The Cathedral and the Governor-General’s Palace.
The churches are well worthy of a visit, being picturesque and interesting. The Cathedral was founded in 1570, and has several times been destroyed by earthquakes. The new Cathedral, on the site of the old, which was destroyed by the earthquake of 1880, cost a half-million dollars. It is an immense structure of brick and stone and is the most imposing building in the colony. It is in old Manila, and is celebrated for the splendor of its interior decorations and its gorgeous altars. Here start and end most of the great religious processions for which Manila is so noted. The cost of maintaining the Cathedral, including the salaries of the officiating priests, is not far from $60,000 per annum.
The Church of San Francisco—also in old Manila—is the oldest church in Manila. It is under the patronage of the Franciscans and is very wealthy. The magnificence of its interior is unrivalled.
Church of San Francisco, and the Old City Walls.
The Governor-General’s Palace is in Malacanan, a suburb of new Manila. It is a low massive structure and occupies an immense area. It is in the midst of a large garden—a veritable Paradise. It is on the bank of the river Pasig, in a healthful locality, and commands a fine view of the city and the river. The garden is famed for its luxuriance. Here grow, in rich profusion, cocoanuts, bananas, lemons, mangoes, and a wealth of flowers: the white champaca, the yellow ilang-ilang with its exquisite perfume, gigantic orchids, and a thousand other blooms. Among the trees and shrubbery of this gorgeous Eden, wind broad garden paths paved with sea-shells.
Facing the river is a large balcony from which the Governor views the yearly boat-race that takes place on the birthday of the King. This boat-race is one of the great events of the year and is usually rowed by native champions.
The interior of the Palace is of unusual splendor, and there is evidence on every hand of great pomp and ceremony. A host of liveried servants and numerous guards in showy uniforms are everywhere apparent. There is an excellent library and a spacious ball-room, where receptions are held, to which, several times a year, the élite of the city and distinguished visitors are invited.
The Governor rides in a carriage drawn by four horses, with several outriders, who, by means of a shrill whistle, announce his approach. All streets are instantly cleared and traffic suddenly ceases, every one standing still to make respectful obeisance. On, on, they come, the dashing four, with the postilions in scarlet jackets. The Governor, dressed in civilian’s dress, sits within—the picture of dignity. He bows right and left, in that perfunctory way characteristic of public dignitaries the world over, and the carriage passes on, while the citizens resume their wonted demeanor and avocations.
The Jesuits support and manage a fine observatory. And there is a large botanical garden, now neglected; but it could easily be made the finest in the world. The English Club, in the suburbs, is noted for its hospitality and for the delightful personality of its members. Most of the hotels are bad, with poor accommodations. The Hotel de Oriente, however, is a noteworthy exception.
The police of the city are natives, and are under military discipline. The department of police is known as the Municipal Guard. From 10 o’clock at night until 5 o’clock in the morning night-watchmen patrol the city.
A Rear View of the Governor-General’s Palace.
One is struck by the number of carriages in the thoroughfares, drawn by pretty ponies of mixed Chinese and Andalusian breed. There are also many hacks to hire. The drivers, too, are as civil in address as they are moderate in their charges. There are three days in the year when the ponies are given absolute rest. These are Holy Wednesday, Thursday, and Good Friday,—when no traffic is permitted, only the Archbishop and the doctors being allowed to ride in carriages. On these days the church-bells are muffled, and the people, dressed in sombre black, walk solemnly in the various religious processions. A vast concourse assembles in the several squares to await the toll that shall announce the end of the fast and of this enforced abstinence from labor and worldly care. As soon as the first stroke is given, there is a mighty rush in every direction, a thousand ponies are trotted through the streets, ten thousand natives renew their daily traffic with clamorous zeal, which shows how feeble was the bond that kept them under restraint.
A Water-girl.
On the streets of the city are many wayside native restaurants. Here the employees of the huge tobacco factories come at noon for their “quick lunch” or for a refreshing drink. Most of these establishments are very primitive, and little more than rice, fruit, or meat is for sale. The charges are the merest pittance. For two cents a sumptuous meal can be had. It may, therefore, be understood that few people in Manila go hungry.
The water-girls or the peddlers of milk or cocoa are also worthy of mention; inasmuch as they, with their rude jars, have a most Oriental look. One, too, is likely, almost any time, to encounter a religious procession, such as The Feast of the Twelve Apostles, or The Feast of Corpus Christi, when the companies of friars, in their long robes of black, blue, white, or brown, alternate with long lines of solemn natives dressed in their sombre clothes. There are, in fact, forty holidays in the year, and, as each of these is distinguished by some feast or religious ceremonial, it can readily be seen how large an influence the Church has upon the people. The Archbishop is a greater man than the Governor-General, and as he passes through the streets in his carriage drawn by four white horses, every head is bared. There are 4,000 priests in Manila alone.
An execution in Manila is an interesting, though a gruesome, sight. The populace always flock to see one, and the condemned, with the stoicism natural to their race, as a rule seem perfectly indifferent to their fate. The garrote is the instrument usually employed. There is the pomp and ceremony incident to all Spanish functions of State: a procession of soldiers, a solemn death-cart, draped in mourning, on which sits the culprit apparently enjoying his last ride, two or three priests chanting a dolorous refrain, and the executioner,—all slowly approach the place of execution. Here is a raised platform, on which is a rude seat; against the back of it is an upright post. To this the condemned is firmly bound, and the deadly brass collar—the garrote—that is attached thereto, closes with a click around his neck. The executioner now takes his place behind, the priests elevate the crucifix and continue their chant, while the victim, half-bewildered, smiles a last farewell or mumbles a hasty prayer. The commanding officer gives the signal; the executioner gives a twist to the screw, that just touches the base of the prisoner’s brain; there is a convulsive shiver and a groan, and all is over. And the spectators, laughing and chattering, turn homeward.
But no street scene is more interesting than a native funeral. The hearse is a rude wagon, drawn by white horses. A most melancholy-looking person is the driver, who, clad in black and a high beaver hat, sits aloft in mournful dignity. In front is a brass band, playing a lively march, while a long line of carriages follow slowly behind. On account of the heat, the burial is nearly always on the same day as the death. The bodies of the well-to-do are usually deposited in a vault in the church as long as the relatives of the deceased pay the priests well for the privilege. When this tribute ceases, the remains are dumped without ceremony into a huge pit at the back of the church, where perhaps are the bones of a thousand others. The pit, it is safe to say, is the ultimate destiny of all.
The Garrote: Manila Method of Capital Punishment.
Bull-fights have never made the headway in the Philippines that they have in Cuba. In the suburb of Paco is a bull-ring; but it is not attended by the better classes, and it offers but a sorry spectacle.