The Morning Ceremonies.
Nothing in the life of the people of the Philippine Islands is more interesting to the foreigner than the village feasts; nothing is more indicative of the character of the people, who are exceedingly fond of ornament and display. Every village has its own feasts, to which all the natives in the surrounding district contribute;—in which all alike take part.
These feasts are always of a religious character, and are encouraged by the clergy, who find them not only lucrative, but also conducive to religious feeling.
Come with me and visit the busy morning-scene of a fiesta in a populous village near the capital. As we enter the broad roadway, winding with serpentine folds among the gleaming bungalows, we see everywhere signs of unusual activity; groups of smiling natives, dressed in their Sunday best, hurry by, chattering gaily. Here comes a long line of carromatas (small carts) drawn by wiry ponies, driven by well-to-do native planters: with the lofty consciousness of worldly prosperity they sit erect in imperturbable dignity.
A Village Feast.
We join a passing group and follow them past the low, airy houses, all decorated now with gorgeous bunting and gay festoons. Flags and streamers flutter on every house-top; the whole village presents a scene of picturesque animation; for the tropical luxuriance of the trees and the myriad flowers of gorgeous hue, form a brilliant background.
We arrive at the village-green, and here stands a motley assemblage, constantly reinforced by the throngs that come in by every path and roadway. An expression of eager anticipation is on the faces of all as they gaze in the direction of the little church that fronts the crowded court. The church is a low, massive, white building, with large pillars in front, that give it a semi-classic appearance; it forms a curious, but not uninteresting, contrast to the many-gabled bungalows.
The bells in the campanile begin to toll slowly, and from the midst of the crowd instantly comes a burst of glorious music. The village-band stationed there renders effectively an operatic air as the natives slowly enter the church. After all are seated, the priest preaches a short sermon, full of pith and of pertinent suggestion about the Saint whom the day commemorates. The audience is then dismissed with a benediction; and to the lively music of some composer it files leisurely out. The natives see nothing incongruous in the introduction of operatic music into divine worship. They are moved to devotion no less by the stirring strains of one of Sousa’s military marches or a languorous waltz of Strauss, than by the solemn Te Deums of the Catholic ritual. To them all music is divine.
We stop a few minutes to watch the cura,—the parish priest,—as he dispenses blessings to his devout parishioners, who now crowd round him with every appearance of reverential affection.
Our friend the cura is a veritable father to his people. As he listens to the ingenuous confidences of his flock, his face beams with that rare benevolence born of godliness; there is a whisper of domestic sorrow that he needs must hear, a story of happiness or a tale of wrong. For each and all he has a word of kindly affection, and as he sees us waiting near the entrance, he approaches with outstretched hand and invites us to the grand procession in the evening.
A Fashionable Church in Majayjay, Near Manila.
The people have dispersed, and have returned to their homes. Already the sun is high in the sky, pouring a deluge of heat upon the landscape. From the horizon, mountain after mountain springs airily into the heavens, their blue peaks suggesting a place of perpetual coolness, upon which the eye loves to linger amid the oppressive blaze of the tropic sun.
Surrounding the village are forests of majestic trees, of indescribable grandeur, and of unparalleled magnificence. Among these the white houses of the planters nestle peacefully.
Each house has its own tiny garden, fenced in with reeds, and forms a miniature paradise, where are flowers of splendid hue, creepers with purple blossoms, red-coral blooms, and trees of palm, mango, orange, lanzon, santol, and giant bananas, whose rich fruits, in giant clusters, tempt the eye of the beholder. Here the native is a petty king: for his own little domain, for nine months of the year, yields sufficient for his wants. Nature, indeed, gives him a golden harvest for only the reaping.
We have been invited to spend the day with a well-to-do native planter, who, at the conclusion of the service, has sought us out. He lives on the outskirts of the village, and we are soon with him in his carromata, speeding leisurely over the highway.
We approach his home—a typical native dwelling; the body of the house is raised about six feet from the ground, and is mounted on thick pieces of stone. This allows the air to circulate freely beneath, and prevents the entrance of snakes and insects, and is in every way conducive to health and comfort. We mount the wide stairway, that connects the house with the ground, and enter upon a broad open piazza facing the street, called a cahida. The sides of this are formed of sliding windows, composed of small square panes of mother-of-pearl, opaque to the heat, but admitting the rays of light. Here we are introduced to the various members of the family, who receive us kindly and offer sugared dainties and a cigarette.
Home of a Well-to-do Manila Merchant.
Beyond is a large room, with walls of window and with sliding doors. Here are some chairs and a table, covered with a handsomely embroidered cloth. Upon the walls, which are covered with cloth instead of plaster, are various bric-a-brac, artistically arranged upon scrolls; while several engravings of religious subjects and one or two family portraits hang between. From the centre of the ceiling hangs a crystal chandelier with globes of colored glass; a small oratory, supporting the brazen image of some Saint, stands in the corner. The broad floor-planks, daily scrubbed and polished with plantain leaves, are as smooth and clean as a mirror.
Opening from this main room are several smaller rooms, used as bedrooms. A narrow passage-way leads to the bath-room and to the kitchen—in a separate building. The design of the whole domicile seems to aim at cleanliness and coolness,—both essentials of comfort in this hot, moist climate.
The roof is patched with nipa palm, and the outside walls of bamboo—painted white and striped with green and blue—are covered with grotesque carvings. This, with the broad eaves and the wide balconies, gives the house a most picturesque appearance.
We note with gratification the many signs of family affection around us. The father, kind and considerate; the mother, sweet and sympathetic; the children, quiet, obedient, and well-behaved—a picture of domestic happiness that is representative rather than exceptional.