The mob of 1719

By Ambeth Ocampo
Philippine Daily Inquirer
First Posted 03:14:00 10/10/2008
MANILA, Philippines—Before I began my lecture on Felix Resurreccion Hidalgo at the National Museum last Saturday, I went into the Hall of the Masters of the National Gallery (the old Legislative Building) to see both Juan Luna’s “Spoliarium” and Hidalgo’s “Assassination of Governor Bustamante.” I was disappointed, because the Hidalgo painting was covered with scaffolding, as it was undergoing restoration and cleaning. Nevertheless, one could peek through the heavy equipment and see the angry faces of Dominican and Augustinian friars. It is a terrifying sight to see murder and mayhem in their eyes, and then, as you look up past the paint cans, you feel as if you were actually there.

At the top of the stairs, the ill-fated governor is losing his balance. There is a rope around his body, and at the other end friars are dragging him down. A Dominican stands before him brandishing a crucifix in a violent gesture reserved for the exorcism of demons in a possessed person. Behind the governor brandishing a sharp object is an Augustinian. This was the death blow. It was a tragic end for a man who attempted to run the country well. Then as now, trying to collect the right taxes, trying to stop graft and corruption, going against the Church can be dangerous.

The painter is said to have given his work the title “Iglesia contra el Estado” (“Church against the State”). But its theme was so controversial, its execution so powerful that the huge canvas was rolled up and never exhibited in Hidalgo’s lifetime. It was publicly exhibited only twice in the last century: in 1974 at the National Museum and in 1989 at the Metropolitan Museum of Manila. We must thank the family of the late National Artist Leandro V. Locsin, especially Mrs. Cecilia Y. Locsin, for making this long-hidden national treasure available to the public.

The account by a contemporary witness is in Volume 44 of the so-called “Blair and Robertson.” The governor and the Church did not see eye to eye, and Bustamante had Francisco de la Cuesta, archbishop of Manila, thrown in jail. So at the prodding of the religious, a crowd was mobilized into what could probably be seen as one of the first exercises of People Power before 1986. The difference was that the 1986 revolt was peaceful and little or no blood was shed, whereas in 1719 the church bells rang and the crowd turned into a mob that stormed the palace. From Blair and Robertson we read about that bloody evening of Oct. 11, 1719:

“The Franciscans, Dominicans and Augustinians came out from their convents, each as a body, carrying in their hands crucifixes and shouting, ‘Long Live the Church! Long Live King Felipe V!’ They were joined by people of all classes and proceeded to the church of San Agustin. The governor who was roused from his sleep and informed of the arrival of the mob sprang up and ordered the guards to keep back the crowd. He dispatched an order to the fort to discharge artillery at the crowd, but he was so little obeyed that, although they applied a match to two cannons, these where aimed so low that the balls were buried in the middle of the esplanade of the fort.

“Without opposition, this multitude arrived at the doors of the palace. As for the soldiers of the guard, some retreated in fear, and others in terror laid down their arms. The mob climbed up by ladders and entered the first hall, the halberdiers not firing the swivel-guns that had been provided, although the governor had commanded them to do so. [The governor] attempted to discharge his gun at a citizen standing near and it missed fore. Then the governor drew his saber and wounded the citizen. The latter and with him all the rest at once attacked the governor. They broke his right arm, and a blow on his head from a saber caused him to fall like one dead.”

The governor’s son who tried to intervene was likewise killed that night.

That is the story as narrated by an eyewitness in a primary source account. But when Antonio Ma. Regidor asked Hidalgo to paint this scene from history, his imagination wandered and “the crowd” was depicted as a pack of furious religious identifiable by their distinctive habits, most prominent being Dominicans whom Felix knew in the University of Santo Tomas.

The Bustamante story spawned “La Loba Negra,” a work once attributed to Fr. Jose Burgos, which was available in manuscript and translated from the original Spanish into English by the ex-Jesuit Hilario Lim. However, scholars had their doubts: the writing was bad, the Spanish far from elegant, there were historical inconsistencies in the narrative. Yet the story is intriguing. The black she-wolf murdered friars at night. She was the avenging widow of Bustamante.

This story inspired a play by Virginia R. Moreno, titled “Onyx Wolf,” which won third prize in the Cultural Center of the Philippines’ literary contest of 1969-1970. Before the play was published in 1980 and even before it was staged in 1971, “Onyx Wolf” became a landmark ballet by Alice Reyes, “Itim Asu.” It has also been made into an opera by Francisco Feliciano.

“La Loba Negra” was not by Burgos but by Jose E. Marco of Negros Island, whose forgeries were so successful that aside from “La Loba Negra” he created Kalantiaw, who in 1433 gave Philippine history an ancient set of laws predating the Spanish conquest.

Was Marco an evil genius? Or maybe it was all misplaced nationalism?

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Comments are welcome at aocampo@ateneo.edu.