Wenceslao Retana’s “El Indio Batangueño,” a Translation [Part V]
Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V
This is the fifth instalment of this web site’s AI-assisted translation of Wenceslao Emilio Retana’s ethnographic publication, “El Indio Batangueño1,” published in 1887. The tone of the book may sound slightly condesending to modern Batangueños, but this was probably just the normal way the Spanish colonial class in the Philippines normally looked at Filipinos in a general sense.
Despite this, Retana’s work gives a colorful insight not only about the people of Batangas in the late 19th century but also about the province’s culture in general.
Just as a side note, the chapters provided in this web site may not be as they were intended by Retana because the document on which the translations on this web site are based are somewhat confusing.
We now enter the most difficult part of our task, for we must speak of the natural inclinations, customs, superstitions, and prejudices of the Batangueños. These things, though curious, are not always flattering, yet they must be described faithfully, without exaggeration and without malice. The indio is extremely fond of imitating whatever he sees the Spaniard do. If the Spaniard sings, he sings; if the Spaniard dances, he dances; if the Spaniard wears a certain garment, he tries to wear the same. This tendency to imitation is so strong that it often becomes a passion, and it is not rare to see him adopt even the defects of those he admires. The indio tends to imitate the songs and dances of the castila.
The indio is very fond of music. He learns melodies with surprising ease, and once he has heard a tune two or three times, he can reproduce it almost exactly. He plays the guitar, the bandurria, and other instruments with natural grace, though without much science. He sings with feeling, though not always with correctness. He is also fond of dancing, and he dances with agility and spirit. The fandango and the jota are his favorites, and he performs them with a certain native elegance. He is not ashamed to dance in public, and he does so with great pleasure whenever an occasion presents itself.
He is extremely fond of feasts. Any pretext is enough for him to celebrate one. A baptism, a wedding, a funeral, a saint’s day, a visit from a friend — everything becomes an excuse for a gathering. He spends freely on such occasions, even when he has little. He borrows, he sells something, he does whatever is necessary to keep up appearances. He is also fond of cockfighting, and he spends much time and money on this pastime. He loves his fighting cock more than his horse, and sometimes more than his children. He trains it, feeds it, and cares for it with extraordinary dedication.
The indio is very superstitious. He believes in omens, in spirits, in witches, in enchanted stones, in mysterious birds. He believes that certain days are lucky and others unlucky. He believes that certain trees are inhabited by spirits, and that certain animals bring misfortune. He is afraid of the aswang, the tikbalang, and other creatures of the night. He believes that the dead return to visit the living, and that certain illnesses are caused by evil spirits. He consults the mediquillo before he consults the doctor, and he trusts more in herbs and prayers than in medicine.
He is very fond of stories. He tells them with great imagination, adding details and embellishments as he goes along. He believes in the mutya, a magical stone that brings good fortune; in the patianac, a bird that kills infants with its cries; in the engkanto, who abducts women and children. These beliefs, though absurd, are deeply rooted in his mind, and he transmits them from generation to generation. They form part of his life, his fears, and his dreams.
If some misfortune befalls the indio — something he almost always could have avoided — he consoles himself by thinking that “God willed it,” and the matter is settled. They are fatalists, like good Orientals. As for their illnesses, they have greater faith in the medicillos than in licensed doctors. They use no other concoctions or syrups than those prescribed by the mediquillo spirit, who, though instructed only by induction, treats without scruple and with supposed ancient wisdom.
When a child is born, they bury the placenta in the hearth of the house; the deeper it is buried, the greater the appetite of the newborn. Some wrap it in white paper so the child will be “white”; others in a newspaper so the child will know how to read Castilian. Many indios believe in the patianac, a nocturnal bird that perches near the house of a woman in labor and, with its cries, causes the death of the fetus. The patianac is a fantastic nocturnal bird that changes form frequently. Its cries sometimes resemble the meowing of a cat, sometimes the whimpering of abandoned puppies, and sometimes — most terribly — the cries of infants being suffocated. Rare is the indio who doubts its existence.
The indio of the lowest class is docile by nature, respectful by condition, submissive by instinct. These qualities are most evident in those who live far from Batangas, Taal, and Lipa. They are attentive, courteous, and refined in their dealings with the castila, except those who belong to “the ranks of elegance,” who avoid greeting certain people out of pride. He is naturally inclined to emulate others, but instead of emulating wisdom or virtue, he imitates ostentation — fine horses, gaudy vehicles, rich clothes, costly jewels. Even in times of poverty, it is rare to find an indio without something made of gold, or an india without at least tumbaga earrings.
The condition of the dwelling concerns him less than personal adornment. Those of Lipa are the most fond of pomp; some women wear diamonds worth six to eight thousand pesos on feast days. Despite this inclination, none of them lives extravagantly. Among the large towns, Bauang stands out for modesty; among the small ones, Lián for humility. The desire for ostentation goes hand in hand with the desire to exercise superiority, even over the lowest beggar.
Batangas is perhaps the only province where municipal posts are actively contested. Some exercise authority with autocratic airs, sometimes even with cruelty. Orders pass from the principales to their dependents, then to the servants, and even among servants there are laughable hierarchies. Some indios are very obliging; others do nothing unless ordered directly by the master. A mayordomo asked for a glass of water will pass the order to an inferior; if none is available, he goes out to find one in the street.
Despite refusing to do what he believes does not dignify him, the indio easily descends to degrading occupations. When asking for a favor, he uses circumlocutions, and the favor is usually granted before he finishes asking. His courtesy often hides some idea of benefit. Those without influence rarely receive it. He is extremely hospitable. Anyone arriving at his bahay may eat whatever there is and sleep on a portion of floor as long as they wish. If he were less hospitable, there would be more love of work. Taal proves this: its people are hospitable but do not tolerate idleness.
In Balayán, we were always warmly received. Our desire to know the life of the indios led us to accept the invitation of a humble but honorable family, and we went to live with them. “What do you usually take for breakfast?” the mistress of the house asked me. “Coffee with milk, and bread and butter,” I replied. That night, without my knowing it, they sent a messenger to Taal to fetch the precious butter, and the cost of the tin and the messenger was perhaps more than the family earned in an entire week. Two days after we became guests, a cart arrived loaded with bundles—a complete set of luggage. “And this one, why has he come?” we asked the mistress of the house, referring to the newcomer. “I have come to pay a visit,” he answered before she could speak. And the young man—young he was—remained there on his “visit” for a full month.
Another good quality of the Batangueño indios is that they are quite religious. At the sound of the evening bell, the prayer, they uncover their heads, turn toward the place where the church stands, and murmur a prayer under their breath. They also make it a habit to pray before going to bed, a custom more common among women than among men. Anyone who wishes may kneel before the little altar that all of them keep in their bahay, and before which they also recite the evening prayer when they are indoors.
Neither the men nor the women miss Mass on days of obligation, and in processions and other religious functions they compete for the foremost places. All the indias wear a rosary, more or less ornate, hanging from the neck; those who do not wear one carry a scapular; and many wear both at once, and even a pair of medals and a reliquary besides. They greatly value the doctrinal books given to them by the parish priest, and it is remarkable to see the delight with which they receive them. They even learn them by heart, and sometimes use them to teach one another how to read in Tagalog.
They do not eat meat on any Friday of the year, and every night during Lent, the Passion is sung in many houses. These gatherings — also called pasiones — are usually attended by many guests. The young men with good voices take advantage of the occasion to pursue their romantic campaigns; and these must yield practical results, for it is well known that exactly nine months after that season called Lent, the number of births exceeds the usual figure.
There are indios religious to the point of fanaticism: they attend Mass every day, and for nothing in the world would they miss a sermon or one of those feasts where the prayers are recited with special solemnity. There are also those who, with an air of contrition, try to compensate for the faults their rivals accuse them of by striking their chests vigorously — driven by the most refined hypocrisy.
To cleanse his conscience, the indio resorts not to exemplary actions, nor to mortification — something he never reaches — but to prayer, which he considers the only means of redeeming himself before God, just as the Church regards itself as the sole crucible where all sins melt away through prayers said on one’s knees with the rosary in hand.
To be frank, we do not know a true model of virtue, nor any hermit; but neither do we know a single heretic. For the indio is a believer from birth; and he is so by his own will, for he would sooner give up his fortune than renounce his deeply rooted religious beliefs.
For this reason it is rare — very rare — to find one who makes a foolish display of disbelief, or boasts of owning some “bad book” that he never reads. The indio detests philosophical readings, and in general, all books whose content requires deep penetration on the part of the reader. His most rudimentary faculty is usually memory; and thus he prefers only the kind of reading that is simple and immediately understood. Whatever he does not grasp at first glance, he abandons — unless a sharp itch of curiosity pushes him to persist.
An educated Batangueño, who on several occasions translated for us with considerable fidelity and good taste some historical notes about the province, once asked us for a treatise on poetics so he could study how to compose verse. We gave him Antonio de Trueba’s Arte and Campoamor’s Metaphysical Poetics. Fifteen days later, he returned both volumes: the first, Trueba’s, he had read; Campoamor’s… he could not get through it, he did not like it, it was “very bad.”
Many indios own a copy of El Secretario privado or some other little book containing all sorts of sample letters; and although they do not always copy word for word what they read in its pages, it serves them as a model for drafting all the letters they write.
When they correspond with one another, they are courteous beyond measure: they begin with a “Señor Don” (even if the person addressed is merely an aspiring clerk), and they end with a respectful “I kiss your hand.”
Most of the natives draw their flourish before writing their signature; for in making the flourish—an intricate labyrinth of curves—they weave into the design the initials of their name and surname, and after these, they write the remaining letters of both. There are those who believe this way of signing is a flagrant anachronism, something like a reminiscence of the signatures of our grandfathers. Truly, there is something to that, for the indio is very attached to his customs, and many of the oldest ones still prevail among them. But this manner of signing, more than anything else, undoubtedly obeys a certain vain preoccupation—let us speak plainly: he fears that someone might forge his signature, and so he complicates it as much as possible. The more educated ones, however, are not concerned about anyone forging theirs.
Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V