used for feeding livestock.

NOTES

[1] Quoted by Macaulay: _Essay on the Succession in Spain_.

[2] The ruins of the _Fuerza de Playa Honda, ó Real de Paynavén_, are still to be seen in the present municipality of Botolan, Zambales. The walls are overgrown with rank vegetation, but are well preserved, with the exception of a portion looking toward the Bankal River, which has been undermined by the currents and has fallen intact into the stream.

[3] _Relation of the Zambals_, by Domingo Perez, O.P.; manuscript dated 1680. The excerpts are taken from the translation in Blair and Robertson, _The Philippine Islands_, Vol. XLVII, by courtesy of the Arthur H. Clark Company, Cleveland, Ohio.

[4] _"Estadismo de las Islas Filipinas, ó Mis Viages por Este Pais_, por Fray Joaquin Martinez de Zuñiga, Agustino calzado." Padre Zuñiga was a parish priest in several towns and later Provincial of his Order. He wrote a history of the conquest, and in 1800 accompanied Alava, the _General de Marina_, on his tours of investigation looking toward preparations for the defense of the islands against another attack of the British, with whom war threatened. The _Estadismo_, which is a record of these journeys, with some account of the rest of the islands, remained in manuscript until 1893, when it was published in Madrid.

[5] Secular, as distinguished from the regulars, i.e., members of the monastic orders.

[6] Sinibaldo de Mas, _Informe sobre el estado de las Islas Filipinas en 1842_, translated in Blair and Robertson's _The Philippine Islands_, Vol. XXVIII, p. 254.

[7] _Sic_. St. John xx, 17.

[8] This letter in the original French in which it was written is reproduced in the _Vida y Escritos del Dr. José Rizal_, by W. E. Retana (Madrid, 1907).

[9] _Filipinas dentro de Cien Años_, published in the organ of the Filipinos in Spain, _La Solidaridad_, in 1889-90. This is the most studied of Rizal's purely political writings, and the completest exposition of his views concerning the Philippines.

[10] An English version of _El Filibusterismo_, under the title _The Reign of Greed_, has been prepared to accompany the present work.

[11] "Que todo el monte era orégano." W.E. Retana, in the appendix to Fray Martinez de Zuñiga's _Estadismo_, Madrid, 1893, where the decree is quoted. The rest of this comment of Retana's deserves quotation as an estimate of the living man by a Spanish publicist who was at the time in the employ of the friars and contemptuously hostile to Rizal, but who has since 1898 been giving quite a spectacular demonstration of waving a red light after the wreck, having become his most enthusiastic, almost hysterical, biographer: "Rizal is what is commonly called a character, but he has repeatedly demonstrated very great inexperience in the affairs of life. I believe him to be now about thirty-two years old. He is the Indian of most ability among those who have written."

[12] From Valenzuela's deposition before the military tribunal, September sixth, 1896.

[13] _Capilla_: the Spanish practise is to place a condemned person for the twenty-four hours preceding his execution in a _chapel_, or a cell fitted up as such, where he may devote himself to religious exercises and receive the final ministrations of the Church.

[14] But even this conclusion is open to doubt: there is no proof beyond the unsupported statement of the Jesuits that he made a written retraction, which was later destroyed, though why a document so interesting, and so important in support of their own point of view, should not have been preserved furnishes an illuminating commentary on the whole confused affair. The only unofficial witness present was the condemned man's sister, and her declaration, that she was at the time in such a state of excitement and distress that she is unable to affirm positively that there was a real marriage ceremony performed, can readily be accepted. It must be remembered that the Jesuits were themselves under the official and popular ban for the part they had played in Rizal's education and development and that they were seeking to set themselves right in order to maintain their prestige. Add to this the persistent and systematic effort made to destroy every scrap of record relating to the man--the sole gleam of shame evidenced in the impolitic, idiotic, and pusillanimous treatment of him--and the whole question becomes such a puzzle that it may just as well be left in darkness, with a throb of pity for the unfortunate victim caught in such a maelstrom of panic-stricken passion and selfish intrigue.

[15] A similar picture is found in the convento at Antipolo.--_Author's note_.

[16] A school of secondary instruction conducted by the Dominican Fathers, by whom it was taken over in 1640. "It had its first beginning in the house of a pious Spaniard, called Juan Geronimo Guerrero, who had dedicated himself, with Christian piety, to gathering orphan boys in his house, where he raised, clothed, and sustained them, and taught them to read and to write, and much more, to live in the fear of God."--Blair and Robertson, _The Philippine Islands_, Vol. XLV, p. 208.--TR.

[17] The Dominican friars, whose order was founded by Dominic de Guzman.--TR.

[18] In the story mentioned, the three monks were the old Roman god Bacchus and two of his satellites, in the disguise of Franciscan friars,--TR.

[19] According to a note to the Barcelona edition of this novel, Mendieta was a character well known in Manila, doorkeeper at the Alcaldía, impresario of children's theaters, director of a merry-go-round, etc.--TR.

[20] See Glossary.

[21] The "tobacco monopoly" was established during the administration of Basco de Vargas (1778-1787), one of the ablest governors Spain sent to the Philippines, in order to provide revenue for the local government and to encourage agricultural development. The operation of the monopoly, however, soon degenerated into a system of "graft" and petty abuse which bore heartily upon the natives (see Zuñiga's _Estadismo_), and the abolition of it in 1881 was one of the heroic efforts made by the Spanish civil administrators to adjust the archaic colonial system to the changing conditions in the Archipelago.--TR.

[22] As a result of his severity in enforcing the payment of sums due the royal treasury on account of the galleon trade, in which the religious orders were heavily interested, Governor Fernando de Bustillos Bustamente y Rueda met a violent death at the hands of a mob headed by friars, October 11, 1719. See Blair and Robertson, _The Philippine Islands_, Vol. XLIV; Montero y Vidal, _Historia General de Filipinas_, Vol. I, Chap. XXXV.--TR.

[23] A reference to the fact that the clerical party in Spain refused to accept the decree of Ferdinand VII setting aside the Salic law and naming his daughter Isabella as his successor, and, upon the death of Ferdinand, supported the claim of the nearest male heir, Don Carlos de Bourbon, thus giving rise to the Carlist movement. Some writers state that severe measures had to be adopted to compel many of the friars in the Philippines to use the feminine pronoun in their prayers for the sovereign, just whom the reverend gentlemen expected to deceive not being explained.--TR.

[24] An apothegm equivalent to the English, "He'll never set any rivers on fire."--TR.

[25] The name of a Carlist leader in Spain.--TR.

[26] A German Franciscan monk who is said to have invented gunpowder about 1330.

[27] "He says that he doesn't want it when it is exactly what he does want." An expression used in the mongrel Spanish-Tagalog 'market language' of Manila and Cavite, especially among the children,--somewhat akin to the English 'sour grapes.'--TR.

[28] Arms should yield to the toga (military to civil power). Arms should yield to the surplice (military to religious power),--TR.

[29] For _Peninsula_, i.e., Spain. The change of _n_ to _ñ_ was common among ignorant Filipinos.--TR.

[30] The syllables which constitute the first reading lesson in Spanish primers.--TR.

[31] A Spanish colloquial term ("cracked"), applied to a native of Spain who was considered to be mentally unbalanced from too long residence in the islands,--TR.

[32] This celebrated Lady was first brought from Acapulco, Mexico, by Juan Niño de Tabora, when he came to govern the Philippines in 1626. By reason of her miraculous powers of allaying the storms she was carried back and forth in the state galleons on a number of voyages, until in 1672 she was formally installed in a church in the hills northeast of Manila, under the care of the Augustinian Fathers. While her shrine was building she is said to have appeared to the faithful in the top of a large breadfruit tree, which is known to the Tagalogs as "antipolo"; hence her name. Hers is the best known and most frequented shrine in the country, while she disputes with the Holy Child of Cebu the glory of being the wealthiest individual in the whole archipelago.

There has always existed a pious rivalry between her and the Dominicans' Lady of the Rosary as to which is the patron saint of the Philippines, the contest being at times complicated by counterclaims on the part of St. Francis, although the entire question would seem to have been definitely settled by a royal decree, published about 1650, officially conferring that honorable post upon St. Michael the Archangel (San Miguel). A rather irreverent sketch of this celebrated queen of the skies appears in