II. Chronicles
Definition. Froissart
When the order of time is most conspicuous, history is called chronicle. The work is usually divided into sections, each section covering a separate period. The periods may be long or short. The account of occurrences may be somewhat elaborate, but it is most often bare and simple. Froissart's chronicles (1326-1400), however, are a rich pageantry of feudal times. "The din of arms, the shouting of knights, and marshalling of troops are there. Visions Of fair women rise before us. Gorgeous feasts and spectacles in which this knight of France and England so much delighted are set forth in copious details, and though he is no philosopher, his shrewd observations, and richly minute descriptions have helped others to philosophize."[12] Froissart's Chronicles first appeared at Paris about the end of the fifteenth century under the title of Chroniques de France, d'Angleterre, d'Escosse, d'Espagne, de Bretagne, de Gascogne, de Flanders et lieux d'aleutour. In English there are two versions: one executed in 1523-25 by Lord Berners (reprinted in 1812); and the other 1803-5 by Thomas Johnes. The later is more correct. In the 13th and 14th centuries chroniclers sprung up all over Europe, and created the non-church history of the highways.
Ayala
Contemporaneous with Froissart was Ayala, who is first of the Spanish chroniclers to be entirely safe as an historical source. Ayala wrote calm, business-like prose, and was bent upon recording facts whether glorious or inglorious. In contrast with Froissart's simple-hearted enthusiasm Ayala's attitude is one of cool sagacity and experience. He looks quite through the deeds of men. He as dispassionately records the crimes of the lords of the earth as he does their pretentions to greatness. He lived in "four wild reigns"—those of Peter the Cruel, Henry the Second, John the First, and Henry the Third—and, as a minister of state in each, had every opportunity to become disillusioned, about chivalry. An event that both Ayala and Froissart record is the murder of Blanche of Bourbon by her husband the king, Don Pedro the Cruel.
The circumstantial minuteness of an account by a chronicler, who was an eight-years' eye-witness of the king's inhumanity to his young and beautiful queen, and who recorded step by step the series of murders by which the king came up to the final crime, seems more moving to a modern reader than would seem the wildest and most impassioned ballad on the subject. Indeed, Ayala's account has settled the character of Don Pedro forever, despite the occasional attempts by some personally interested countryman to defend him, and despite the sentimental-tragedy of the theater, and such metrical outbursts as that of Chaucer's in the "Monk's Tale." But Chaucer, as Ayala himself would have told us, was an "interested party," since he was attached to the Duke of Lancaster who was attached to Don Pedro.
General chronicle of Spain
Seventy-five or eighty years before Ayala, Alfonso the Wise had begun the general chronicle of Spain by collecting old ballads and redoing them into prose, and by adding thereto the history of his own day. Sixty years after him, Alfonso the Eleventh appointed a court chronicler; and so the habit in Spain of recording the chief events of the kingdom was kept up from 1320 with more or less regularity down to the establishment of the Academy of History in the eighteenth century. It is interesting to note that this chronicle, that first preserved the popular metrical tales by putting them into prose, in turn gave rise to popular metrical tales that have kept the traditions—such as those of the Cid and Bernardo del Carpio.
Saxo Grammaticus
Like this earlier part of the Spanish Chronicle, the still older legendary chronicles of the North promoted literature. That of the Britons by Geoffrey of Monmouth and that of the Danes by Saxo Grammaticus have served, perhaps, a better purpose than true accounts; for they have quickened the imagination of subsequent times and given us themes for many ballads and for some of the marvelous productions of Shakespeare.
Holinshed
Because of the industry of Shakespeare's commentators in assigning so much of the great dramatist's subject-matter to Holinshed, the Tudor chronicler will always live. Regardless of whatever he may be worth personally, the whole world owes him a debt for doing the hack work and thus leaving a great genius free to construct.
A chronicle is not hard to write. The only requirements are that you shall select a definite period of time, and, proceeding in order, draw in it simple and graphic pictures of the life lived and the deeds wrought. You might put together the events of your own neighborhood for the last three years.
True relation
Or you might write up some important happening as it reaches back into the past and culminates in the present. You would then be writing a true relation. A true relation does not differ much from a chronicle except in the fact that the author as one person takes full responsibility for all the statements. He must record nothing, therefore, that he does not himself actually know; of every thing, else he must give warning as hearsay or as oral or written tradition or as records of someone else. A true relation may even be a travel sketch or a partial biography. It differs from journal and diary in being a narrative of the doings of units of mankind or of events that are of scientific or general importance and that are not necessarily recorded daily and have no essentially personal bearing upon the author beyond, the relationship of vouched and voucher.
In 1589 Richard Hakluyt published a folio of various relations which he called "The Principal Navigations, Voyages, and Discoveries Made by the English Nation." The events recorded, however, are not always authentic. Modern historians are impatient with Hakluyt, because he did not select more carefully and sacrifice bulk to trustworthiness. Well-known Spanish relations found in Blair and Robertson's "Philippine Islands" are those of Loarca, Chirino, Morga, Plascencia. They are considered reliable.
CHRONICLE
Rivalry Between Two Towns
During the time that the Earl of Flanders was in his greatest prosperity there was a citizen of Ghent, by name John Lyon, subtle and enterprising, and very much in favor of the earl. This man having been banished from Ghent on account of some murder in which he had been concerned, retired to Donay, where the earl, who is said to have been the promotion of the murder, supported him in the greatest affluence, after a while recovered for him his freedom, and made him deacon of the pilots, which office might be worth about 1,000 francs a year. At the same time there was a family in Ghent called the Matthews, consisting of seven brothers, who were the most considerable of all the pilots. One of these, by name Gilbert Matthew, from jealousy and other causes, bore in secret great hatred toward this John Lyon, and determined, without striking a blow, to do him the greatest injury in his power. With this view he got acquainted with one of the earl's chamberlains, and in the course of conversation with him took an opportunity of saying that if the Earl of Flanders pleased he might gain every year a handsome revenue from the pilots; that it might be collected on the foreign trade, provided John Lyon, the deacon, would acquit himself honestly. The hint was conveyed by the chamberlain to the earl, who (like other great lords, naturally eager of gain) ordered Gilbert Matthew to be sent for. Gilbert was introduced accordingly and made his scheme appear so reasonable that the earl agreed to adopt it. John Lyon was forthwith sent for, and in Gilbert's presence the earl proposed the scheme to him. Now John saw at once that this was not a reasonable demand, and consequently said, "What you require, as it seems at Gilbert's proposing, I cannot execute alone; it will be too heavy upon the mariners." However, the earl persisted, and John Lyon replied that he would do the best in his power.
When this conference was over, Gilbert Matthew, whose only object was to ruin John Lyon, went to his six brothers and said to them, "You must now give me every possible assistance, and we shall effect our purpose. A meeting is to be held about this tax; now, notwithstanding all I may say at the meeting, you must refuse to comply. I will dissemble and argue that if John Lyon did his duty, this ordinance would be obeyed. I know the earl well, and sooner than lose his point, John Lyon will be displaced; from his office, which will be given to me, and then, of course, you can comply. With regard to the other mariners, we are too powerful for them to oppose us."
The six brothers agreed to do exactly as Gilbert had directed them, and at the meeting everything turned out as he wished; for John was deposed and the office was given to Gilbert. Not contented with having effected the ruin of their unhappy victim, one of the brothers wanted to contrive to have him put to death, but to this the others would not agree, saying that he had done them no wrong and that no man ought to lose his life but by sentence of a judge. Things went quietly for some time, until the people of Bruges began to make a canal from the River Lys. The canal had often before been attempted; but as the inhabitants of Ghent considered it to be injurious to the interests of their town, it was always opposed by them. On the present occasion the Earl of Flanders had sanctioned the plan, and even sent pioneers with a body of men-at-arms to annoy them in the execution of their work.
As chance would have it, one day a woman on her return from a pilgrimage to Our Lady of Boulogne, being weary, sat down in the market-place of Ghent; when many people collected around her, asking whence she came. "From Boulogne," said the woman, "and I have seen on my road the greatest curse that ever befell the town of Ghent; for there are upward of five hundred men laboring night and day to open a canal for the Lys, and if they be not immediately prevented, the course of the river will soon be turned." This speech of the woman was echoed far and wide, and served to inflame men's minds in all directions. Many said that if John Lyon had been deacon no such attempt would ever have been made; and to him they resorted for advice. John thought this a favorable opportunity to redress the injury he had received; however, he did not wish to seem to thrust himself forward; but when prevailed upon to speak, after much entreaty said: "Gentlemen, if you wish to put an end to this business, you must renew an ancient custom which formerly existed in this town of Ghent. I mean you must first put on white hoods and choose a leader."
"We will have it so! We will have it so!" was heard on all sides. "We will put on white hoods."
White hoods were accordingly provided and given out to those who preferred war to peace; and John Lyon was elected chief. Most willingly did he accept the office, for he rejoiced at the opportunity of embroiling the towns of Ghent and Bruges with each other and with the earl, their lord. Gilbert Matthew, on the other hand, was by no means well pleased when he saw in what numbers the white hoods had collected. News was soon carried to the pioneers that a large force from Ghent was coming against them, upon which they immediately left their work and returned to Bruges, so that John Lyon and his party returned to the town without any encounter. During the same week in which these white hoods had placed themselves under the command of John Lyon, another cause of distrust originated at Ghent by some persons who were alarmed for its franchises; which circumstances also favored greatly John's desire of embroiling the town. The hope of success made him more active than ever. He spread secret rumors in different parts and took every opportunity of suggesting "That never could the privileges of any town be properly maintained when offices were put to sale," intending this in allusion to the manner in which Gilbert Matthew had become possessed of the deaconship. Moreover, he frequently harangued his people in public; on which occasions he spoke so well and with so much art that he always left them highly impressed in his favor. At length the men of Ghent determined to send to the Earl of Flanders requesting a redress of their grievances, and especially that he would put a stop to the canal. The earl, thinking to abolish the white hoods, immediately granted the request, but John Lyon, who was present when the earl's answer was received, thus addressed the meeting: "My good people, you see clearly at present the value of these white hoods. Do they not guard your privileges better than those of the red and black, or hoods of any other color? Be assured, then, by me, that as soon as they shall be laid aside I will not give three farthings for all your privileges."
This speech had the desired effect upon the people, and they determined to do as John Lyon had advised them. But Gilbert Matthew, who was very ill at ease, concerted a plan with the earl to arrest John and some of the principals of the white hoods, hoping thereby to disperse the rest. With this view the bailiff of Ghent came to the town with about 200 horsemen; galloped up the streets with the earl's banner in his hand, and posted himself in the market-place, where he was joined by Gilbert and several others. John Lyon, suspecting what was intended, immediately got together a large body of his men, for they were instructed to be always ready, and ordered them to advance. The moment Gilbert Matthew and his party saw the white hoods advancing they left the bailiff and ran off as fast as they could. John Lyon on entering the market-place, without saying a word, seized the bailiff and slew him. He then ordered the earl's banner to be dragged through the dirt and torn to pieces; and, upon seeing this, the men at arms took to flight and left the town, which the victorious party pillaged as they pleased.
After this event, several of the wisest and richest of the citizens in Ghent, tired of these constant contentions, called an assembly in which it was debated how they could best make up matters with the earl and promote the advantage of the town. John Lyon and other leaders of the white hoods were invited to attend; indeed, without them they would not have dared to assemble. Many proposals were made, and long debates ensued; at last, however, it was determined to elect twelve of the most respectable inhabitants, who should entreat the earl's pardon for the murder of the bailiff, and endeavor by this means to obtain peace; but in this peace every person was to be included, and nothing moved in the business hereafter.
The resolution was acted upon, and on an appointed day twelve citizens waited upon the earl, who pleaded their cause so well, and appeared so contrite that the earl was on the point of pardoning all the outrages that had been committed, when he received information that the castle of Andreghien had been burned to the ground. "Burned!" replied the earl to the messenger who brought the intelligence. "And by what means?"
"By an accidental fire, as they say," was the reply.
"Ah! ah!" answered the earl. "Now it is all over; there can never be peace in Flanders while John Lyon lives."
Then sending for the deputies from Ghent, he said to them, "Wretches, you supplicate my pardon with sword in hand. I had acceded to your wishes and your people have been base enough to burn down my favorite castle. Was it not sufficient to have murdered my bailiff and trampled on my banner? Quit my presence directly; and tell the men of Ghent they shall never have peace until they shall have given up to me to be beheaded those whom I shall point out."
The earl was right in his conjecture. It was, indeed, John Lyon and a refractory band of white hoods under him who, discontented with the proposal of the assembly, had actually destroyed the beautiful castle of Andreghien while the deputies were at Male in conference with the earl. Of course the poor deputies knew nothing of John Lyon's intention; and, like people perfectly innocent, endeavored to excuse themselves, but in vain. The earl was now so much enraged that he would not listen to them, and as soon as they had left he summoned all the knights of Flanders, and every gentleman dependent on him, to be advised by them how he could best revenge himself on the people of Ghent.
This was the very thing that John Lyon wanted; for the people of Ghent would now be obliged to make war, whether they liked it or not. He therefore seized the opportunity, and, having collected the white hoods, publicly harangued the people, and advised them without delay to get together all the support from neighboring towns they could, and make an attack upon Bruges. Such even now was his influence that in a short time he mustered a very large army, and placing himself at their head advanced to Bruges, which town was so taken by surprise that after a short parley at the wicket, the burgomaster and magistrates opened the gates and the men of Ghent entered. A formal alliance was then drawn up, which the men of Ghent and Bruges mutually swore to keep, and to remain forever as good friends and neighbors.
"Froissart's Chronicles," in World's Great Classics Series.
A Short History of Ilagan
The town of Ilagan derived its name from the inverted form of the Ibanag word nagaly, which means "transfer." Why the town was named Ilagan was the fact that in early times it was moved to its present location from a plain a few miles away, which is always overflowed by the annual inundation of the Cagayan river.
The early inhabitants were well-trained warriors, for they had to fight with the Igorrotes—a wild head-hunting tribe in the mountains. Their religion was somewhat similar to Brahmanism, for they worshiped the crocodile and practiced anito widely. Even after the Spaniards came to the town, the people were barbarous, and it was only after the arrival of the Dominicans, about 1689, that civilization began to spread itself among the people; for these benevolent friars established schools, converted the pagan inhabitants into Christians, and taught them better modes of living.
Although the people seemed to be contented, still it was not very long until they began to feel the heavy grasp of the iron hand of Spanish oppression. In 1776 a revolt occurred, and the people in their frenzy burned the church and nearly all the Spanish residences. The causes of the revolt were the high rates of taxation and the compulsory public labor. But the uprising, which spread throughout central Luzon, was soon quelled, and peace was restored.
Then followed a period of advancement and progress. The inhabitants were for about one hundred and thirty years peaceful. During this long period a new church was finished, in 1787; the town became the capital of the province, and commerce progressed by leaps and bounds. But in 1897 when the news of Rizal's execution, which caused a tide of patriotism to sweep over the land, became known to the people, they again revolted, but without accomplishing much. In the Filipino-American war the inhabitants took no active part, although, owing to the presence of a handful of Tagalog soldiers from Palanan, then a barrio of Ilagan, where Aguinaldo was captured, some skirmishing was done in the barrio of San Antonio.
Ilagan is situated on a three-cornered star-shaped plateau at the junction of the Pinacanauan and Cagayan rivers, about ninety miles from Aparri. It is divided into four districts: Bagumbayan, which occupies the northern corner of the star; Baculod, the eastern corner; St. Vicente, the southwestern comer, and Central, the center. The residences of the rich, the municipal and provincial buildings, the church and the principal European and Chinese business houses are in the central district; while the farmers, artisans, shoemakers and other classes of people inhabit the other districts. In the district of St. Vicente are the ruins of the church burned in 1776. The lot where it is situated is now overgrown with large trees, and the crumbling brick wall which formed the background of the church, and is now covered with moss and vines, remains as a memento of the uprising.
The inhabitants, being near the Ilocanos, are industrious, and being far from the Tagalogs are peaceful. But what is to be admired more than any of their other characteristics is their political belief. The majority is—I hope it will be always—in favor of the indefinite retention of the islands by America, the spread of democratic education among the people, and the speedy development of agriculture. If the people do not depart from their present policies, the future history of the town will be one of happiness.
A TRUE RELATION
Some Incidents of the Rebellion of 1898
The Filipino rebellion against Spanish rule really began in the year 1896, in southern Luzon. The northwestern provinces rebelled much later, owing perhaps to the lack of communication or to some disagreement among the leaders of certain districts. I was about eight years old at the time the war broke out in western Pangasinan and northern Zambales, and I write from what I saw with my own eyes, and what was afterwards told me by my parents and older friends.
About the beginning of the year 1898 the northwestern provinces of Luzon became restless, seeing that their brothers in Cavite and other southern provinces were already in the field. The Spaniards grew more and more uneasy and so a detachment of from fifteen to twenty Spanish soldiers was placed in each town, in addition to the guardia civil, which was also stationed in the large towns. It must be borne in mind that in that war no quarter could be expected from either side and all the prisoners were invariably put to death. So that unusual cruelty should not be imputed to the common Filipino fighter in the massacres which he committed.
Just about the beginning of the year 1898, some time in the month of January, the people of my town, as well as the neighboring towns, agreed to massacre the detachment of soldiers in their respective municipalities. The agreement was kept a great secret, and in my town at least the Spanish soldiers had not the slightest idea of the fatal compact. The day decided upon was a certain Monday in February, 1898, the exact date of which I do not remember.
Outside the town, in the dead of night, you would find groups talking in whispers as to the final arrangements, for the chief men would go to the barrios in the night and hold secret meetings in hidden and solitary places. In the afternoons you would find men grinding their long bolos or talibongs in the solitude of their houses. At the same time you would see the women making trousers and hat-bands of red cloth for their husbands or brothers. In the meantime the Spaniards had a vague idea of how things were going on, and becoming rather uneasy, they ordered a barricade of bamboo to be built around their barracks. The guardia civil did the same, except that instead of bamboo, they used big logs, which they made each principal (councilor) give. But unfortunately the very workmen themselves were rebels, and were the first ones to strike the blow. I also remember clearly how the lieutenant and the town friar forbade people to talk in groups of three or more. So men walked in the streets alone or with only one companion, not even daring to engage in earnest conversation. Men visited their friends, going to the back doors at night.
It must be stated here that in order to get all the able-bodied men to join the rebellion a form of ceremony was gone through in the case of every single convert. Certain men who were influential and eloquent were appointed to do the hard work of conversion. A leader of this kind had to coax and persuade men singly, at the same time taking care that the Spanish forces did not hear of his proceedings. After a man had expressed his willingness to join, he was made to take a solemn oath, the non-fulfilment of which would bring upon him temporal and spiritual condemnation. Besides, his arm was pricked with a sharp knife, and with his own blood he wrote, or else caused to be written, his name in a large book. This made the ceremony to the new recruit exceedingly impressive.
One thing that made men so bold at that time was the belief in the power of the anting anting (talisman). There were two kinds of anting anting that were bullet proof. They were made of flour like sacred bread, except that they were as large in circumference only as a peseta. Some Latin words were printed on them. One kind was eaten, while the other was placed on the forehead. So after the town was in the hands of the revolutionists, everybody seemed to be having a headache, for they all had their foreheads bound around with handkerchiefs, or more often with red bands of cloth. I must add that the color of the revolution was red, the sign of blood. I remember that when we left the town to hide in the country I left my expensive felt hat, and used a cheap native sombrero with a red band around it. When the town was again retaken by the Spaniards we tore off all these red signs and buried them in the ground.
As I have said, the day agreed upon for the massacre was Monday. My uncle told me the Spanish soldiers in town heard of the people in the barrios assembling, but they entirely ignored the danger, feeling sure that the rebels with bolos would not by any means dare to cope with their powerful Mausers. My uncle further added that, had the Spanish been discreet, considering that they were twenty-two in number, including a lieutenant, besides the town friar, they would have fortified the convent and would have been able to hold out till reinforcements from eastern Pangasinan could come.
On the morning of that fatal day I was in the house of my grandmother, which was near the plaza where the soldiers had their quarters. I could not see the whole of the slaughter, for my grandmother when she saw us looking at the fight, sent us to the cellar, and made us lie there flat on our stomachs to protect us from spent bullets.
Early that morning about eight o'clock the guardia civil, hearing that there was a great crowd of armed men near the town cemetery about a mile away, went out there. The guardia civil soldiers, who were all Filipinos, were in league with the movement, but their sergeant was a Spaniard. When they saw the men near the cemetery and when the sergeant ordered them to fire, they did not aim at the rebels. But the rebels instead, thinking that the soldiers had changed their minds, fought in earnest and killed the guardia civil to a man.
In the meantime the Spanish soldiers in the town were being massacred. At the appointed time a workman who was working on the barricade, gave the guard a blow with his axe, and the guard fell without a groan. Then the rest of the workmen went up to the barracks with the pretense of asking for their pay. When the big drum began to beat they seized the guns and hacked and struck the unarmed soldiers.
The slaughter was indeed terrible to see. From all the streets of the town leading to the public square issued hundreds of men all at the same time. I think I still see those men with red-banded hats shouting at the top of their lungs, holding and wielding aloft their long sharp bolos, which as they caught the rays of the morning sun dazzled our eyes. These men advanced toward the barracks and there finished the massacre. Some of the Spaniards, deprived of their guns and hard pressed by the workmen who had gone up to the barracks, jumped down from the windows; but it was like jumping from the frying pan to the fire, for they were met by bristling swords and lances.
Of the twenty-one soldiers, four chanced to be out, two being in the market, and two being in my uncle's house. On hearing the tumult and seeing men issue from all the streets and alleys, they ran like mad to their quarters; but they were all killed before reaching the place. One of the soldiers had a bayonet slung to his belt, and drawing it he tried to ward off the blows rained upon him from all sides; but in a moment a shower of clubs and stones laid him low. Some of the soldiers fell on their knees and implored for mercy, but the blood of those men, many of whom had already experienced cruelty and torture under the Spanish servitude, was boiling with vengeance toward the Spaniards as a whole people.
The lieutenant was just going from the convent, where he had his quarters, to the barracks, and on seeing the hordes of men, he turned back, ran up in the church steeple, and from there with his revolver fired shot after shot at the multitude below. Strange to say he hit not even a man, probably through excitement. The men, seeing him, climbed up the tower. He surrendered, knelt down and threw away his revolver; but no quarter was given. He was cut all through and his body was thrown from the dizzy height of about a hundred and fifty feet to the ground. His blood, which trickled from the tower down the church wall may still be seen to this day.
In the afternoon two native carts full of corpses, their arms and legs dangling in the air, were all that was left of those twenty-two cazadores. I liked the Spanish soldiers, for they were such jolly, good fellows, fond of dancing fandango and singing airs of old Spain. Many of them were mere boys seized and shipped over here from their unwilling parents. To them the only civilized and good country was Spain; and they often excited my boyish fancy with exaggerated descriptions of the wonders of Spain and extravagant tales about its people. So as the carts passed by our house and I saw the dead, I felt quite sad, wondering within my childish heart what fault they had committed to entitle them to such a sad end.
The town friar, the town tyrant and dictator, had now also come to the end of his reign. Men who formerly used to kneel to him denounced him and gave vent to all their accumulated hatred. The friar was sentenced to death and a few days afterwards was executed outside the town. The infuriated ignorant people sacked the convent, which at that time was like a palace. They were so enraged that even the library of the convent was burned and cut to pieces. A funny incident is connected with the convent. It was circulated about that on the outbreak of the disturbance the friar had dropped a large box of silver into one of the convent wells, of which there were several. A few years after the war some people began to inquire as to which of the wells the money had been dropped into; for the American soldiers, on occupying the convent, filled up some of the wells. Finally there was discovered on the trunk of a santol tree growing near one of the wells a cross carved in the wood. People said it was the sign made by the friar to mark the spot, and henceforth began to dig up the well. They worked for days and days expecting every moment to find the box, but in vain. As a result of their over-credulity they expended a good deal of hard labor.
—Marcelino Montemayor.