It was a cold, windy night in November 1901. As evening fell, the chilly easterly wind had picked up force, and howled along the streets of San Miguel. In one of the large houses on Hospicio the wake had begun for Don Francisco. He was a distinguished citizen of the city—son of a military man who had reached a high rank in the Republican army.
Both father and son had also served in the government of the city during the presidency of Porfirio Diaz. The deceased had been a Mason, and as such was known as a free-thinker with anti-religious feelings. He never went to church, and did not participate in any religious ceremonies or festivals.
The extent of his dislike for the church was shown as early as the baptism of his children, where he did not come, but had a proxy represent him. When the children were married, he did not attend the ceremonies, sending proxies once again; he only attended the reception.
Most of his neighbors were devout Catholics, but they considered him more as an odd individual than an enemy. They were aware of the justified anti-church feelings many held after the War of Independence ended in 1821. Some of their parents and grandparents had expressed their dislike of the monarchists and conservatives who had the backing of the Church, and who did not have the interests of the common man. They recalled the tales told by their relatives about those times, particularly about the hapless Austrian emperor of Mexico, Maximilian I, who in spite of his ties to monarchy, was neither a conservative nor a monarchist. Those who had known him closely knew he was a progressive young man, at odds with church authorities, who wanted reforms for the workers, better distribution of lands, and education for the poor. All liberal ideas which the church and the true conservatives opposed. Because of this history, many residents who were themselves regular church-goers could accept someone who had rejected religion, and was without a doubt an atheist.
Don Francisco had “taken to bed,” as the term was in those days when one became ill without a specific diagnosis. It had started with a bit of a fever for a few days which then disappeared. But a deep cough remained, and day after day drained his body of strength. Several local doctors were called in, including one from Queretaro who had great renown because he was the personal physician of the distinguished General Federico Montes Alanis, and a good friend of Dr. Ignacio Hernandez Macias who served as San Miguel city president.
Don Francisco was given various medications, but his health continued to deteriorate to the point where it was obvious death was at the door. During those final days, his wife and children attempted to change his mind, to accept and reconcile with God. But Don Francisco would wave them away telling them to leave him alone, or he simply turned a deaf ear to their requests, pretending to be asleep or unconscious. Finally one later afternoon, as the wind bayed outside the windows of his bedroom, he lay with tremors, sweating, plucking at the sheets; his passing seemingly imminent.
Without waiting any longer, the oldest son ran to the Parroquia to get Father Correa who came quickly, bringing along the viaticum to place in the mouth of the dying man, and the oils for extreme unction. Don Francisco’s wife leaned into her husband’s ear and, in a clear voice said to him: “Pancho, prepare yourself to die well…Repent!
Upon hearing these words, the sick man opened his eyes. He looked fixedly at his wife, then at his children, and finally at the priest. With an extreme effort, he raised himself on his elbows and sat up in bed with back straight, he once again turned to his wife and with all the power left in him spoke in a firm voice: “Leave me alone, and tell him to go! I want to die as I have always lived… as a liberal…To hell with the priests and their stories!”
Then a fit of coughing stopped him and he fell back on the pillows. He coughed once more, then took a breath, held it for a long time and finally exhaled slowly for the last time. His wife fell on his chest crying and calling out his name: “Why, Panchito why?” asking the question which he had answered before he died, but an answer that she could not accept. How could he have rejected god at the last instance? The children stood about without a word, instead of expressing grief, their wide eyes and their silence showed terror.
Soon friends and neighbors learned about Don Francisco’s death and the circumstances, and it became the talk of the town. The news about the “unrepentant” death spread like wild fire. The coffin was brought in, the body was shrouded and placed inside. His children discussed whether they should place a crucifix on his chest, as established by San Miguel traditions. But they decided against it, as it did not fit their father’s beliefs.
For the next day and a half, as the body lay in the coffin, only family members and the closest friends dared come to give their condolences. All others walked on the other sidewalk, or even around the block to avoid coming near the house of the “man who had quarreled with god.”
The night before the burial, family and a few close friends were gathered around the coffin, reciting the rosary. Suddenly the wind grew fierce, it slammed the front door open with such force that it slammed open with a bang, as if a powerful being had smashed through it. And then, like a weaving snake the gale-like draft of cold air passed through the house, it blew out the candles around the coffin, leaving only the kerosene lamps in the hallway shedding some light.
A large, black dog appeared, its eyes glowing in the semi-darkness of the room. It stood by the coffin as the attendees cringed and huddled away from it. Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the dog turned and ran out. The room became filled with the smell of sulphur.
The next day the funeral procession prepared to carry the remains of Don Francisco. The coffin had been closed the previous evening after the event with the dog, and the family had given their final goodbye. There was no thought of a funeral with a mass, or a blessing to be given at the cemetery. The family knew that anything like that would bring criticism from the residents.
Don Francisco was a big man, so six coffin bearers were chosen to carry his remains to the San Juan de Dios cemetery. His sons, a brother, two cousins and an uncle were to take their relative on his final path among the living. As the men placed the coffin on their shoulders they were amazed at how light it seemed. As they walked the many blocks, instead of the burden becoming heavier, it seemed to get lighter. They all thought the same thing: the coffin must be empty!
No one said a word, and Don Francisco’s very light coffin was lowered into his grave. Earth was placed on top, tampered down, and the mound left behind as everyone walked out.
But as Don Francisco was put to rest, his legend had only begun to take life. Over the years gossip turned his story into a legend, with new details added as it passed from lip to lip. The amazing appearance of a black dog, the smell of sulphur as it left, and the lightness of the coffin witnessed by the bearers led to one conclusion: the devil had taken the body of Don Francisco on that fateful, windy night.
They said what was buried at San Juan de Dios cemetery was an empty coffin. Even years after, grandmothers remembered the story, and scared the children into being obedient to god and the Church. “Children,” they admonished, “you don’t want to fool around with the devil!”
Translation and adaptation of a story found in: La Villa de San Miguel el Grande y Ciudad de San Miguel de Allende, pp 47-48, by Cornelio Lopez Espinosa, city chronicler.
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