A STRANGE ENVIRONMENT
In the Far East one meets certain expressions the significance of which
may be described as adamantine. Each represents a racial attitude
against which it is useless to contend. In Japan it is the equivalent of
it cannot be helped; a verbal shrug of the shoulders with which the
Japanese tosses off all minor and many grave annoyances. “_Masqui_,”
down the China coast, has the same import, but with the added meaning of
“what difference does it make.” In the Philippines the phrase which must
be met and which cannot be overcome by any system of reform is “_el
costumbre del pais_”—the custom of the country.
If it is _el costumbre del pais_ it has to be done and there is nothing
more to be said about it. The _manaña_ habit—putting everything off
until to-morrow—is, perhaps, to Americans, the most annoying of all the
_costumbres del pais_ in the Philippines, but it yields to pressure much
more readily than do many others, among which is the custom of
accumulating _parientes_; that is, giving shelter on a master’s premises
to every kind and degree of relative who has no other place to live.
This is, I suppose, a survival of an old patriarchal arrangement whereby
everybody with the remotest or vaguest claim upon a master of a
household gathered upon that master’s doorstep, so to speak, and camped
there for life.
In my first encounter with this peculiarity of my environment I thought
there was a large party going on in my _cochero’s_ quarters; and an
indiscriminate sort of party it seemed to be. There were old men and old
women, young men and young women, many small children and a few babes in
arms. We had only Chinese servants in the house, but the stables were in
charge of Filipinos and, as I soon discovered, the “party” was made up
entirely of our stablemen’s _parientes_.
[Illustration:
(_LEFT TO RIGHT_) GENERAL WRIGHT, MR. TAFT AND JUDGE IDE AS PHILIPPINE
COMMISSIONERS
]
I had a pair of ponies and a Victoria; Mr. Taft had his two little brown
horses and a Victoria; besides which there was an extra horse to be used
in case of accident to one of the others, as well as a pony and _calesa_
for the children. This rather formidable array was necessary because we
found it impossible to take a horse out more than twice a day, and
usually not more than once, on account of the sun. My ponies were taken
out only in the early morning or the late evening, and those of Mr. Taft
had all they could do to take him to the office and bring him home twice
a day. Distances were long and there were no street cars which ran where
anybody wanted to go.
This number of conveyances made a good many stablemen necessary and all
of them, with their families, lived in quarters attached to the stables.
These families consisted of fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, uncles,
aunts, cousins near and far removed, wives, children, grandchildren, and
a few intimate and needy friends with their family ramifications.
Besides our three _cocheros_ and the stable boys, there was a gardener
with his _parientes_, so it is no wonder that on my first inspection of
the lower premises I should have thought that some sort of festivity was
in progress. I might have lived in Manila twenty years without being
able to straighten out the relationships in this servant colony; it was
not possible to learn who had and who had not a right to live on the
place; and my protest was met with the simple statement that it was _el
costumbre del pais_, so I, perforce, accepted the situation.
Filipino servants never live in the master’s residence; they never want
to; they want the freedom of a house of their own, and these houses are,
as a rule, built on the outer edges of the garden, or compound. I
believe Americans now are learning to meet the _pariente_ habit by
having room for just as many people as they need, and no more. But those
who live in the old places, with their ample quarters, still gather the
clans and are permitted to enjoy a most expansive and patriarchal
sensation.
My horses, when I first saw them, were a source of the greatest pride. A
beautifully matched pair of coal-black, stylishly-paced and glossy
little stallions, hardly larger than Shetland ponies, they looked as if
they had been washed in some sort of shrinking soap and had come out in
perfect condition except that they were several sizes smaller than they
ought to have been. These Philippine ponies are doubtless descendants of
the Arabian horses brought over by the Spaniards and have been reduced
to their present size by the change of climate and the difference in
food and environment, but they still have the fine lines and the general
characteristics of their progenitors.
Mr. Taft secured mine from Batangas, where all the best ponies come
from, through the kindness of Mr. Benito Legarda, the staunchest of
_Americanistas_. Batangas was a most unquiet province, the last, in
fact, to become pacified, and Mr. Legarda had to pay an _insurrecto_ for
bringing the horses through the insurgent lines and delivering them at
Calamba, near Manila. Although he did not know their exact origin when
he bought them, Mr. Taft said that if the facts became known he would be
accused, in certain quarters, of giving indirect aid to the
revolutionists; but he wanted the ponies so he did not return them.
When they were hitched to the shining little Victoria which had been
built for them, they were as pretty as a picture and, as I did not
propose to have such a turn-out ruined by a couple of Filipinos on the
box in untidy _camisas_ hanging outside of as untidy white trousers, I
had made for my _cochero_ and boy, or coachman and footman, a livery of
white and green in which they took such inordinate pride that they
seemed to grow in stature and dignity.
Maria and I felt a sense of the utmost satisfaction the first time we
stepped into this carriage for a drive down to the Luneta where we were
sure to see everybody we knew and hundreds of people besides; but our
vanity was destined to be brought to a sudden termination.
As we were driving along with much satisfaction, a bit of paper floated
down alongside the blinkers of the little ebony steed on the right and
he made one wild leap into the air. His companion gave him an angry nip,
and then the fight was on. Maria and I jumped out, which was not
difficult in a low-built Victoria, and no sooner had we done so than we
saw the complete wreck of all our grandeur. With all the leaping and
plunging and biting and kicking, in the vicinity of a handy lamp-post,
the smash-up was fairly complete. Neither of the ponies was hurt, except
by the lash of the whip, and I must say the little wretches looked
rather funny; like very pretty and very bad children, sorry for what
they had done. But their characters were established and they proceeded
after that to live up to them. We never could have any confidence in
them and my coachman was the only person who could do anything with
them. He was a most unsatisfactory man in many ways and used often to
call for us at dinner parties in a state of gay inebriety, but we didn’t
dare discharge him because everybody else in the stables stood in awe of
the blacks while he seemed greatly to enjoy his constant and spectacular
struggles with them.
The Filipinos are a most temperate people; there is no such thing as
drunkenness among them; but coachmen seem to be an exception in that
they allow themselves a sufficient stimulation of the fiery _vino_ to
make them drive with courage and dash, sometimes minus all care and
discretion. The drivers of public vehicles seem to love their little
horses in a way; they are inordinately proud of a fast paced or
stylish-looking pony; yet they are, as a rule, quite harsh to them. They
overload them and overdrive them, and under all conditions they lash
them continuously.
No Filipino _cochero_ likes to have another _cochero_ pass him, and the
result is constant, indiscriminate racing, on any kind of street, under
any circumstances,—and never mind the horse.
My children were driving with their governess to the Luneta one evening,
when two _caromatas_ came tearing down behind them, each driver hurling
imprecations at the other and paying no attention to what was ahead of
him. The result was a violent collision. The two _caromatas_ went
plunging on, the _cocheros_ not stopping to see what damage they might
have done—which was very characteristic—and the children narrowly
escaped a serious accident. Charlie was hurled out and fell under the
children’s _calesa_ and Robert and Helen both declare they felt a
sickening jolt as a wheel passed over him. The baby, too, vowed that the
_calesa_ “went wight over me, wight dere,” indicating a vital spot; but
upon the closest examination we could discover nothing more serious than
a few bruises. However, it made us very much afraid to trust the
children out alone.
The gardener had two little boys, José and Capito, who were a few years
older than Charlie, but about his size, and he took a tremendous fancy
to them. They were clad, simply, in thin gauze—or _jusi_—shirts which
came down a little below their waists, and I think Charlie envied them
this informal attire. He used to order them around in a strange mixture
of Spanish, Tagalog and English which made me wonder at my wholly
American child; but it was an effective combination since he seemed to
have them completely under his thumb and, as he revelled in his sense of
power, he never tired of playing with them.
Maria and I soon adopted the universal habit of driving down to the
Escolta in the early morning to do such shopping as was necessary. We
found a variety of interesting shops, but with very little in them to
meet the ordinary demands of an American woman. There were delightful
Indian bazaars and Chinese _tiendas_ where all manner of gaudy fabrics
and strange oriental articles were on sale, while the Spanish shops upon
which everybody had to depend in those days, and which had such grandly
European names as Paris-Manila and La Puerta del Sol, catered largely to
the Filipino taste for bright colours.
The Escolta at that time was full of saloons, established by the
inevitable followers of a large army, and the street being very narrow
and the old, rickety, wooden buildings being very wide open, the “beery”
odour which pervaded the atmosphere at all hours was really dreadful.
Mr. Taft decided that as long as this was the only street in town where
women could go shopping, the saloons would have to be removed. There was
opposition on the Commission to the bill which provided for their
banishment, and it was fought from the outside with great vigour and
bitterness, but a majority were in favour of it, so it passed, and the
saloons had to move. There has not been a saloon on the Escolta from
that day to this and, indeed, they have ever since been under such
satisfactory regulation that there is little evidence left of their
existence in the city.
I am afraid it is going to be very difficult to convey an adequate
picture of Manila society during the first years of American occupation.
There had been, in the old days, a really fine Spanish and rich
_mestizo_ society, but all, or nearly all, of the Spaniards had left the
Islands, and the _mestizos_ had not yet decided just which way to
“lean,” or just how to meet the American control of the situation. I may
say here that most of the educated, high-class Filipinos are _mestizo_;
that is, of mixed blood. They may be Spanish mestizo or Chinese mestizo,
but they have in them a strong strain of foreign blood. Besides the
Spanish- and Chinese-Filipinos, there are a number of British mestizos
who are very interesting people. Mr. Legarda, Chief Justice Arellano,
Dr. Pardo de Tavera and Mr. Quezon, the Filipino delegate to the United
States Congress, are Spanish mestizos, while Mr. Arañeta, the Secretary
of Finance and Justice, as well as the Speaker of the Philippine
Assembly and many able lawyers and successful business men are of
Chinese descent. The mestizos control practically all the wealth of the
Philippines, and their education, intelligence and social standing are
unquestioned. It is the only country in the world that I know
about—certainly the only country in the Orient—where the man or woman of
mixed blood seems to be regarded as superior to the pure blooded native.
Dating back also to the Spanish days was quite a numerous foreign
society consisting of a few consuls, some professional men, the managers
of banks and large British and European mercantile firms, and their
families. The leaders of the British colony were Mr. and Mrs. Jones—Mr.
Jones being the manager of the Manila branch of the Hongkong and
Shanghai Banking Corporation. Mrs. Jones, a very beautiful and charming
woman, gave some very elaborate parties during that first winter. Bank
House, the residence maintained by the bank for its manager in Manila,
is a beautiful place in Uli-Uli, a district on the picturesque banks of
the upper Pásig, and it is finely adapted for balls and large
receptions. Then there were several German families who also entertained
quite lavishly, and I remember, especially, one Austrian exile; indeed,
I shall never be able to forget him because my husband took such joy in
pronouncing his name. He was Baron von Bosch.
This was the “set” which entertained the Commission most cordially
during our first season in Manila, while the Army officers, following
the lead of their Commanding General, held themselves somewhat aloof. I
kept up a constant round of parties of different kinds in my house, and
gave a dinner at least once a week at which were gathered companies of a
most interestingly cosmopolitan character. And we did not fail to
observe all the desirable forms. Both Filipinos and Europeans expect a
certain amount of ceremony from the representatives of government and
are not at all impressed by “democratic simplicity”; so believing in the
adage about Rome and the Romans, we did what we could. Beside the spic
and span guard at the outer gate of the illuminated garden, we always,
on dinner party nights, stationed coachmen, or other stable boys
disguised as liveried footmen, on either side of the entrance, to
receive guests and conduct them to the dressing-rooms, and up the stairs
to the reception room.
Our house was nicely adapted for a dinner of twelve and I usually tried
to confine myself to that number. We always had an orchestra, orchestras
being very plentiful in Manila where nearly every native plays some sort
of instrument, and the music added greatly to the festive air of things,
which was enhanced, too, by a certain oriental atmosphere, with many
Japanese lanterns and a profusion of potted plants and great, hanging,
natural ferneries and orchids which were brought in from the forests by
the Filipinos and sold on the streets.
My husband is supposed to be the author of the phrase: “our little brown
brothers”—and perhaps he is. It did not meet the approval of the army,
and the soldiers used to have a song which they sang with great gusto
and frequency and which ended with the conciliating sentiment: “He may
be a brother of William H. Taft, but he ain’t no friend of mine!”
We insisted upon complete racial equality for the Filipinos, and from
the beginning there were a great many of them among our callers and
guests. Their manners are models of real courtesy, and, while their
customs are not always like ours, wherever they are able they manifest a
great willingness to be _conforme_,—to adapt themselves,—and their
hospitality is unbounded.
I shall never forget my first call from a Filipino family. They arrived
shortly after six in the evening: el señor, la señora and four
señoritas. We went through a solemn and ceremonious handshaking all
around. I received them first, then passed them on to my husband who, in
turn, passed them on with a genial introduction to my sister Maria. We
had been sitting on the verandah, and when a semi-circle of chairs had
been arranged, the six of them sat down; el señor noisily cleared his
throat a couple of times while the ladies calmly folded their little
hands in their laps and assumed an air of great repose. It was as if
they had no intention of taking any part whatever in the conversation.
El señor explained in Spanish that they were our near neighbours and
that they had called merely to pay their respects. Mr. Taft had been
studying Spanish diligently ever since he left the United States, but he
is not conspicuously gifted as a linguist, and he had not yet waked
up—as he so often expressed a wish that he might—to find himself a true
Castilian. However, his ready laugh and the cordiality of his manners
have always had a peculiar charm for the Filipinos, and he was able on
this occasion, as he was on many future ones, to carry off the situation
very well. We all nodded and smiled and said, “Si Señor” and “Si
Señora,” to long and no telling what kind of speeches from our guests;
then Maria and I complimented the ladies on their beautifully
embroidered _camisas_, which started things off properly. They praised
everything in sight, and what we didn’t get through the little Spanish
we knew, we got from gesture and facial expression. They got up and
wandered all around, feeling of my Japanese tapestries and embroideries,
breathing long “ahs!” of admiration over my gold screens and pictures
and curios, and acting generally like callers who were being very well
entertained. Then the children came in and they broke out afresh in
voluble praise of them. I assumed the proper deprecatory mien in
response to their laudation of my children, and altogether I felt that
we were acquitting ourselves rather well in this first inter-racial
social experience.
But at the end of half an hour the strain was getting a little severe
and I was wondering what to do next, when our six callers arose and said
they must be going. I breathed an inward sigh of relief and was making
ready to escort them to the top of the stairs, when my husband cordially
exclaimed:
“Why, no! _Porque? Tenemos bastante tiempo._ Why hurry?”
And—they—all—sat—down!
I regretted then even the little Spanish Mr. Taft had learned, though,
of course, he didn’t expect them to heed his polite protest. He knew
nothing at all about Filipino manners; he didn’t know they expected to
receive some sign from him when it was time to go and that they would
consider it discourteous to go while he was urging them to stay. He kept
up, without much assistance, a brave if laboured conversation, and the
minutes slowly passed. Our dinner hour approached and I darted warning
glances at him, for I had a horrible fear that he just might ask them to
remain and dine. But at the end of another hour a strained expression
began to spread itself over even his face, and there was not a word of
protest from him when, at a quarter past eight, our little brown
neighbours once more indicated an intention of going home. We
entertained Filipino callers nearly every day after that, but never
again did we urge them to reconsider their sometimes tardy decision to
depart.
With regard to Filipino manners and customs; I am reminded that we were
nonplussed, though greatly amused by the _costumbre del pais_ which
decreed that some return be made by a Filipino for any and all favours
bestowed upon him. We grew accustomed to this before we left the
Islands, and came to expect a few offerings of sorts almost any day in
the week, but in the beginning it was usually most embarrassing.
One time, soon after our arrival, a very loyal _Americanista_ was shot
down in the street, during the peaceful discharge of his duty, by an
_insurrecto_. His widow, with her children, came into Manila in a state
of utter destitution, to secure some recompense from the government for
her husband’s services, and while her case was pending Mr. Taft, in
great pity for her, sent her money enough to live on. The next day the
whole family, from the wide-eyed boy to the babe carried astride the
mother’s hip, came to call on their benefactor, bringing with them as a
gift a basket containing a few eggs, some strange Philippine fruits and
a lot of sea-shells. Mr. Taft was deeply touched, and with the
brusqueness of a man who is touched, he told her he had given her the
money to buy food for herself and her children and not for him, and he
refused her offering. I know, by the light of a fuller knowledge of the
character of the lowly Filipino, that she went away feeling very much
cast down.
But in connection with such gifts there were always more laughs than
sighs. We invited to luncheon one day a dashing Filipino named Tomaso
del Rosario. Señor Rosario, a man of wealth and prominence who had a
fine Spanish education and was well dressed in the high-collared,
patent-leathered and immaculate-linened Spanish style, was quite
self-confident and enjoyed himself very much. He seemed attracted to
Maria and she, being linguistic, was able to talk to him in a mixture of
many languages. The next day she received from Señor Rosario, not a
floral offering, but a basket filled with nuts, a canned plum-pudding,
some canned chocolates and preserved fruits. This attention did not seem
so remarkable, however, when we learned, to our amusement, that he had
sent exactly the same present to Alice Worcester, then five years old.
Our life, on the whole, was intensely interesting in its unusual
atmosphere and curious complications, but throughout everything we were
made to feel the deep significance of our presence in the Islands; and
the work of the Commission was first, last and always to us the subject
of the greatest moment. Even in our daily round of social affairs we
dealt with tremendous problems whose correct solution meant the
restoration of peace and prosperity to what then should have been, and
what we knew could be made, a great country. That for which the American
flag had always stood began to assume, for many of us, a broader and a
finer meaning; and being so much a part of our flag’s mission in a
strange field a certain zest was added to our patriotism which we had
never felt before. I believe, and I think all those who know the truth
believe, that Americanism, in its highest conception, has never been
more finely demonstrated than in the work done by the United States in
the Philippine Islands; work, the broad foundation for which the
Commission was engaged in constructing during the period of which I
write.
So many were the problems to be met and dealt with that in the beginning
the Commissioners were each given a set of subjects for investigation
and study, their findings being submitted for debate and consideration
in the general meetings.
Taxation, civil service, provincial and municipal organisations,
currency and finance, police, harbour improvements, roads and railways,
customs, postal service, education, health, public lands, an honest
judiciary and the revision of the code of laws; these were some of the
vital problems, but underlying them all was the immediate necessity for
the establishment of tranquillity and confidence throughout the
archipelago.
In order to make clear, in any degree, the Philippine situation as we
found it, it is essential that, briefly, the position of the Catholic
Church and its representatives, the Friars, be explained. For the first
time in its history the American government found itself compelled to
adjust a seemingly insurmountable difficulty between a church and its
people.
With us the Church is so completely separate from the State that it is
difficult to imagine cases in which the policy of a church in the
selection of its ministers, and the assignment of them to duty could be
regarded as of political moment, or as a proper subject of comment in
the report of a public officer, but in the first reports of the
Philippine Commission to Washington this subject had to be introduced
with emphasis.
The Spanish government of the Philippine Islands was a government by the
Church through its monastic orders, nothing less. In the words of the
Provincial of the Augustinians, the Friars were the “pedestal or
foundation of the sovereignty of Spain” which being removed “the whole
structure would topple over.” The Philippine people, with the exception
of the Mohammedan Moros and the non-Christian tribes, belonged, during
the Spanish dominion, to the Roman Catholic Church, and the Church
registry of 1898 showed a total membership of 6,559,998. The parishes
and missions, with few exceptions, were administered by Spanish Friars
of the Dominican, Augustinian and Franciscan orders, and it was to the
nature of this administration that Spain owed the insurrections of 1896
and 1898, the latter of which terminated only upon our assuming control
of the islands.
In 1896 there were in the Philippines 1,124 monks of the Augustinian,
Dominican and Franciscan orders, which body included a company of
Recolletos, who are merely an offshoot of the order of St. Augustine and
differ from the Augustinians only in that they are unshod. In addition
to these there were a few Jesuits, Capuchins, Benedictines and Paulists,
but they engaged in mission and educational work only and did not share
with the other orders the resentment and hatred of the people. Filipinos
were not admitted to any of the orders, but they were made friar curates
and served as parish priests in some of the smaller places.
When a Spanish Friar curate was once settled in a parish he remained
there for life, or until he was too old for service, and because of this
fact he was able to establish and maintain an absolutism which is
difficult to explain in a few words. He was simply everything in his
parish. As a rule he was the only man of education who knew both Spanish
and the native dialect of his district, and in many parishes he was the
only Spanish representative of the government. In the beginning, through
his position as spiritual guide, he acted as intermediary in secular
matters between his people and the rest of the world, and eventually, by
law, he came to discharge many civil functions and to supervise, correct
or veto everything which was done, or was sought to be done in his
pueblo.
He was Inspector of Primary Schools, President of the Board of Health
and the Board of Charities, President of the Board of Urban Taxation,
Inspector of Taxation, President of the Board of Public Works, Member of
the Provincial Council, Member of the Board for Partitioning Crown
Lands, Censor of Municipal Budgets, and Censor of plays, comedies or
dramas in the dialect of his parish, deciding whether or not these were
against the public peace or morals. In a word, he was the government of
his parish; and in addition to all things else, it was he who, once a
year, went to the parish register, wrote on slips of paper the names of
all boys who had reached the age of twenty, and putting these into a
receptacle, drew them out one by one and called every fifth man for
military service. So hateful was this forced duty to the Filipino youths
that many of them would run away into the mountains and hide, become
outlaws in order to escape it. But the civil guard would go after them
and when they were captured they would be put in jail and watched until
they could be sent to their capital.
The monastic orders had behind them a powerful church organisation the
heads of which took an active and official part in the administration of
government. The Archbishop and the Bishops formed part of what was known
in Manila as the Board of Authorities; and they, with the Provincials of
the orders, belonged to the Council of Administration, a body analogous
to the Council of State in Spain or France, charged with advising the
Governor-General on matters of urgent moment, or in times of crises. The
Friars, Priests and Bishops constituted a solid, permanent and
well-organised political force which dominated all insular policies, and
the stay in the islands of the civil or military officer who attempted
to pursue a course at variance with that deemed wise by the orders, was
invariably shortened by monastic influence. Each order had in Madrid a
representative through whom the Court of Spain easily could be reached
without the intervention of any authority.
Upon the morals of the Friars I can only touch. That some of them
brought up families of sons and daughters is beyond question. Such were
guilty of violating their vows of celibacy rather than of debauchery. On
this point the moral standard of the Filipino people was not rigid, and
women were rather proud than otherwise of the parentage of their
Friar-fathered children who were often brighter, better looking and more
successful than the average Filipino. The truth is that this charge was
urged with more eagerness and emphasis after the Filipinos began to
appeal to the American government than during Spanish times, and when
the standard of morality in the Filipino priesthood of the period was
considered, it seemed as if the accusers thought the charge would have
more weight with those they sought to influence than it did with
themselves.
The three great orders of St. Francis, St. Augustine and St. Dominic
owned, in different parts of the Islands, more than 400,000 acres of the
best agricultural land, and this they rented out in small parcels to the
people. Their income from these immense holdings was not what a prudent
and energetic landlord would have realised, but they paid no taxes,
while the Filipino was taxed in every possible way.
In the province of Cavite alone the Friar estates amounted to 131,747
acres, and it was in the province of Cavite, which is just across the
bay from Manila, that the two insurrections against Spain, or rather
against Friar domination, began.
When we arrived in Manila all but 472 of the 1,124 Friars had either
been killed or had fled the country. In each of the uprisings many of
them lost their lives, and many more were taken prisoners. Indeed, the
last of them were not released until the rapid advance of the American
troops in our own encounter with the _insurrectos_ made it necessary for
the insurgent army to abandon all unnecessary impedimenta. All the
Friars remaining in the Islands had taken refuge in Manila.
Strange to say, this resentment against the Friars interfered in no way
with the Filipino’s love for the Church. With a strong and real emotion
he loves the religion which has been given him; and the elaborate and
beautiful forms of the Roman Catholic Church are calculated, especially,
to make a powerful appeal to his mind. It is really an astonishing
commentary on the character of these people that they should be able to
rise against the men who administered the sacraments which they so
deeply loved and revered. Or, is it more of a commentary on the
conditions which caused the uprisings?
Without exception the Spanish Friars had been driven from their
parishes, and the most burning of all the burning political questions
which the Commission met and had to settle, was whether or not they
should be permitted to return. It was impossible to make the people
understand that the government of the United States and the government
of Spain were two different matters, and that if the Friars were
returned to their parishes they would exercise no secular functions of
any kind. The people had the proverbial dread of the “burnt child” and
no amount or kind of reasoning could move them from the position they
had taken, nor could any of them, from the highest to the lowest, talk
calmly and rationally about the subject. The one point upon which the
Filipinos were united was that the Friars should never be reinstated.
Universal agitation, uneasiness, fear, hatred, a memory of wrongs too
recently resented and resented at too great a cost; these were the
factors which made necessary the stand which the Commission finally
adopted. The question with the Friars became one, largely, of getting
value for their property, their title to which was never seriously
disputed, and it was decided that on condition of their leaving the
Islands, the insular government would undertake the purchase of their
vast estates. The intention was then to make some arrangement whereby
the lands might be sold back to the people in homestead tracts, and on
terms which the poorest man might be able, in time, to meet.
It was to negotiate this transaction, involving the expenditure of
$7,000,000 that my husband was sent to Rome the following year as an
emissary of the United States government to the Vatican. This was in the
time of Pope Leo, and it made a most interesting experience which I
shall detail in another chapter.
The first thing, really, that the Commission undertook when they arrived
in Manila, was the settlement of a definite dispute between the Church
and the People as to which had the right to administer the affairs of
the Medical College of San José. Their manner of procedure in this case
instituted in the Islands a new and never-before-thought-of system of
evenly balanced justice, and made a tremendous sensation.
The case was called: “T. H. Pardo de Tavera, and others, for themselves
and other inhabitants of the Philippine Islands—against—The Rector of
the University of Santo Tomas, a Dominican monk, and the Holy Roman
Apostolic Catholic Church, represented by the Most Reverend, the
Archbishop of Manila, and the Most Reverend, the Archbishop of New
Orleans, Apostolic Delegate.” Its importance, under the conditions then
existing, can hardly be exaggerated.
San José was one of the oldest institutions in the Islands; it was
founded, as a matter of fact, in 1601, by virtue of a legacy left by a
Spanish Provincial Governor named Figueroa who provided that it should
always be managed by the head of the Jesuits in the Islands. It was
originally a college for the education of Spanish boys, but through
various vicissitudes, including the expulsion of the Jesuits in 1766, it
had changed from one thing to another until, finally, it had become a
college of physicians and pharmacists and was made a department of the
University of Santo Tomas, the Rector of which was a Dominican Friar.
One of the Philips had granted to the college a Royal charter, and
within the last hundred years the Crown had asserted its right of
control. So when the American government took over all the public
property in the Philippines, General Otis closed San José, but he did
not issue an order as to its management. The Church was petitioning for
a restitution of what it regarded as its rights in the property, and the
Commission was called upon to settle the controversy.
They conducted their examinations in open meetings so that all might see
the full and free workings of a wholly equitable system, and the
Filipinos were enabled to behold, for the first time, the, to them,
astonishing spectacle of high ecclesiastics presenting in open court the
arguments upon which they based their claims.
The first hearing Mr. Taft describes as “an historic scene.”
“There were the two Archbishops in their archiepiscopal cassocks,” he
writes, “with purple girdles and diamond crosses, accompanied by a
Secretary of the Dominican order robed in white; while opposed was a
Filipino lawyer, Don Felipe Calderón, who derived his education in the
University of Santo Tomas. Accompanying him were a lot of young Filipino
students and others of the Medical Association interested in wresting
San José from the University. The Archbishop of Manila made a speech in
which he was unable to restrain the feeling of evident pain that he had
in finding the rights of the Church challenged in this Catholic country.
He made a very dignified appearance.”
And at the second hearing:
“Both Archbishops were again present, and the same scene was re-enacted
except that we had rather more of a formal hearing. We had them seated
on opposite sides of a table, just as we do in court at home, and had
seats for the spectators.
“Señor Don Felipe Calderón, who represents the Philippine people, was
given an opportunity to make the first speech. He had printed his
argument and read it, having given us translated copies with which we
followed him. His argument was a very strong one, lawyer-like and
well-conceived, but he weakened it by some vicious remarks about the
Dominican order. The Archbishop of Manila, once or twice, felt so much
outraged at what he said that he attempted to rise, but Archbishop
Chapelle prevented him from doing so. At the close of the argument
Monsignor Chapelle asked for ten days in which to prepare an answer and
we granted him two weeks. The scene was one I shall always carry with me
as marking an interesting period in my Philippine experience.”
The Commission did not settle the question. After careful consideration
and many hearings, they left the property in the hands of the
Dominicans, but appointed a Board of Trustees to prepare and present an
appeal to the Supreme Court of the Islands, appropriating at the same
time, five thousand dollars to pay the expenses of the litigation.
Archbishop Chapelle did not like this decision and telegraphed to
Secretary Root asking him to withhold his approval. Then he asked the
Commission to modify the law and give him an opportunity, in case the
decision in the Supreme Court should go against the Church, to appeal to
the Congress of the United States. This the Commission refused to do on
good and sufficient grounds, whereupon the Archbishop cabled to the
President, declaring that the decision as it stood would retard
pacification. Although he had always been strongly opposed to the
continuation of military government, we were much amused to learn that
in his cable to the President he took occasion to remark, significantly,
that “General MacArthur is doing splendidly.”
But if Archbishop Chapelle was displeased with the action of the
Commission, the Filipino press was delighted, and the editorial
encomiums heaped upon them can only be described as brilliant. The
_Diario de Manila_, the next morning, was absolutely unable to express
itself, and it concluded a more or less incoherently eulogistic
editorial with the words: “The decision satisfies everybody; it raises a
question which threatened to drag itself over the hot sands we tread,
cleanses it of all impurities, and makes it the beginning and the end of
a most transcendental principle of sovereignty and law.” The Filipino or
Spanish editor is nothing if he is not hyperbolic.
When we arrived in Manila it was a source of great worry to us that we
could not send our children, eight and ten years old, to school. The
Jesuits had a school for boys in the Walled City, and Mr. Taft
considered for awhile the possibility of sending Robert there, where he
might, at least, learn Spanish; but so strong was the feeling against
the Friars that this would have been taken by the people as a certain
indication that the President of the Commission was leaning toward the
Church in his deliberations on the vital subject. As I have said, they
could not look upon this question, in any of its bearings, in a
reasonable light.
We eventually settled Helen in a convent where she made an effort to
learn Spanish, and Robert we turned over to Mrs. LeRoy, the wife of Mr.
Worcester’s Secretary, who was a graduate from the University of
Michigan and a most excellent teacher.
Mr. and Mrs. LeRoy went to the Philippines as bride and groom. They were
classmates, graduated together, and this was their first big venture
into the world. They were a valued part of our little pioneer circle,
and it was with the greatest dismay that we learned, after about two
years in the Islands, that Mr. LeRoy had developed tuberculosis. He had
either brought the germs with him from the United States or had
contracted the disease there, where, indeed, it is most prevalent. He
continued to act as Secretary for Mr. Worcester beyond the time when he
should have gone to another climate to devote himself to a cure, but
finally, when he realised that the sentence was upon him, he decided to
leave the Islands, and my husband was able to secure for him, because of
his splendid efficiency, a position in the Consular service under Mr.
Hay, at Durango, Mexico. This post was chosen because it is in a dry,
mountainous region where the ravages of tuberculosis are supposed to be
checked.
Mr. LeRoy was an exceedingly well-informed and studious man. He was a
natural linguist, spoke Spanish with ease, and soon was able to acquire
enough Tagalog to enable him to go among the people and get their point
of view at first-hand. He immediately became interested in writing a
history of the Islands and wanted much to go to Spain to examine
Spanish-Philippine documents at Seville and other places, but he was
never able to do so.
In the days when death faced him in New Mexico, whither he had gone
after leaving Durango, he wrote, as Grant wrote, on a book which he
hoped might furnish some means to his wife after his death. He died
before he was able to complete what Mr. Taft says is a very accurate,
comprehensive and interesting history of the Archipelago from the
beginning down to, and including, Dewey’s victory, the taking of Manila
and the work of the first Commission. He had planned to give a full
account of the work of the second Commission, with which he was so
intimately connected, but his pen dropped before his purpose was
fulfilled. His history has been only recently published.
Mrs. LeRoy later went to Washington, and Mr. Taft appointed her to one
of the few clerical positions not covered by the Civil Service law. This
is in the Land Office where she signs the President’s name to land
patents. She is the only person in the government who has the right and
power, given by special act of Congress, to sign the President’s name to
a document.
Throughout the autumn of 1900 the insurrection dragged itself along;
behind any bush the American soldiers were likely to find a lurking
“patriot”; and the uncensored reports of the “brave stand” of the
Filipinos were being sent out daily by Democratic reporters, to help
along the anti-expansionist cause, represented by Mr. Bryan, in the
United States.
The _insurrectos_ were being assured by their incitants to violence that
the eyes of the world were upon them. They were being told that they
were winning undying renown throughout the civilised universe; and they
believed it. They read with avidity all the anti-imperialistic
newspapers which came out to the Islands and accepted as a true estimate
of themselves the laudations therein contained. Besides, the promoters
of the insurrection pretended to translate from other languages still
more extravagant praises, and they certainly were enjoying a most
exalted opinion of themselves.
We understood that Aguinaldo was trying to concentrate for one
spectacular move shortly before election, in order to add to the chances
of a Democratic victory; and there was some cause for alarm. The
Filipinos are born politicians and many of them knew much more about the
campaign between Bryan and McKinley than the Americans in the Islands
knew.
Apropos of this: Archbishop Chapelle told Mr. Taft that Aguinaldo had,
through Archbishop Nozaleda, requested an interview with him. Monsignor
Chapelle went to General MacArthur and asked that Aguinaldo be allowed
to enter Manila. The General readily gave his consent, and even offered
the revolutionary Dictator the hospitality of his own roof. Aguinaldo,
in due military form, acknowledged this courtesy and fixed the time for
his arrival in Manila. He clearly indicated that he was discouraged and
had decided to solicit permission, through Archbishop Chapelle, to leave
the Islands. But just then the news of Bryan’s plan for calling an extra
session of Congress to settle Philippine independence came out, so the
insurgent general sent word that he had decided not to come. No American
knew just where he was, but he probably got the papers and telegrams
just as soon as any of us.
I remember the sixth of November as a very nervous day. We had received
all manner of reports from home; we were so far away that mail and
newspapers were a month old when they reached us; and the cable reports
had been contradictory in the extreme. We really were on our tiptoes
with excitement. And the worst of it was that because of the thirteen
hours’ difference in time between Washington and Manila, we lived
through the day knowing that the United States was asleep, and went to
bed just about the time voters began to go to the polls. We kept getting
all manner of doubtful telegrams throughout the next morning—when it was
night in the United States and the votes were being counted—but just at
one o’clock, as we went to lunch, Mr. Taft received a despatch from
General Corbin in accordance with his previous agreement. It read: “Taft
Manila McKinley Corbin.” It had been sent from the War Department in
Washington at eleven o’clock the night of the election and had taken
just forty-five minutes in transmission. This was record time for a
cablegram then between Washington and Manila, despatches having to be
sent by numerous relays.