Mary Helen Fee, a Thomasite teacher assigned in Capiz in the early 1900s, describes her first evenings after arriving in Capiz and a dinner party she was invited to, to celebrate's someone's Saint's Day (Celebrating the feast day of the saint after whom, Filipinos are named after, in lieu of celebrating birthdays themselves. This is still being practiced in Spain, where it took its roots, sadly though, not anymore in the Philippines.)
Mary describes how the church bells chime to announce the clock striking 6 pm, when the Angelus is prayed by the Catholic World, describing the scene as "it was as if some benignant fairy had waved her wand over the land to hold it at its sweetest moment. The criss-crossing crowds on the plaza paused for a reverend moment; the people in the room stood up"
This is very significant for me, because as a kid (not so long ago), I vividly remember everything as Mary describes. The bells would chime, and the whole city stopped, even the cars. The people in the plaza would stop walking, the people would stop talking -- to pray the Angelus . . . Now however, it doesn't do so anymore . . .
Another fact that I find amazing, is the fact that Mary describes here, and in many other instances, that the people of Capiz, the gentry and the masses, spoke Spanish in varying degrees . . . contrary to the long held belief and insistence of the Tagalogs, that the Filipinos were deprived of the language. This wasn't the case in my town, even the servants Mary hired, spoke good Spanish.
She also describes the Rigodon, being danced by the upper class in their parties, which Mary had the honor of attending. Fast forward to the 80s and 90s, I remember the Circulo Galante Grand Christmas Ball, celebrated by the old families of Capiz every Christmay Day -- since the 1700s up till 1993, (when the authorities decided to stop celebrating such ostentatious and insensitive display of wealth amidst all the suffering brought about by an economic crisis), the focal point was the Rigodon, danced elegantly by the city's Grand Dames and Gentlemen, and the Cotillon, danced by their children in perfectly choreographed and rehearsed dance steps that recall such elegant heritage.
Maybe this is why Mary described Capiz as an "Aristocratic Town"
"I was informed that my station would be Capiz, a town on the northern shore of Panay, once a rich and aristocratic pueblo xxx with one of greatest charm, and the one I love best to remember. There were the great, square, white-painted, red-tiled houses lining both banks of the river"
Sigh, this was before the wars destroyed everything . . .
=====================================
"XXX
The atmosphere was golden-moted--swimming in the incomparable amber of a tropical
evening. The river slipped along, giving the sense of rest and peace which water in shadow
always imparts, and as the long-drawn-out notes were caught and flung back by the echo from
the mountains, the flag fluttered down as if reluctant to leave so gentle a scene. When the
"Angelus" rang just afterwards, it was as if some benignant fairy had waved her wand over
the land to hold it at its sweetest moment. The criss-crossing crowds on the plaza paused for a
reverent moment; the people in the room stood up, and when the bell stopped ringing, said
briskly to me and to one another, "Good evening." Then the members of the family
approached its oldest representative and kissed his hand. It was all very pretty and very
effective.
Afterwards we went out for a walk--at least they invited me to go for a walk, though it was a
party to which we were bound. Filipinos, being devout Catholics, have a fashion of naming
their children after the saints, and, instead of celebrating the children's birthdays, celebrate the
saints' days. As there is a saint for every day in the year, and some to spare, and it is a point of
pride with every one of any social pretension whatever to be at home to his friends on his
patron saint's day, and to do that which we vulgarly term "set 'em up" most liberally, there is
more social diversion going on in a small Filipino town than would be found in one of
corresponding size in America. At these functions the crowd is apt to be thickest from four till
eight, the official calling hours in the Philippines.
Starting out, therefore, at half-past six, we found the parlors of the house well thronged. At the
head of the stairs was a sort of anteroom filled with men smoking. This antesala, as they call it,
gave on the sala, or drawing-room proper, which was a large apartment lighted by a hanging
chandelier of cut glass, holding about a dozen petroleum lamps. Two rows of chairs, facing
each other, were occupied by ladies in silken skirts of brilliant hues, and in camisas and
panuelos of delicate embroidered or hand-painted pina. We made a solemn entry, and passed
up the aisle doing a sort of Roger de Coverley figure in turning first to one side and then to the
other to shake hands. No names were mentioned. Our hostess said, by way of general
announcement, "La maestra," and having started me up the maze left me to unwind myself. So
I zigzagged along with a hand-shake and a decorous "Buenas noches" to everybody till I found
myself at the end of the line at an open window. Here one of those little oblong tables, across
which the Filipinos are fond of talking, separated me from a lady, unquestionably of the white
races, who received the distinction of personal mention. She was "la Gobernadora," and her
husband, a fat Chino mestizo, was immediately brought forward and introduced as "el
Gobernador." He was a man of education and polish, having spent fourteen years in school in
Spain, where he married his wife. After having welcomed me properly, he betook himself to the
room at the head of the stairs where the men were congregated. A fat native priest in a greasy
old cassock seemed the centre of jollity there, and he alternately joked with the men and
stopped to extend his hand to the children who went up and kissed it.
I did my best to converse intelligently with the Gobernadora and the other ladies who were
within conversational distance. A band came up outside and played "Just One Girl," and
presently one of the ladies of the house invited the Governor's wife and me to partake of
sweets. We went out to the dining-room, where a table was laid with snow-white cloth, and
prettily decorated with flowers and with crystal dishes containing goodies.
There were, first of all, meringues, which we call French kisses, the favorite sweet here. There
was also flaon, which we would call baked custard. In the absence of ovens they do not bake it,
but they boil it in a mould like an ice-cream brick. They line the mould with caramel, and the
custard comes out golden brown, smooth as satin, and delicately flavored with the caramel.
Then there was nata, which is like boiled custard unboiled, and there were all sorts of
crystallized fruits--pineapple, lemon, orange, and citron, together with that peculiar one they
call santol. There were also the transparent, jelly-like seeds of the nipa palm, boiled in syrup
till they looked like magnified balls of sago or tapioca.
I partook of these rich delicacies, though my soul was hungering for a piece of broiled steak,
and I accepted a glass of muscatel, which is the accepted ladies' wine here. My hostesses were
eager that I should try all kinds of foods, and a refusal to accept met with a protest, "Otra
clase, otra clase." Then the Gobernadora and I went back to the sala, and another group took
our places at the refreshment table.
After everybody had been served with sweets, a young Filipina was led to the piano. She
played with remarkable technique and skill. Another young lady sang very badly. Filipinos
have natural good taste in music, have quick musical ears, and a natural sense of time, but
they have voices of small range and compass, and what voice they have they misuse shamefully.
They also undertake to sing music altogether too difficult for any but professionals.
When the music was over, I was rather anxiously anticipating a "recitation," but was
overjoyed to discover that that resource of rural entertainment has no foothold in the
Philippines. Dancing was next in order. The first dance was the stately rigodon, which is
almost the only square dance used here. When it was finished and a waltz had begun, I
insisted on going home, for I was tired out. Somebody loaned us a victoria, and thus the trip
was short. A deep-mouthed bell in the church tower rang out ten slow strokes as I threw back
the shutters after putting out my light. The military bugles took up the sound with "taps," and
the figure of the sentry on the bridge was a moving patch of black in the moonlight.
XXX"
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