Chapter 1:

A Social Gathering
(English version of “Noli Me Tangere”)
On the last of October Don Santiago de los Santos, popularly
known as Capitan Tiago, gave a dinner.  In spite of the fact
that, contrary to his usual custom, he had made the
announcement only that afternoon, it was already the sole
topic of conversation in Binondo and adjacent districts, and
even in the Walled City, for at that time Capitan Tiago was
considered one of the most hospitable of men, and it was well
known that his house, like his country, shut its doors against
nothing except commerce and all new or bold ideas.  Like an
electric shock the announcement ran through the world of
parasites, bores, and hangers-on, whom God in His infinite
bounty creates and so kindly multiplies in Manila.  Some
looked at once for shoe-polish, others for buttons and cravats,
but all were especially concerned about how to greet the
master of the house in the most familiar tone, in order to
create an atmosphere of ancient friendship or, if occasion
should arise, to excuse a late arrival.
This dinner was given in a house on Calle Anloague, and
although we do not remember the number we will describe it in
such a way that it may still be recognized, provided the
earthquakes have not destroyed it.  We do not believe that its
owner has had it torn down, for such labors are generally
entrusted to God or nature—which Powers hold the contracts
also for many of the projects of our government.  It is a rather
large building, in the style of many in the country, and fronts
upon the arm of the Pasig which is known to some as the
Binondo River, and which, like all the streams in Manila, plays
the varied rôles of bath, sewer, laundry, fishery, means of
transportation and communication, and even drinking water if the
Chinese water-carrier finds it convenient.  It is worthy of note that
in the distance of nearly a mile this important artery of the
district, where traffic is most dense and movement most
deafening, can boast of only one wooden bridge, which is out of
repair on one side for six months and impassable on the other for
the rest of the year, so that during the hot season the ponies take
advantage of this permanent status quo to jump off the bridge into
the water, to the great surprise of the abstracted mortal who may
be dozing inside the carriage or philosophizing upon the progress
of the age.
The house of which we are speaking is somewhat low and not
exactly correct in all its lines: whether the architect who built it
was afflicted with poor eyesight or whether the earthquakes and
typhoons have twisted it out of shape, no one can say with
certainty.  A wide staircase with green newels and carpeted steps
leads from the tiled entrance up to the main floor between rows
of flower-pots set upon pedestals of motley-colored and
fantastically decorated Chinese porcelain.  Since there are neither
porters nor servants who demand invitation cards, we will go in, O
you who read this, whether friend or foe, if you are attracted by
the strains of the orchestra, the lights, or the suggestive rattling
of dishes, knives, and forks, and if you wish to see what such a
gathering is like in the distant Pearl of the Orient.  Gladly, and for
my own comfort, I should spare you this description of the house,
were it not of great importance, since we mortals in general are
very much like tortoises: we are esteemed and classified
according to our shells; in this and still other respects the mortals
of the Philippines in particular also resemble tortoises.