INTRODUCTION

In 18— the cholera waged havoc in Manila. Corpses were hurled in heaps into the fosses. The road to the cemetery,
formerly so solitary and lone, was now the way most frequented. In spite of friendly counselings and official
restrictions, relatives and friends accompanied the remains of their dear ones to their last resting place.

One afternoon, just as I had left a home which had been invaded by this Asiatic malady, I saw, on the road to the
cemetery, a feeble old man able scarcely to creep along, bent less by his years than by the intense grief that weighed
upon him.

Grieved already by the recent scenes I had witnessed, I was doubly impressed by that figure dejected and solitary,
that pale countenance crowned with white locks, that slow and painful gait with which he followed a little bier which
they were bearing, with indifference, to its sepulcher.

Moved by compassion I drew near to the unknown old man and offered him my arm, which he absently took,
seeming to take no heed of my presence, so preoccupied was his spirit, and only upon reaching the gate of the
“house of death,” as one awakening from a lethargy, did he raise his sad eyes to mine and in a voice of gratitude he
said, “May you live, happy youth, many years; more yet than mine, and at the end of journey may you meet some
other who will offer you the same kind service which you have now bestowed on me.”

These words surprised me; spoken as they were with such firmness and sincerity that they entered to the depths of
my heart where I treasure them ever, that they may be a perennial fountainhead of generous deeds.

We reached the newly dug fosse and as the earth closed over the little coffin, the old man, under the weight of his
grief, fell swooning into my arms, murmuring, “He was my only consolation; how lonely am I now!”

I rendered him what assistance I could to bring him back to consciousness which I succeeded in doing after some
time then led him along the path until we were some distance from the place which had grieved him so, when I made
him rest upon a little bench to recover from his fatigue. Just then, one by one, the great gates of the cemetery
opened making passageway for a costly coffin in which was borne in followed by a great number of men and women
who were weeping bitterly.

Partly through curiosity and partly to divert the thoughts of the old man, I said, “Who can that opulent person be
who causes the shedding of so many tears?”

“Are you then a stranger here,” he replied, “that you know not the beautiful Nínay?”

“Yes, I am as stranger; for while yet a child I departed to the farther shores of the sea and only after a long absence
have I returned to step again upon this dear fatherland; but, who is this Nínay?”

“The most virtuous as well as the most unfortunate young girl in Manila.”

“It would give me much pleasure if you would relate me her history which must indeed be of interest since her death
is so deeply felt.”

“My feeble memory is unable to recall all the details. Do you know Doña Margarita Buísan?”

“I do not know her.”

Whenever a person dies, his family receives donation to defray the expenses of the interment. There is not a relative
or friend who forgets this obligation; he who is unable to meet it with money gives his personal services. The house
of the deceased is never closed during the first nine days in order that all the friends and relatives may come to it;
those who live close at hand, in the city, and those from afar from the Provinces.

Without doubt, grief returns with greater intensity during the shadows of the night, thus, at the close of the day the
friends gather at the afflicted home to divert the grief of the family, accompanying them in their prayers and
afterwards, gathered in circles to recall the laudable deeds of the departed one; to recount the history of our sunny
isles, their stories and their legends, and the thousand poetical thoughts that console the spirit. At midnight all is
ended with the accustomed supper and shortly thereafter those who live in the vicinity repair to their homes, and
those from afar retire to rooms in the home of the deceased or, if the size of the house does not permit this, they are
lodged at the homes of some of the friends.

I thanked the old man by placing in his palm a handful of money, and, at the same time, aiding him to rise from the
bench, I said, “As a Filipino and lover of our customs, receive my little donation. You have just suffered an irreparable
loss and we have gained a friendship from now.”

“Thanks, generous youth,” he said, "blessed" be the spirit which prompted your generosity and may it shower upon
your head the abundance of good fortune.”

Talking thus we passed out of the cemetery and the poor old man, solicitous of me, before going to his own home,
took me to that of his friend that I might be presented that same night to Doña Margarita.

The friend, a pleasing sympathetic person, acceded heartily to my desire and, it then being already late, he
accompanied me at once to the first ceremonies of the Pasiyam leaving the old man, from whom I parted with regret
at his home and promising to visit him frequently, I hurriedly bid him adieu.

THE FIRST NIGHT OF THE PASIYAM

A spacious room brilliantly illuminated; walls adorned with beautiful engravings of landscapes; couches chairs and
settees arranged about the room in the center of which was a large table laden with cold viands, fruits and sweets;
these were the sights which first met my eyes upon entering the home of Doña Margarita Buísan. This first room, a
sort of reception room where the families gather to avoid the excessive heat, is called in the Philippines the caída.
Facing the door by which we entered was another which opened into the salon where the family of the departed
one, together with the relatives and friends were kneeling before a little altar, united in prayer.

After the prayer was over I was presented to the lady of the house and it was my good fortune to find among those
assembled at her home many of my friends and also several Europeans.
Since many thoughts were still agitated with the mournful scenes I had witness in the cemetery, I told them of what I
had seen and begged them to relate to me the history of the deceased.

A young Indian, known in the locality for his easy and fluent expression, offered willingly to narrate us the young
woman’s story, which was unfamiliar to several besides myself and among this number the Europeans who had come
solely for the purpose of acquainting themselves with the customs of the Tagalogs; thus we formed a little circle of
listeners about the narrator and Taríc, for such was the young Indian’s name, in a voice clear and sweet told us the
following tale:

On the right banks of the Pásig, some three kilometers from Manila, is nestled the picturesque little village of Santa
Ana; here dwelt Antonina Milo Buísan, called by her family Nínay. She was a young girl of eighteen summers, beloved
for her matchless beauty and her fortune and two beings kissed her pure brow as the altar of their united love.
These, her parents, D. Evaristo and Doña Carmen, surrounded her with every comfort and happiness, gratifying her
slightest caprices with all the solicitude of two souls that, united for nineteen years, still lingered in the honeymoon
of their first love and whose sky was yet unsullied by the smallest cloud to mar the happiness of their home. All their
desires had been fulfilled except, perhaps, that of having a son who could be a companion to Nínay and perpetuate
the name of their family.

Don Evaristo was born in the busy suburbs of Santa Cruz and was a man successful, and versed in the details of
commerce. He had inherited from his father, D. Enrique, the love of work and activity, thus, though generous and
possessed with abundant wealth, he preferred to administer in person to his affairs and to follow the commercial
labors which his father had formerly pursued with such success.

In one of his voyages to his possessions in Nueva-Écija, he saw for the first time Doña Carmen Buísan, or, as she was
called by the neighboring inhabitants, the Star of Mapisong. Perfect were the outlines of her fair young form and
winning were her looks. She was born on the banks of the river Gapang that flows o’er strewn sands.

Don Evaristo found himself passionately in love with her singular beauty and after seven months of courtship they
were united in a happy marriage. The young girl, reared though she had been in the solitude of a little village, proved
herself a model wife in the busier life of a city. Proud she was of being wedded to D. Evaristo and she studied
continually every art of pleasing him. How many cares to keep alive the name of their first love! How many sacrifices
and caresses to rear that flower born to the first murmur to the hymn of their love: Nínay.

The dawn was just breaking, and lightly across the mountain tops crept the delicate colors of the morning.

Nínay was in the garden with a happy, radian countenance, occupied in her daily tasks; singing joyfully she drew near
to a cage and opened the door. The bird within, which was a tipol sallied forth at once and immediately began to the
sound of that voice he loved. As the young girl was enjoying this amusement she heard suddenly the sharp report of
a firearm, and before she could recover from her fright saw at her feed a wounded and suffering lauin.

“Who fired the shot?” she asked as she turned with startled glance to the gardener and the maidservant, who in turn
gazed questioningly at her as if to find there an answer to the inquiry. While Cristobal, the gardener, went to seize the
wounded bird of prey, Nínay thought of the balicasyáo. “Oh my little birds, Cristobal!” she exclaimed in a frightened
pleasing voice, fearing the havoc that might result from another shot, “Aid me at once to catch them, Rose hand me
the cages!”
Two solitarios with jet black plumage, startled at the sudden report returned at once to their cage nearby, but the
culassisi fluttering their wing, hopped tranquilly from branch to a great mango tree beneath whose majestic canopy
of leaves stood Nínay startled and agitated. The mariacapras still more trusting sang emulously to drown the hymn of
the watchers that fell musically from the cascades and the fountains.

Nínay and the gardener, on raising their eyes, beheld another eagle; but this one alive, and ravenous with hunger,
soaring and circling above them preparing to swoop down upon a cóling, a little bird which could articulate “Nínay,
Nínay!” and she, full of consternation and terror, could only say, “Oh heaven! Poor Choring!” And while the gardener
was searching, agitatedly, for a nússile to frighten away the invader, a second shot was heard and the eagle fell
circling through the air, into the mango tree and with the flapping of his great wings, made the tender and delicate
maiden tremble.

The gardener and the maidservant hastened running to the riverbank from whence had proceeded the firing, desiring
to ascertain who had fired the fortunate and timely missiles. They saw there a genteel youth, dressed in a rich
hunting costume, who, with his finger placed to his lips, invoked them to silence. At the same time he beckoned with
his other hand to the rowers to withdraw the banca5 from the shore. Cristobal shouted, at the instant he discerned
him: “Oh it is Don Carlos!” In the meanwhile Rosa stopped, exclaiming in a surprised voice, “Hush, it is the son of Don
Rodolfo!”

“Who is this Don Carlos?” asked Nínay.

“Do you not know,” replied the servant, “Don Rodolfo Mabagsic who died a short time ago, leaving to his son large
and valuable estates and a capital sufficiently large to buy this entire village?”

“Ah yes,” said Nínay, as one recalling a thought forgotten.

In the rising sun, and disappeared in a bend of the river, the musical dip of the oars died away, leaving but the song of
the birds who trilled their farewells from the leafy boughs of a spreading mango tree.

The young man observed with religious exactitude, the mandates of the Indian decalog, “Love virtue for itself and
renounce the fruit of thy work.” For in truth, after he had done Nínay a kindness, he fled from her as if some evil had
been committed. He was in a little boat designed for the hunt; long it was, and narrow and painted green that it
might be less distinguishable among the green blades of the growing rice, and it was fashioned in such a manner as
to speed lightly and rapidly over the waves of the river or across the fens and marshy zacatales.

He went on his way happily and pensively contemplated his trusty firearm which had but so recently rendered
him a service for which he felt the deepest gratitude; a service for greater than it had ever rendered him in any
previous hunting expedition. His thoughts were so centered on the beautiful Nínay that he had completed forgotten
the hunt; yes, he had completely forgotten the hunt. In saying this I think I have portrayed the purest ecstasy it is
possible to enjoy. Perhaps, reader, you will think it strange, and find it difficult to comprehend this unless you are a
hunter. A hunter forgets easily his orison, his parents, his children, his fatherland, in short, but forget the hunt never.
Oh, it was sweet indeed to thus lose the reason as did that youth who with a numerous flock of candurú at close
range before him, cared not to fire a single shot, and why? Ask of an enamored heart!

He gave orders to the oarsmen to moor at Butín and there the young hunter and his valet stepped out upon the land.

*
The day was drawing to a close. Nínay, after having taken tea, seated herself in a perezosa, a large chair woven of
bejuco, placed on the terrace overlooking the garden. A gentle breeze, laden with perfume, softly fanned her
beautiful hair. The distant suns which circled in the immensity with the brilliancy of diamonds, let her read their
secrets. Before her eyes unrolled the splendid panorama of the skies of the Philippines in which, in an infinity ocean
of purest blue sailed side by side the golden stars; the most beautiful of the sidereal universe.

She sat entranced, gazing at the sublime spectacle and unconsciously opened the depths of her heart. Her soul, like a
butterfly, flew forth into space, from sun to sun, on into infinity.

The Great Bear, Sirius, Orion, the Cross, marvelous constellations which only in these places can all be seen together,
detained her soul in its flight to tell it, in language superhuman, of its destiny.

A mysterious sadness and melancholy fell about her and she felt for the first time an unfathomable void in her being.

Just then a sweet song reached her ears, borne on the wings of the night wind that softly blew from the mountains,
from the side whence comes the dawn. Her ears were accustomed to that melody but never had it stirred her as
then. The song was the traditional cundimang accompanied by the harp, mandolin, and the flute—instruments which
are popular in Philippine serenades.

Soon the crescent moon which had been darkened by a cloud, shone out in the heights of heaven and two bancas,
illuminated with little lanterns like garlands of luminous flowers, floated into view on the silvery waters of the Pásig.

As they passed down the river Nínay recognized in one of the little boats the youth who that morning had been the
savior of her birds, and she heard a deep masculine voice which passionately sung:

“Go the way with sweet attraction Nínay mine

Oh! Quench the thirst of my love.

Thou art the clear foundation into which God looks.

Thou art in my life the glory and the sun.”

The bancas slowly drifting with the current disappeared among the windings of the river, but the song continued
vibrating ever in the ears of Nínay until nervous and filled with unrest, she went to the piano and letting her fingers
wander across the keys repeated again and again the melody of the song.

Those passionate words surprising her heart, already opened to the sublime spectacle of the heavens, fell into its
depths like beneficent rain quenching the burning thirst of her soul.

The following morning, about four o’clock, and ere yet the dawn had flushed the eastern sky, Carlos was already in his
little boat keeping guardian watch, before the garden of Nínay, and, hidden from view by the foliage of the canes and
plantains that grew by the river side where the dimpling wavelets came and kissed them. Concealed in this nook five
mornings passed gloomily without his being able to observe any one although his retreat was so cleverly chosen that
through the flowery wealth of the dolantas, the calachuchis and the sampaguitas he could observe all that took place
in the garden. It had chanced that he had seen on the day before, the eagles threatening the life of the dear little
cóling, and no better means of giving warning of the danger being at hand, he had fired the shots.
Carlos had his joys too in that retreat; in that little temple which, formed as it was of simple leaves allowed him to
contemplate in silence the dear image of his beloved; to admire, without ostentation, the idol concealed in his
dreams; to adore his love face to face with God.

The first flush of dawn illumined his sanctuary and in the pale sweet light he was able to distinguish the graceful
figure of a young girl who was cutting flowers and arranging them in a beautiful little basket from Ilocos, which she
carried on her arm. Her countenance tinged with a faint blush vied with the beauty of the flowers. Her serene
forehead was in part veiled by a little lock of her glorious black hair which fell in abundant masses even to the
ground, covering her little feet. Great, dark, dreamy eyes, resplendent beneath the delicate curves of her arched
brows; a little mouth, and lips that would be confused with a petal of the gumamela, murmured caresses to the
sleeping flowers, covered yet with the dew, and which softly awoke to the touch of her tiny hands. If to this we and
the regular stature of an elegant graceful form arrayed in the dainty costume of the country, we have the likeness of
Nínay, the most beautiful dalaga on the shores of the Pásig.

So great was the beauty of that little temple wrought by nature's hands, so great the love of the young hunter that he
felt his whole nature kindle into flame upon discerning that pure young being.

The girl little knew that she was the object of such adoration and proceeded, plucking here a lovely iris, there a white
sampaguita, farther, a flaming sampac, and still beyond, an ilang-ilang drunken with sweet perfume, and thus
insensibly she drew nearer to the margin of the river. Surprised to find herself there she raised her eyes and glanced
about and saw the little boat of the serenade, the same which on the previous morning had brought the young savior
of her little birds. Her eyes showed their surprise and then her lips smiled and that glance, so innocent and artless,
was the beginning of love for her, and for him a bonfire flamed that and consumed his soul.