CHAPTER XVII
THE QUIAPO FAIR
It was a beautiful night and the plaza presented a most animatedaspect. Taking advantage of the freshness of the breeze and thesplendor of the January moon, the people filled the fair to see, beseen, and amuse themselves. The music of the cosmoramas and the lightsof the lanterns gave life and merriment to every one. Long rows ofbooths, brilliant with tinsel and gauds, exposed to view clusters ofballs, masks strung by the eyes, tin toys, trains, carts, mechanicalhorses, carriages, steam-engines with diminutive boilers, Lilliputiantableware of porcelain, pine Nativities, dolls both foreign anddomestic, the former red and smiling, the latter sad and pensive likelittle ladies beside gigantic children. The beating of drums, the roarof tin horns, the wheezy music of the accordions and the hand-organs,all mingled in a carnival concert, amid the coming and going of thecrowd, pushing, stumbling over one another, with their faces turnedtoward the booths, so that the collisions were frequent and oftenamusing. The carriages were forced to move slowly, with the _tabi_ ofthe cocheros repeated every moment. Met and mingled government clerks,soldiers, friars, students, Chinese, girls with their mammas or aunts,all greeting, signaling, calling to one another merrily.
Padre Camorra was in the seventh heaven at the sight of so many prettygirls. He stopped, looked back, nudged Ben-Zayb, chuckled and swore,saying, "And that one, and that one, my ink-slinger? And that oneover there, what say you?" In his contentment he even fell to usingthe familiar _tu_ toward his friend and adversary. Padre Salvi staredat him from time to time, but he took little note of Padre Salvi. Onthe contrary, he pretended to stumble so that he might brush againstthe girls, he winked and made eyes at them.
"_Punales!_" he kept saying to himself. "When shall I be the curateof Quiapo?"
Suddenly Ben-Zayb let go an oath, jumped aside, and slapped his handon his arm; Padre Camorra in his excess of enthusiasm had pinchedhim. They were approaching a dazzling senorita who was attracting theattention of the whole plaza, and Padre Camorra, unable to restrainhis delight, had taken Ben-Zayb's arm as a substitute for the girl's.
It was Paulita Gomez, the prettiest of the pretty, in company withIsagani, followed by Dona Victorina. The young woman was resplendentin her beauty: all stopped and craned their necks, while they ceasedtheir conversation and followed her with their eyes--even DonaVictorina was respectfully saluted.
Paulita was arrayed in a rich camisa and panuelo of embroidered pina,different from those she had worn that morning to the church. Thegauzy texture of the pina set off her shapely head, and the Indianswho saw her compared her to the moon surrounded by fleecy clouds. Asilk rose-colored skirt, caught up in rich and graceful folds by herlittle hand, gave majesty to her erect figure, the movement of which,harmonizing with her curving neck, displayed all the triumphs of vanityand satisfied coquetry. Isagani appeared to be rather disgusted,for so many curious eyes fixed upon the beauty of his sweetheartannoyed him. The stares seemed to him robbery and the girl's smilesfaithlessness.
Juanito saw her and his hump increased when he spoke to her. Paulitareplied negligently, while Dona Victorina called to him, for Juanitowas her favorite, she preferring him to Isagani.
"What a girl, what a girl!" muttered the entranced Padre Camorra.
"Come, Padre, pinch yourself and let me alone," said Ben-Zaybfretfully.
"What a girl, what a girl!" repeated the friar. "And she has for asweetheart a pupil of mine, the boy I had the quarrel with."
"Just my luck that she's not of my town," he added, after turninghis head several times to follow her with his looks. He was eventempted to leave his companions to follow the girl, and Ben-Zayb haddifficulty in dissuading him. Paulita's beautiful figure moved on,her graceful little head nodding with inborn coquetry.
Our promenaders kept on their way, not without sighs on the partof the friar-artilleryman, until they reached a booth surrounded bysightseers, who quickly made way for them. It was a shop of littlewooden figures, of local manufacture, representing in all shapes andsizes the costumes, races, and occupations of the country: Indians,Spaniards, Chinese, mestizos, friars, clergymen, government clerks,gobernadorcillos, students, soldiers, and so on.
Whether the artists had more affection for the priests, the foldsof whose habits were better suited to their esthetic purposes, orwhether the friars, holding such an important place in Philippine life,engaged the attention of the sculptor more, the fact was that, for onecause or another, images of them abounded, well-turned and finished,representing them in the sublimest moments of their lives--the oppositeof what is done in Europe, where they are pictured as sleeping oncasks of wine, playing cards, emptying tankards, rousing themselvesto gaiety, or patting the cheeks of a buxom girl. No, the friarsof the Philippines were different: elegant, handsome, well-dressed,their tonsures neatly shaven, their features symmetrical and serene,their gaze meditative, their expression saintly, somewhat rosy-cheeked,cane in hand and patent-leather shoes on their feet, inviting adorationand a place in a glass case. Instead of the symbols of gluttony andincontinence of their brethren in Europe, those of Manila carried thebook, the crucifix, and the palm of martyrdom; instead of kissing thesimple country lasses, those of Manila gravely extended the hand tobe kissed by children and grown men doubled over almost to kneeling;instead of the full refectory and dining-hall, their stage in Europe,in Manila they had the oratory, the study-table; instead of themendicant friar who goes from door to door with his donkey and sack,begging alms, the friars of the Philippines scattered gold from fullhands among the miserable Indians.
"Look, here's Padre Camorra!" exclaimed Ben-Zayb, upon whom the effectof the champagne still lingered. He pointed to a picture of a leanfriar of thoughtful mien who was seated at a table with his headresting on the palm of his hand, apparently writing a sermon by thelight of a lamp. The contrast suggested drew laughter from the crowd.
Padre Camorra, who had already forgotten about Paulita, saw what wasmeant and laughing his clownish laugh, asked in turn, "Whom does thisother figure resemble, Ben-Zayb?"
It was an old woman with one eye, with disheveled hair, seated onthe ground like an Indian idol, ironing clothes. The sad-iron wascarefully imitated, being of copper with coals of red tinsel andsmoke-wreaths of dirty twisted cotton.
"Eh, Ben-Zayb, it wasn't a fool who designed that" asked Padre Camorrawith a laugh.
"Well, I don't see the point," replied the journalist.
"But, _punales_, don't you see the title, _The Philippine Press_? Thatutensil with which the old woman is ironing is here called the press!"
All laughed at this, Ben-Zayb himself joining in good-naturedly.
Two soldiers of the Civil Guard, appropriately labeled, were placedbehind a man who was tightly bound and had his face covered by hishat. It was entitled _The Country of Abaka_, [39] and from appearancesthey were going to shoot him.
Many of our visitors were displeased with the exhibition. They talkedof rules of art, they sought proportion--one said that this figure didnot have seven heads, that the face lacked a nose, having only three,all of which made Padre Camorra somewhat thoughtful, for he did notcomprehend how a figure, to be correct, need have four noses andseven heads. Others said, if they were muscular, that they could notbe Indians; still others remarked that it was not sculpture, but merecarpentry. Each added his spoonful of criticism, until Padre Camorra,not to be outdone, ventured to ask for at least thirty legs for eachdoll, because, if the others wanted noses, couldn't he require feet? Sothey fell to discussing whether the Indian had or had not any aptitudefor sculpture, and whether it would be advisable to encourage thatart, until there arose a general dispute, which was cut short by DonCustodio's declaration that the Indians had the aptitude, but thatthey should devote themselves exclusively to the manufacture of saints.
"One would say," observed Ben-Zayb, who was full of bright ideasthat night, "that this Chinaman is Quiroga, but on close examinationit looks like Padre Irene. And what do you say about that BritishIndian? He looks
like Simoun!"
Fresh peals of laughter resounded, while Padre Irene rubbed his nose.
"That's right!"
"It's the very image of him!"
"But where is Simoun? Simoun should buy it."
But the jeweler had disappeared, unnoticed by any one.
"_Punales!_" exclaimed Padre Camorra, "how stingy the Americanis! He's afraid we would make him pay the admission for all of usinto Mr. Leeds' show."
"No!" rejoined Ben-Zayb, "what he's afraid of is that he'll compromisehimself. He may have foreseen the joke in store for his friendMr. Leeds and has got out of the way."
Thus, without purchasing the least trifle, they continued on theirway to see the famous sphinx. Ben-Zayb offered to manage the affair,for the American would not rebuff a journalist who could take revengein an unfavorable article. "You'll see that it's all a questionof mirrors," he said, "because, you see--" Again he plunged into along demonstration, and as he had no mirrors at hand to discredithis theory he tangled himself up in all kinds of blunders and woundup by not knowing himself what he was saying. "In short, you'll seehow it's all a question of optics."