The Theft of the Santo Niño's Golden Cross

An India and Esclavo at the Crossroads between Communities

By Nicholas C. Sy

Manuscript of Osario Venerable by Augustin Maria de Castro 1770 

Cebu Island, 1625: a golden cross and chain were missing. This sacred jewelry was the pride of the Augustinian mission. Normally, they hung together around the neck of the statuette of the Santo Niño (the Holy Child Jesus) and were allegedly the very same jewels on the statuette brought by Ferdinand Magellan when he first claimed the Philippine archipelago for Spain in 1521. Their loss caused a stir. The local bishop personally conducted a month-long investigation. This twelve-page file represents three sets of documents from that investigation. Despite its brevity, this gem presents a cross-section of early colonial society. Its investigation into the parish treasury, simultaneously illustrates a fascinating genre of priestly interrogation and the everyday practice of inventory-making. Its testimonies privileged the verbose narratives of Spanish Augustinians but also let slip the multifarious interactions of non-European actors outside the missionaries’ purview. The India Isabel and the esclavo Jacinto were the central nodes connecting these disparate communities. Her silence and his disappearance present to us their powerful exercise of agency through the absence of data. This document or a copy of it was included in the Franciscan friar Isacio Rodríguez’s multi-volume Historia de la Provincia Agustiniana.1 The transcription presented here is an expanded, revised, and modernized version of Rodríguez partial transcription.

Map and site plan of Cebu City from 1699 which shows the location of Santo Niño Church. Klassen, Winana. “Architecture in the Philippines.” University of San Carlos (1986).

The file’s first set of documents is comprised of the testimonies of Friars Juan Ruiz, Antonio Ximénez, Juan de Montemayor, and Martín de Jesús. The bishop put pressure on each of them to reconstruct the events that led up to the cross’s loss. Their accounts begin in the year 1620 when a chapter meeting was called in Manila.2 The erstwhile prior, one Fray Juan de Tujo, turned over the convent’s treasury to Ximénez along with an inventory of its contents, which both men signed. Later, Montemayor was appointed as the new prior and came to town. Ximénez needed to turnover the treasury to his new superior, but he was in a rush to catch a boat to another island. He asked Ruiz to take over. Ruiz and Montemayor stared at the treasury’s contents and vaguely realized that something was missing. But because they could not pinpoint what exactly was missing, they were unsure whether it was important. They chose not to report it. This status quo remained, until one day the bishop’s agent, Fray Juan de Ricovayo, dropped in for the feast of the Santo Niño and wanted to see the icon’s jewels. The very next day he and the bishop launched an investigation into the disappearance of the Santo Niño’s cross. Ruiz was called-in first on 29 April 1629 and then Ximénez on 30 April 1629. The convent’s slave Tomás was called in on 2 May 1629 and tortured for his testimony. Then Montemayor was summoned followed by Jesús, both on 4 May 1629.

Ruiz’s, Ximénez’s and Montemayor’s testimonies were exercises in self-exculpation. Each missionary blamed one of the others for negligence or for giving vague instructions. Montemayor played the biggest victim. He claimed not to have even known that the statuette had jewelry before he became prior. When he found out and suspected something was missing, he was plagued with indecision. The inventory told him that there should have been “an enameled golden cross found with the child.3

But “almost all of the [other crosses that the Santo Niño] had were made of gold and enameled.”4 When he went to consult Ximénez, the latter accused him of being a pest. Montemayor said that he had “always feared”5that this day would come when “the cross has not turned up and the slaves have run away and revolted and the service and the work of the church has been disturbed.”6 In short, he pleaded for the bishop’s empathy. It was a loss that had happened (he alleged) before his tenure as prior.

Montemayor’s tone stood in contrast with the tone adopted by brother Martín de Jesús. Jesús could not be bothered. He had been implicated for lending the treasury’s key to one of the convent’s enslaved servants, but as far as he was concerned the fault was structural: “they had made him so busy that he could not attend to everything” 7 What was he supposed to have done?—he seemed to ask his interrogator.

Boitard delin Truchy Seu Ip. The Sufferings of John Coustos for Freemasonry and for his refusing to turn Roman Catholic, in the Inquisition at Lisbon; Where he was sentenc’d, during Four Years, to the Galley; and afterwards releas’d from thence by the gracious Interposition of his present Majesty King George II. London : Printed by W. Strahan, for the Author, 1746.

The file’s second set of documents is comprised of the aforementioned testimony of Tomás, again dated 2 May 1625. Rodríguez transcribes his surname as “Sareman,”8although this is less than self-evident from the manuscript’s erratic handwriting. Tomás was the sacristan—a post that might have been assigned to slaves, as suggested by another case from 1732.9He was referred to as “negro,”10but was also described as being assigned to the same sleeping quarters as the “other Camarines servants.”11This suggests that he hailed from the Bikol region and, given his designation as black, was possibly a person of indigenous Agta rather than African descent. His name was mentioned from day one of the investigation which, again, was roughly twenty-four hours after the bishop’s agent first noticed that the jewelry was missing. The immediacy of this implication suggests that Tomás was already for some reason distrusted. Because he was “vacillating,” he was placed on a torture rack with nine cords that tightened around his flesh (“un potro de tormento con nueve cordeles”)12. . The explicit questions and implicit follow-up questions he was asked placed Tomás at the center of the crime and attempted to squeeze the cross’s location out of him. But, according to his own testimony, Tomás no longer had the cross. He claimed that he initially stole it by taking brother Martín’s key, but then Montemayor’s slave named Jacinto had, in turn, stolen the cross from him and handed it to Isabel with whom, we later learn, Jacinto “lived in sin (en ofensa de dios).”13 Tomás stated that he stole the cross back but, for some undocumented reason, Tomás pawned it to Isabel for six reales.14.

Finally, the file’s third set of documents is comprised of the report of Manuel de Ribero. Written with none of the legal formalities of the rest of this file, it is dated 21 May 1625 and inserted haphazardly between the pages of Montemayor’s testimony. Presumably tired of twisting the potro or torture rack’s cords himself, the bishop had gone on a visitation and left Ribero in charge. Ribero began his own investigation centered not on the missionaries and their assistants but on Isabel. He first found an indigenous woman (Juana Camagai) and another of the convent’s slaves (Manuel) who attested that they had seen her with the cross. And then he found Isabel. He tortured her on the rack. But “although she was asked through torture and the rack’s cords tightened around her, she always denied”15 her involvement. Ribero then called in Tomás who repeated his testimony from roughly three weeks prior. Perhaps he was made to do so for Isabel’s benefit. However, nothing more was extracted from her. Tomás added that he took the cross while Montemayor was already serving as prior and so dependent on Ruiz while Ximénez was away in Panay. Tomás’s timeline damned all three missionaries.

Agency in Absence 

Taken together, this file offers a compelling illustration of seventeenth-century interrogation techniques used by members of the church on both free and enslaved indigenous individuals in the colony. Tomás responses were brief and frequently punctuated with redundant confirmations that “this is the truth”16or that “he says this in the name of Jesus”17as if the racks’ cords forced him to emphatically try to convince his skeptical captors. The technology employed in this practice is of note. The authorities of the diocese did not trouble themselves with explaining why they owned a torture rack. There was no mention of its being brought from the governor’s office, for example, or from out of storage. Likewise, there was no need to rationalize its use to their readers. And the link between torture and truth’s acquisition, goes unquestioned in the manuscript. This nonchalance suggests that the potro was just another piece of furniture in the convent and that the brutality it was used for was utterly commonplace. And while one could say that this tool was in as general a use in Europe as it was in the colonies, the heightened power dynamic behind its application in the current case is apparent. Let us compare. Although sometimes prompted by questions, the missionaries largely shaped their own narratives. Their quoted speech was occasionally copied verbatim (“he said father prior told him that ‘well, the child has jewels.’ And this declarant replied ‘yes and lots of them.’ And afterwards the said prior responded ‘well, let’s have a look at them.”18). Their digressions were permitted. They were allowed to wildly speculate. In contrast, Tomás’s road from his summons to his torment is the figurative length of one sentence: “His most reverend lordship having asked him some questions, Tomás was always [vacillating].”19 By the end of that sentence, Tomás was on the rack.
The enslaved’s place in this religious community is of equal interest. As the historian William Henry Scott tells us, it was not unknown for the archipelago’s seventeenth century missionaries to have slaves. The Augustinian order’s rules allowed each friar the ownership of one.20Other slaves, it seems, were the convent’s property. What is particularly noteworthy in this case is the insight it provides into how the enslaved were integrated into the daily life of the broader colonial society. On the one hand, Jacinto’s enslavement had clearly followed his master Montemayor to the latter’s new assignment in Cebu. On the other hand, beyond this master-enslaved relationship, we see that Tomás shared his sleeping quarters with servants who appeared to be free. He had repeated contact with Isabel, a free India, and Ruiz found it plausible that he had had contact with a Sangley (Chinese). Manuel, also enslaved at the convent, likewise had contact with Isabel. Jacinto for his part must have had regular enough contact with Isabel prior to co-habiting with her “en offensa de dios.”21The missionaries’ intramural discourse of responsibility and negligence led them to focus time and again on their own actions and the actions of Tomás. It seems, however, that the true central node between all of the actors in this case was the couple Isabel and Jacinto. The India Isabel exercised an agency over these events that was as powerful as it was unseen. Although, the matter is less than clear, she seems to have gone out of her way to acquire this golden cross and its chain. Presupposing that she had not actually asked Tomás or Jacinto to steal it for her (perhaps an inductively baseless possibility, but one that we cannot exclude), she must have expressed enough of a desire for this cross to Tomás that even when Tomás took it from her, he found himself, three weeks later, bringing it back. He knew that she would be willing to lend him money in its stead. In this exchange the cross and chain seemed to have had a value to both individuals other than their weight in gold.22Tomás chose to pawn the cross rather than to alienate the cross through sale. Isabel, it seemed, made it no secret that she had the cross. Ribero’s informants, Juana and Manuel, both attested to have “seen”23 her with it. Ironically, Isabel’s agency comes out clearest in a way very differently from the missionaries. The missionaries’ exercised their power through the production of their manuscripts in which their words negotiated their personal framings of the events from 1620 to 1625. Through these manuscripts we get an excess of data not just into the process of interrogation, but also into the process of inventory construction. Every object and person in this case was framed in relation to the missionaries: whether it be the gold framed in the form of crosses and chains or people framed in the form of indios and esclavos. Isabel, in contrast, exercised her agency by her refusal to participate in this discussion. Without her words, the missionaries could not employ reductive strategies to frame those words in their colonial context. And then there was Jacinto. His curious absence throughout the interrogation went unexplained, except, perhaps, in Montemayor’s wail that now “the slaves have run away and revolted.”24 To the missionaries, Jacinto was simply the “slave of the father prior,”25 but clearly Jacinto saw himself in very different terms. Moreover, his relationship with Isabel suggests that the missionaries’ attempt to frame Jacinto’s relationships with people as either legitimate or illegitimate on their terms, meant little to Jacinto himself. The missionaries’ world views were coherent, even as they tried to pin blame on one another. And we as readers are drawn into that coherence. Isabel and Jacinto, in contrast, kept their views unfettered by refusing to participate in this investigation.  

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Sobre el robo de la cruz del Santo Niño de Cebú por un sacristán, esclavo del convento. 1625.

On the theft of the cross of the Holy Child of Cebu by a sacristan, a slave of the convent. 1625. (English translation)
16 pages, transcribed and translated
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Bibliography

Archdiocesan Archives of Nueva Segovia. 1693-1702. Libro de Entierros, box 13, vol. 1, bk 4.

Lilly Library (LL). 1625. Sobre el robo de la cruz del Santo Niño de Cebú por un sacristán, esclavo del convento, 276r-281v (img1-12). Accessed online, October 2023, https://fromthepage.com/1762archive/a-digital-repatriation-of-a-lost-archive-of-the-spanish-pacific-the-library-of-the-convent-of-san-pablo-manila-1762/sobre-el-robo-de-la-cruz-del-santo-nino-de-cebu-por-un-sacristan-esclavo-del-convento-1625/display/33699355

_____. 1639. Certificaciones auténticas del modo con que se halló el Santo Niño de Zebu  May 1639, 85r-88v (img1-6). Accessed online, December 2023,   https://fromthepage.com/1762archive/a-digital-repatriation-of-a-lost-archive-of-the-spanish-pacific-the-library-of-the-convent-of-san-pablo-manila-1762/certificaciones-autenticas-del-modo-con-que-se-hallo-el-santo-nino-de-zebu-may-1639-vad6896-u-00007-154-163

_____. 1732. Monacillos que lo sean los hijos de los mestizos, 439r-449r (img1-21). Accessed online, October 2023, https://fromthepage.com/1762archive/a-digital-repatriation-of-a-lost-archive-of-the-spanish-pacific-the-library-of-the-convent-of-san-pablo-manila-1762/onedrive-1-9-25-2022-1.  

Scott, William Henry. 1991. Slavery in the Spanish Philippines. De La Salle University Press.

Rodríguez, Isacio. OSA.1987. Historia de la Provincia Agustiniana, vol. 19, 149-151. Valladolid: Ediciones Estudio Agustiniano.

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