Manilla and its suburbs contain a population of about one hundred and fifty thousand souls, of which Spaniards and Creoles hardly constitute the tenth part; the remainder is composed of Tagalocs, or Indians, MÉtis, and Chinese. The city is divided into two sections—the military and the mercantile—the latter of which is the suburb. The former, surrounded by lofty walls, is bounded by the sea on one side, and upon another by an extensive plain, where the troops are exercised, and where of an evening the indolent Creoles, lazily extended in their carriages, repair to exhibit their elegant dresses and to inhale the sea-breezes. This public promenade—where intrepid horsemen and horsewomen, and European vehicles, cross each other in every direction—may be styled the Champs-ElysÉes, or the Hyde Park, of the Indian Archipelago. On a third side, the military town is separated from the trading town by the river Pasig, upon which are seen all the day boats laden with merchandize, and charming gondolas conveying idlers to different parts of the suburbs, or to visit the ships in the bay.

The military town communicates by the bridge of Binondoc with the mercantile town, inhabited principally by the Spaniards engaged in public affairs; its aspect is dull and monotonous; all the streets, perfectly straight, are bordered by wide granite footpaths. In general, the highways are macadamised, and kept in good condition. Such is the effeminacy of the people, they could not endure the noise of carriages upon pavement. The houses—large and spacious, palaces in appearance—are built in a particular manner, calculated to withstand the earthquakes and hurricanes so frequent in this part of the world. They have all one story, with a ground-floor; the upper part, generally occupied by the family, is surrounded by a wide gallery, opened or shut by means of large sliding panels, the panes of which are thin mother-of-pearl. The mother-of-pearl permits the passage of light to the apartments, and excludes the heat of the sun. In the military town are all the monasteries and convents, the archbishopric, the courts of justice, the custom-house, the hospital, the governor’s palace, and the citadel, which overlooks both towns. There are three principal entrances to Manilla—Puerta Santa Lucia, Puerto RÉal, and Puerta Parian.

At one o’clock the drawbridges are raised, and the gates pitilessly closed, when the tardy resident must seek his night’s lodging in the suburb, or mercantile town, called Binondoc. This portion of Manilla wears a much gayer and more lively aspect than the military section. There is less regularity in the streets, and the buildings are not so fine as those in what may be called Manilla proper; but in Binondoc all is movement, all is life. Numerous canals, crowded with pirogues, gondolas, and boats of various kinds, intersect the suburb, where reside the rich merchants—Spanish, English, Indian, Chinese, and MÉtis. The newest and most elegant houses are built upon the banks of the river Pasig. Simple in exterior, they contain the most costly inventions of English and Indian luxury. Precious vases from China, Japan ware, gold, silver, and rich silks, dazzle the eyes on entering these unpretending habitations. Each house has a landing-place from the river, and little bamboo palaces, serving as bathing-houses, to which the residents resort several times daily, to relieve the fatigue caused by the intense heat of the climate. The cigar manufactory, which affords employment continually to from fifteen to twenty thousand workmen and other assistants, is situated in Binondoc; also the Chinese custom-house, and all the large working establishments of Manilla. During the day, the Spanish ladies, richly dressed in the transparent muslins of India and China, lounge about from store to store, and sorely test the patience of the Chinese salesman, who unfolds uncomplainingly, and without showing the least ill-humour, thousands of pieces of goods before his customers, which are frequently examined simply for amusement, and not half a yard purchased. The balls and entertainments, given by the half-breeds of Binondoc to their friends, are celebrated throughout the Philippines. The quadrilles of Europe are succeeded by the dances of India, and while the young people execute the fandango, the bolero, the cachucha, or the lascivious movements of the bayadÈres, the enterprising half-breed, the indolent Spaniard, and the sedate Chinese, retire to the gaming saloons, to try their fortune at cards and dice. The passion for play is carried to such an extent, that the traders lose or gain in one night sums of 50,000 piasters (£10,000 sterling). The half-breeds, Indians, and Chinese, have also a great passion for cock-fighting; these combats take place in a large arena. I have seen £1,500 betted upon a cock which had cost £150; in a few minutes this costly champion fell, struck dead by his antagonist. In fine, if Binondoc be exclusively the city of pleasure, luxury, and activity, it is also that of amorous intrigues and gallant adventures. In the evening, Spaniards, English, and French, go to the promenades to ogle the beautiful and facile half-breed women, whose transparent robes reveal their splendid figures. That which distinguishes the female half-breeds (Spanish-Tagals, or Chinese-Tagals) is a singularly intelligent and expressive physiognomy. Their hair, drawn back from the face, and sustained by long golden pins, is of marvellous luxuriance. They wear upon the head a kerchief, transparent like a veil, made of the pine fibre, finer than our finest cambric; the neck is ornamented by a string of large coral beads, fastened by a gold medallion. A transparent chemisette, of the same stuff as the head-dress, descends as far as the waist, covering, but not concealing, a bosom that has never been imprisoned in stays. Below, and two or three inches from the edge of the chemisette, is attached a variously coloured petticoat of very bright hues. Over this garment, a large and costly silk sash closely encircles the figure, and shows its outline from the waist to the knee. The small and white feet, always naked, are thrust into embroidered slippers, which cover but the extremities. Nothing can be more charming, coquettish, and fascinating, than this costume, which excites in the highest degree the admiration of strangers. The half-breed and Chinese Tagals know so well the effect it produces on the Europeans, that nothing would induce them to alter it.

While on the subject of dress, that of the men is also worthy of remark. The Indian and the half-breed wear upon the head a large straw hat, black or white, or a sort of Chinese covering, called a salacote; upon the shoulders, the pine fibre kerchief embroidered; and round the neck, a rosary of coral beads; their shirts are also made from the fibres of the pine, or of vegetable silk; trousers of coloured silk, with embroidery near the bottom, and a girdle of red China crape, complete their costume. The feet, without stockings, are covered with European shoes.

The military town, so quiet during the day, assumes a more lively appearance towards the evening, when the inhabitants ride out in their very magnificent carriages, which are invariably conducted by postilions; they then mix with the walking population of Binondoc. Afterwards visits, balls, and the more intimate rÉunions take place. At the latter they talk, smoke the cigars of Manilla, and chew the betel,1 drink glasses of iced eau sucrÉe, and eat innumerable sweetmeats; towards midnight those guests retire who do not stay supper with the family, which is always served luxuriously, and generally prolonged until two o’clock in the morning. Such is the life spent by the wealthy classes under these skies so favoured by Heaven. But there exists, as in Europe, and even to a greater extent, the most abject misery, of which I shall speak hereafter, throwing a shade over this brilliant picture.

I shall now return to my personal adventures. While I spoke with the Indians upon the shore, I had noticed a young European standing not many paces from me; I again met him on the road I took towards Manilla, and I thought I would address him. This young man was a surgeon, about returning to Europe. I partly told him the plans I wished to form, and asked him for some information respecting the city where I purposed locating myself. He readily satisfied my inquiries, and encouraged me in the resolution to exercise my profession in the Philippine Islands. He had himself, he said, conceived the same project, but family affairs obliged him to return to his country. I did not conceal the misfortune of my position, and observed that it would be almost impossible to pay visits in the costume, worse than plain, which I then wore.

“That is of no consequence,” he replied; “I have all you would require: a coat almost new, and six capital lancets. I will sell you these things for their cost price in France; they will be a great bargain.” The affair was soon concluded. He took me to his hotel, and I shortly left it encased in a garment sufficiently good, but much too large and too long for me. Nevertheless, it was some time since I had seen myself so well clad, and I could not help admiring my new acquisition.

I had hidden my poor little white jacket in my hat, and I strode along the causeway of Manilla more proud than Artaban himself. I was the owner of a coat and six lancets; but there remained, for all my fortune, the sum of one dollar only; this consideration slightly tempered the joy that I felt in gazing on my brilliant costume. I thought of where I could pass the night, and subsist on the morrow and the following days, if the sick were not ready for me.

Reflecting thus I slowly wandered from Binondoc to the military town, and from the military town back to Binondoc,—when, suddenly, a bright idea shot across my brain. At Cavite I had heard spoken of a Spanish captain, by name Don Juan Porras, whom an accident had rendered almost blind. I resolved to seek him, and offer my services; it remained but to find his residence. I addressed a hundred persons, but each replied that he did not know, and passed on his way. An Indian who kept a small shop, and to whom I spoke, relieved my trouble: “If the senor is a captain,” he said, “your excellency would obtain his address at the first barrack on your road.” I thanked him, and eagerly followed his counsel. At the infantry barracks, where I presented myself, the officer on duty sent a soldier to guide me to the captain’s dwelling: it was time, the night had already fallen. Don Juan Porras was an Andalusian, a good man, and of an extremely cheerful disposition. I found him with his head wrapped in a Madras handkerchief, busied in completely covering his eyes with two enormous poultices.

“Senor Captain,” I said, “I am a physician, and a skilful oculist. I have come hither to take care of you, and I am fully convinced that I shall cure you.”

“Basta” (enough is said), was his answer; “all the physicians in Manilla are asses.”

This more than sceptical reply did not discourage me. I resolved to turn it to account. “My opinion is precisely the same as yours,” I promptly answered; “and it is because I am strongly convinced of the ignorance of the native doctors, that I have made up my mind to come and practise in the Philippines.”

“Of what nation are you, sir?”

“I am a Frenchman.”

“A French physician!” cried Don Juan; “Ah! that is quite another matter. I ask your pardon for having spoken so irreverently of men of your profession. A French physician! I put myself entirely into your hands. Take my eyes, Senor Medico, and do what you will with them!”

The conversation was taking a favourable turn: I hastened to broach the principal question:

“Your eyes are very bad, Senor Captain,” said I; “to accomplish a speedy cure, it is absolutely necessary that I should never quit you for a moment.”

“Would you consent to come and pass some time with me, doctor?”

Here was the principal consideration settled.

“I consent,” replied I, “but on one condition; namely, that I shall pay you for my board and lodging.”

“That shall not part us—you are free to do so,” said the worthy man; “and so the matter is settled. I have a nice room, and a good bed, all ready; there is nothing to do but to send for your baggage. I will call my servant.”

The terrible word, “baggage,” sounded in my ears like a knell. I cast a melancholy look at the crown of my hat—my only portmanteau—within which were deposited all my clothes—consisting of my little white jacket; and I feared Don Juan would take me for some runaway sailor trying to dupe him. There was no retreat; so I mustered my courage, and briefly related my sad position, adding that I could not pay for my board and lodging until the end of the month—if I was so fortunate as to find patients. Don Juan Porras listened to me very quietly. When my tale was told he burst into a loud laugh, which made me shiver from head to foot.

“Well,” cried he, “I am well pleased it should be so; you are poor; you will have more time to devote to my malady, and a greater interest in curing me. What think you of the syllogism?”

“It is excellent, Senor Captain, and before long you will find, I hope, that I am not the man to compromise so distinguished a logician as yourself. To-morrow morning I will examine your eyes, and I will not leave you till I have radically cured them.”

We talked for some time longer in this joyous strain, after which I retired to my chamber, where the most delightful dreams visited my pillow.

The next day I rose early, put on my doctoral coat, and entered the chamber of my host. I examined his eyes; they were in a dreadful state. The sight of one was not only destroyed, but threatened the life of the sufferer. A cancer had formed, and the enormous size it had attained rendered the result of an operation doubtful. The left eye contained many fibres, but there was hope of saving it. I frankly acquainted Don Juan with my fears and hopes, and insisted upon the entire removal of the right eye. The Captain, at first astonished, decided courageously upon submitting to the operation, which I accomplished on the following day with complete success. Shortly afterwards the inflammatory symptoms disappeared, and I could assure my host of a safe recovery. I then bestowed all my attention upon the left eye. I desired the more ardently to restore to Don Juan his vision, from the good effect I was convinced his case would produce at Manilla. For me it would be fortune and reputation. Besides, I had already acquired, in the few days, some slight patronage, and was in a position to pay for my board and lodging at the end of the month. After six weeks’ careful treatment Don Juan was perfectly cured, and could use his eye as well as he did previous to his accident. Nevertheless, to my great regret, the Captain still continued to immure himself; his re-appearance in society, which he had forsaken for more than a year, would have produced an immense sensation, and I should have been considered the first doctor in the Philippines. One day I touched upon this delicate topic.

“Senor Captain,” said I, “what are you thinking about, to remain thus shut up between four walls, and why do you not resume your old habits? You must go and visit your friends, your acquaintances.”

“Doctor,” interrupted Don Juan, “how can I show myself in public with an eye the less? When I pass along the street all the women would say: ‘There goes Don Juan the One-eyed!’ No, no; before I leave the house you must get me an artificial eye from Paris.”

“You don’t mean that? It would be eighteen months before the eye arrived.”

“Then here goes for eighteen months’ seclusion,” said Don Juan.

I persisted for upwards of an hour, but the Captain would not listen to reason. He carried his coquetry so far that, although I had covered the empty orbit with black silk, he had his shutters closed whenever visitors came; so that, as they always found him in the dark, none would credit his cure. I was very anxious to thwart Don Juan’s obstinacy, as may well be imagined; I had not the time to waste, during eighteen months, in dancing attendance at fortune’s door; therefore I determined to make this eye myself, without which the coquetish captain would not be seen. I took some pieces of glass, a tube, and set to work. After many fruitless attempts, I at last succeeded in obtaining the perfect form of an eye; but this was not all—it must be coloured to resemble nature. I sent for a poor carriage-painter, who managed to imitate tolerably well the left eye of Don Juan. It was necessary to preserve this painting from contact with the tears, which would soon have destroyed it. To accomplish this I had made by a jeweller a silver globe, smaller than the glass eye, inside which I united it by means of sealing-wax. I carefully polished the edges upon a stone, and after eight days’ labour I obtained a satisfactory result. The eye which I had succeeded in producing was really not so bad after all. I was anxious to place it within the vacant orbit. It somewhat inconvenienced the Senor Don Juan, but I persuaded him that he would soon become accustomed to it. Placing across his nose a pair of spectacles, he examined himself in the looking-glass, and was so satisfied with his appearance that he decided on commencing his visits the following day.

As I had anticipated, the re-appearance in the world of Captain Juan Porras made a great sensation, and soon the consequence was, that Senor Don Pablo, the eminent French physician—most especially the clever oculist—was much spoken of. From all quarters patients came to me. Notwithstanding my youth and inexperience, my first success gave me such confidence that I performed several operations upon persons afflicted with cataracts, which succeeded most fortunately. I no longer sufficed to my large connection, and in a few days, from the greatest distress, I attained perfect opulence: I had a carriage-and-four in my stables. I could not, however, notwithstanding this change of fortune, resign myself to leave Don Juan’s house, out of gratitude for the hospitality he so generously offered me. In my leisure hours he kept me company, and amused me with the recital of his battle stories and personal adventures. I had already spent nearly six months with him, when a circumstance, which forms an epoch in my life, changed my existence, and compelled me to quit the lively captain. One of my American friends often called my attention in our walks towards a young lady in mourning, who passed for one of the prettiest senoras of the town. Each time we met her my American friend never failed to praise the beauty of the Marquesa de Las Salinas. She was about eighteen or nineteen years of age; her features were both regular and placid; she had beautiful black hair, and large expressive eyes; she was the widow of a colonel in the guards, who married her when almost a child. The sight of this young lady produced so lively an impression upon me, that I explored all the saloons at Binondoc, to endeavour to meet her elsewhere than in my walks. Fruitless attempts! The young widow saw nobody. I almost despaired of finding an opportunity of speaking to her, when one morning an Indian came to request me to visit his master. I got into the carriage and set off, without informing myself of the name of the sick person. The carriage stopped before the door of one of the finest houses in the Faubourg of Santa-Crux. Having examined the patient, and conversed a few minutes with him, I went to the table to write a prescription; suddenly I heard the rustling of a silk dress; I turned round—the pen fell from my hand. Before me stood the very lady I had so long sought after—appearing to me as in a dream! My amazement was so great that I muttered a few unintelligible words, and bowed with such awkwardness that she smiled. She simply addressed me to inquire the state of her nephew’s health, and withdrew almost immediately. As to myself, instead of making my ordinary calls, I returned home; questioned Don Juan minutely about Madame de Las Salinas: he entirely satisfied my curiosity. He was acquainted with all the family of this youthful widow, and they were highly respected in the colony. The next morning, and following days, I returned to this charming widow, who graciously condescended to receive me with favour. These details being so completely personal, I pass them over. Six months after my first interview with Madame de Las Salinas, I asked her hand, and obtained it. I had therefore found, at more than five thousand leagues from my country, both happiness and wealth. I agreed that we should go to France as soon as my wife’s property, the greater part of which lay in Mexico, should be realised. In the meantime my house was the rendezvous of foreigners, particularly of the French, who were already rather numerous at Manilla. At this period the Spanish government named me Surgeon-Major of the 1st Light Regiment, and of the first battalion of the militia of Panjanga. Having been so successful in so short a time, I never once doubted but that fortune would continue to bestow her smiling favours upon me. I had already prepared everything for my return to France; for we hourly expected the arrival of the galleons that plied from Acapulco to Manilla, which were to bring my wife’s fortune. Her fortune was no less than 700,000 francs (£28,000 sterling).

One evening, as we were taking tea, we were informed that the vessels from Acapulco had been telegraphed, and that the next morning they would be in; our piasters were to be on board; I leave you to guess if our wishes were not gratified. But, alas! how our hopes were frustrated: the vessels did not bring us a single piaster. This is what occurred: five or six millions were sent by land from Mexico to San Blas, the place of embarkation, and the Mexican government had the van escorted by a regiment of the line, commanded by Colonel Iturbide. On the journey he took possession of the van, and fled with his regiment into the independent states. It is well known that later Iturbide was proclaimed Emperor of Mexico, then dethroned, and at last shot, after an expedition that offers more than one analogy with that of Murat. The very day of the arrival of the vessels we learnt that our fortune was entirely lost, without even hopes of regaining the smallest part. My wife and self supported this event with tolerable philosophy. It was not the loss of our piasters that distressed us the most, but the necessity we were in to abandon, or at least to postpone, our journey to France.