[Subjoined to the letter is the following, the origin of which we cannot account for, but which indicates the wide circulation that the letter must have had.]
Questions of Father Pedro Murillo [Velarde][245] of the Society of Jesus
102. What is the Indian? Reply—The lowest degree of rational animal. Question—How many and what are his peculiarities? Reply—Twenty-one, as follows:
Résumé of the entire letter by the said
Father Murillo
103. The Filipino Indian is the embryo of nature and the offspring of grossness. He does not feel an insult or show gratitude for a kindness. His continual habitation is the kitchen; and the smoke that harms all of us serves him as the most refreshing breeze. If the Indian has morisqueta and salt, he gives himself no concern, though it rain thunder and lightning, and the sky fall. He is much given to lying, theft, and laziness. In the confessional he is a maze [embolismo] of contradictions, now denying proofs and now affirming impossible things. Now he plays the part of a devout pilgrim over rough roads and through the deepest rivers, in order to hear mass on a workday at a shrine ten or twelve leguas away; while it is necessary to use violence to get him to hear mass on Sunday in his parish church. They are impious in their necessities with the father, but liberal and charitable to their guests, even when they do not know them; and through that they are greatly disappointed. At the same time they are humble and proud; bold and atrocious, but cowardly and pusillanimous; compassionate and cruel; slothful and lazy, and diligent; careful and negligent in their own affairs; very dull and foolish for good things, but very clever and intelligent in rogueries. He who has most to do with them knows them least. Their greatest diversion is cock-fighting, and they love their cocks more than their wives and children. They are more ready to believe any of their old people than even an apostolic preacher. They resemble mellizas,[246] in their vices and opposite virtues. In lying alone, is no contradiction found in them; for one does not know when they are not lying, whether they are telling the truth by mistake. One Indian does not resemble another Indian, or even himself. If they are given one thing, they immediately ask for another.[247] They never fail to deceive, unless it crosses their own interest. In their suits, they are like flies on the food, who never quit it, however much they be brushed away. Finally, there is no fixed rule by which to construe them; a new syntax is necessary for each one; and, as they are all anomalous, the most intelligent man would be distracted[248] if he tried to define them. Farewell.
[Delgado has the following interesting chapter (pp. 297–302 of his Historia) on this letter, which it is judged advisable to present at this place.]
Chapter VII
Some considerations concerning the matter in Father Gaspar de San Agustín’s letter
I confess that I read this letter, in which the reverend author criticises the customs and dispositions of the natives of Filipinas, some years ago. But I read it as I am wont to read other letters, for diversion and amusement, without thinking much about its artfulness, and I was delighted with its erudition. However, when I afterward considered its contents with some degree of thought, I saw that it brought forward, in its whole length, no solid proof of what it tries to make one believe; and it appeared to me a hyperbolical criticism from the very beginning. On that account I resolved to make a few brief commentaries on the matter in the letter, both for the consolation of those whom our Lord may call to these missions, and so that it may be understood that at times sadness and melancholy are accustomed to heighten things, making giants out of pygmies—all the more, if a relish for revery and grumbling be joined with a tendency to exaggeration and with figures of speech corresponding thereto. Consequently, I am surprised that the reverend annalist or chronicler [i.e., San Antonio] of the seraphic province of San Gregorio praises this letter, saying that it is worth printing, since its author has penetrated as far as one may penetrate into the characters of the natives of these islands. And yet the author confesses that it is as difficult to define their nature as are the eight impossible things which are recounted there. That seems to me a fine hyperbole.