Iloilo, April 24, 1905.

This is Easter Monday, and since Thursday the town has been crammed full of people—natives—and alive with processions. We got a double allowance of the latter, as the Aglipayanos turned out in full force—fuller force, in fact, than the Orthodox, and their marching and counter-marching was most interesting, even if a little confusing.

We are having holidays, of course, but a holiday here is never very complete, as the different religions go their own way, and now, for instance, the Chinese shops are all open; but the Spanish and Mestizo establishments are shut, while the Englishmen have all gone away, except a few juniors left in charge. One party has gone shooting, and they were very anxious for C—— to accompany them, but he did not like to leave me alone here, and refused. There is plenty of good shooting—wild duck, snipe, etc.—but some way inland, and the difficulty is to get there, when you are a busy man, with only forty-eight hours to spare at rare intervals.

À propos of shooting, C—— has only now got his gun back from the Customs! It was detained by endless dilatoriness and delays, and the finding of the sureties, which I described to you. There was more trouble and fuss and worry about that gun and my little revolver than you, who have not been in this country, would believe. Such a lot of signing of papers, taking of oaths, and so forth! all of which precautions seem remarkable and rather superfluous in a “perfectly peaceful and contented country.”

Well, C—— tried to console himself for not going shooting by playing lawn-tennis at the Bank, where a very good court has been marked out in a field at the back of the house, by the estuary. That gives you a little hint of the climate, does it not? A grass lawn-tennis court in the hot season?

We walked to the Bank and back, as the pony had gone to be shod, and on our way home we were stopped in the Plaza by crowds of people evidently waiting for a procession to pass. We got across the road as best we could, and up into the garden in the middle of the Plaza, where we managed to get a foothold amongst a line of people—all natives of the poorer classes—standing on the low wall. Just as we got there the procession began to come past—a long double file of women in black skirts and black or white camisas; the men in mourning, which is an ordinary swallow-tail evening suit. This was Good Friday, and the Emblems of the Passion were borne aloft, draped in black, while the Madonna, carried shoulder-high on a big platform, had on a stiff, black robe; and the whole company was moving slowly along to a guitar and mandoline banda de musica, with big crape bows on their instruments, playing slow tunes in minor keys.

What do you think this procession was?—Christ’s Funeral! The whole parade was a real funeral procession, and the last thing of all, preceded by acolytes in black, swinging censers with large crape bows on them, and followed by priests in black vestments saying (not chanting) prayers, was a huge black and gold catafalque—the coffin made with glass panels—through which could be seen a wax figure of the dead Christ lying swathed in an embroidered white satin winding-sheet, with a last touch of realism in His head, bound with a blood-stained handkerchief where the Crown of Thorns had rested.

We waited long on the wall of the Alameda while this weird and gruesome procession trailed past, dwindling away down a long, straight street to the right, with its files of bowed figures and its great, black, swaying catafalque.

When we turned to come away, C—— drew my attention to the curious fact that the Cathedral door was shut—a most extraordinary spectacle—which struck me as peculiar at once. At first we could not understand the reason, and thought it must be part of the solemnity. “Perhaps,” I said, “they go so far as to take the procession to a cemetery.”

“I know!” said C——. “They’ve shut the doors because these fellows are the Aglipayanos!”

Then it also occurred to us that of course this procession had had the native music, whereas the Orthodox go about to the strains of a brass Constabulary band to show that they are all right with the Government. I must tell you, too, that on these, and all occasions, fights are so frequent between these sects of the followers of Christ that the processions go about with a strong escort of police.

As the tail end of the procession passed, we looked up our street from our vantage point on the wall, and C—— said: “What a pity we are not on our own balcony, as they have made a round, and are coming past the house.”

But I thought they could not have had time to do that, slow as they had been, and was sure that what we saw must be the head of the procession passing the other side of the square. It was quite dark by now, and all the mourners carried lighted tapers. The crowd in the square and the procession all seemed hopelessly mixed, but when we at last made our way to the end of our own street, we found that we were both right about the Funeral, for there were two of them—the tail of the Aglipayanos was passing the end of our street, while away up, beyond our house, the road was blocked by the Romanists waiting to let the others go past.

We tried to get up our street, but the R.C. procession had started to come down it, so we took refuge on a flight of stairs through an open doorway. We had a very good view of this Funeral too.

It was just the same style of thing, only with more Spaniards and Eurasians amongst the mourners; and, following the bier of the Christ, a dozen or so of converted Chinamen with their pigtails lopped off. In this procession, too, the priests were white men, but on the other hand, the Aglipayano padres are all Filipinos, only we had not been near enough to the first procession to see their faces, which would have shown us at once which sort they were.

The Papists had their drums and trumpets tied with huge black bows, and their catafalque was a still more gloomy erection, set round with large oil lamps in frosted globes, and topped by great bunches of nodding black plumes, like the old prints of the funeral of Wellington.

About midnight we were awakened by the sound of a slow, muffled band and feet shuffling along the road, so we went out on to the balcony, and saw the R.C. procession go trailing past, very solemn and uncanny in the moonlight, with their yellow taper-flames looking like little bits of gold paper in the strong white light. This time they had not the great catafalque with them, which, we imagined, must signify that the Christ was at rest in the tomb.

Next morning, Saturday, things were very quiet, and the town much as usual, except for the crowds of people everywhere, all crawling up and down the streets in very clean clothes, with innumerable tiny children.

Easter Sunday was very gay, beginning with deafening bells well in the dark hours of the morning, when even the cocks had hardly begun to tune up for the day. The great excitement was a children’s carnival (at the end of Lent!), got up by the Spanish Club; which event resolved itself into the inevitable procession through the streets, for these people are as inveterate procession-walkers as the Swiss; and whatever comes off, they turn out and walk about the streets, quite conceited and perfectly happy, taking the whole mummery with invulnerable seriousness.

These children were really a very pretty sight, though, and the little things seemed to be enjoying themselves immensely. At about four o’clock they began to assemble, forming up and marching round the Plaza, and then up the Calle Real to the Gobierno (the Government buildings), round the grass plot in front of that building, back and down the street parallel to this, and finally along here, when we saw them from our balcony.

One of the prettiest cars was got up as the Sea, with clouds of pale green and blue tulle, the back of the car a great fan-shaped shell, in which sat a very pretty little Mestiza girl dressed as a mermaid, with a long pasteboard tail, and driving two swans. Another was “the world”—a huge globe with the four continents sitting one at each corner; another was a monster basket full of a miscellaneous collection of ballet-fairies, toreadors, Faust and Mephistopheles, gipsies, and so forth, all very solemn and perfectly happy. One tiny person of two years old was dressed as a cupid in pink muslin and roses—such a darling—and one little girl was a funny wee clown, as broad as she was long.

After they had all gone past, we went to the Spanish Club to see the prize-giving, which was very amusing. “Iloilo at a glance” was squeezing and surging about in the big room upstairs, and I thought the floor must cave in; but Mr M——, who is a member of that club, told me it was all right, as they always put props under the floor for a funcion, a characteristically Spanish and haphazard idea.

There was a band playing somewhere, and in an alcove a big tea-table spread out, while the whole of one wall was lined with long tables displaying the prizes—really lovely toys.

We walked about, talking to the children, all very keen to show off and explain their costumes, and the mermaid immensely proud of the little wheel on which her tail moved along the floor. One miniature couple in evening dress, looking like grown-up people seen through the wrong end of a telescope, were well worth watching and following about, for neither of them would have sacrificed his or her dignity to a smile for anything in the world.

The prize-giving went by vote, but the poor mites who had not got prizes were consoled by toys doled out in a novel and pretty fashion at the end of the show. I fancy I have seen it somewhere in a cotillon, but can’t be sure. From the ceiling hung two huge Japanese umbrellas, with coloured ribbons dangling from each spoke, and when they were lowered at the end, the children filed past underneath, each taking off a ribbon and tearing away to see what present it was good for. We saw the little man, of the couple in evening dress, going about showing off his prize—the first prize, I think it was—which was a beautiful doll. Then, to our astonishment, we found that the couple were a pair of little sisters, Filipinas, of course, for there were, none but Filipino, Spanish, and Mestizo children taking part in the fÊte, though all the American Colony, as they call themselves, were in the room. I think there are very few American children here, and those that there are look miserably white, and thinner even than the Spanish or Mestizo youngsters.

We left about seven, before the rush, as we had the trap waiting outside, and the last thing we saw was the mermaid showing somebody her tail and the poor clown crying sleepily on her mother’s shoulder.

In the evening there was a baile, which we summoned up energy to turn out for, but it was hardly worth the effort, as the floor had been spoilt by boots in the afternoon, while the band, half asleep, poor creatures, played intolerably slow and mournful music, to which the dancers crawled languidly about, for it was a very hot night, without a breath of air anywhere.