by Lakambini Sitoy
Photos by Willie Avila
This feature appeared in the Independence Day edition of The Evening Paper (June 12, 1996). I have not been to the Malacañang Palace Museum since. Doubtless it is much changed.
CONTINUED from February 17 2024 post.
SERGIO Osmeña’s room, the sitting room, contains more copies of old furniture, upholstered in charming red and ivory brocade. There is a Viennese chandelier on the ceiling and an ornate carved mirror next to some framed newspaper clippings. One of these depicts the famous Leyte Landing, General Douglas MacArthur slogging through waves to reach the beach and Osmeña on his right. Osmeña became the second President of the Commonwealth Government. He was elected Vice President of the Philippine Commonwealth in 1935 and went on exile with Quezon at the outbreak of World War II. He assumed the Presidency at Quezon’s death, holding office until 1946. One of his most significant contributions to history was the signing of the Hare-Hawes Cutting Law, which promised the country's future independence from the United States.
Apart from the Leyte Landing clipping (the Foundation is trying to procure the original negative of this photograph from the archives of Time magazine) there seems to be little of historical interest in the Osmeña Room. and the museum is still awaiting more memorabilia from his family.
The wooden panels of the Osmeña Room are painted off-white and the floor, like in the other rooms before it, is of parquet. At first glance, the ceiling seems to be of basket work. But a closer look reveals it to be of pieces of split narra woven together, a time consuming but attractive piece of work. The rooms previously visited are decorated in this fashion. These had been the private quarters of the three Marcos children, Imee, Irene and Ferdinand Jr.
The next room is far more opulent, an effect created by the narra panelling, the great crystal chandelier from Vienna (the largest in the collection), and the leather-bound books that line the wall. This room is the Laurel library, housing the memorabilia of Jose P. Laurel, who was president for a brief period (1943-1944) during the Japanese occupation. The books in this room are part of the Palace collection and seem to be quite recent. Some are paperback, and there are a few that seem to be downright pulpy. In a row upon a counter that runs flush against the wall of books are framed quotes from Laurel’s speeches and writings. On a tabletop are editions of some of the books that Laurel penned. One gets the impression that Laurel was far more literary than the other presidents, but this could be because his memorabilia has been organized to complement the purported function of the room. There are more black and white photographs from Laurel’s term arranged along a free-standing board.
Arranging numerous images from each administration has its downsides, as well as its pluses. On the positive end, the numerous uncaptioned photos add to the effect that the Malacañang Heritage Foundation, no doubt was aiming for, a museum that would resemble the apartments of a well-to-do family. A series of elegantly furnished rooms, each with its own function. The memorabilia would be an almost incidental bonus then, and captions on photographs in incredibly poor taste. But the museum is not a private home. The Foundation has a mission: to give life to the collective Philippine past for the benefit of the great majority of Filipinos who are now estranged from it, and a tour guide can only do so much with her memorized spiel. Here, at least for the moment, are photographs without a context and consequently, a dozen presidents without much of a history. President Ramos's words on the Malacañang Heritage Foundation brochure ring with irony. “Our heritage is our strength. It is our link with the past. It mirrors our national soul and our aspirations. It is the embodiment of everything that is essentially Filipino.” The situation is not irremediable. Memorabilia is trickling in, according to Mae Gaffud. It comes from the National Library, the foundations of the respective presidents, from their surviving relatives. The museum is not a bad job at all for something that had to be built from air.
A MAGNIFICENTLY carved archway over the door leading from the Laurel Room to the Aguinaldo room is a foretaste of what lies ahead: the presidential rooms that used to be the private suites of Ferdinand and Imelda Marcos. The Aguinaldo room, panelled in narra, used to be the palace chapel, and is dark and simple. Running almost its entire length is a heavy table of wood, supported by four ornately-carved legs. This is a genuine piece of goods: a conference table believed to have been the one on which the Malolos Constitution was signed. It is on long-term loan from the Central Bank, and is so heavy that it had to be transported in five pieces and reassembled in the room.
Mounted on a desk at one end is a sabre in its velvet-lined case, a replica of a weapon that belonged to Gen. Emilio Aguinaldo, President of the Philippine Revolutionary Government and President of the First Philippine Republic. Above it is one of the original battle flags used by his men in the Philippine Revolution. The flag was discovered in 1982 in the basement of the town hall of West Hartford, Connecticut. After Aguinaldo was captured by Gen. Arthur MacArthur, the American soldiers looted the countryside with impunity, and the Malacañang Heritage Foundation believes that the flag was taken to the States as one of the spoils of war. This flag resembles the contemporary Philippine flag in design. The red side has faded to a sepia tint and the blue half is now slate grey. Water stains do not quite hide the three stars and the sun.
Over at the other end of the room are more old photographs, including one of Aguinaldo leading the parade that took place before the Malolos Convention started, as well as one of the convention delegates.
The Aguinaldo chamber opens into an anteroom devoted to the First Ladies of Malacañang. Five ternos are on display here; they belonged to Mrs. Pacencia Laurel, Mrs. Luz Banzon-Magsaysay, Ms. Vicky Quirino, the second wife of President Aguinaldo, and Mrs. Imelda Marcos. None of these, sadly, were worn at (any) president's inauguration. The (actual) inaugural gowns are now the property of Mr. Adoy Escudero and are on display at Villa Escudero, a resort in Quezon Province.
Vicky Quirino became the First Lady to her widower father at age sixteen; at age eighteen, she married and wore the gown now on display. It has a long satin train and a tiny waist. Imelda Marcos’s gown is deceptively subdued, but it is made of pina fiber and is purely of callado work. Callado’d fabric is punctured in many places, the loose ends of thread tied meticulously around each opening to seal it. The result looks like delicate netting. It takes days of skilled labor to produce a gown with this feature.
Following this room is what used to be a walk-in closet large enough to hold a table and four chairs and a mirrored cabinet, with ample room to spare. This is a changing exhibit gallery. The latest display was devoted to the Dalagang Filipina and there were daguerrotypes of pure Filipino, Chinese-Filipino and Spanish-Filipino young women on the wall. In general, the exhibits chronicle life in turn-of-the-century Philippines, a period of our history that is much dwelt on, even romanticized.
When the viewer steps into the Quirino room, he cannot help but draw breath. The vaulted ceiling is carved of narra; rococo cherubs, birds and butterflies compete for the viewer's attention. And roses seem to be everywhere, spilling out of vases, creeping up the ceiling, forming a dense border around the lower edge of the vault. A huge chandelier carved of the same hardwood seems to drip from the middle of the dome. The carvings look as rich and delicate as chocolate. Skilled carvers from Betis, Pampanga, directed by master carver Juan Flores, took 180 days to decorate the whole ceiling.
This huge confection, of course, is part of the bedroom of former First Lady Imelda Marcos. It comes as a shock to discover that behind some narra panels put up by the Foundation is another room just like it, chandelier, roses and all. This is the second half of Mrs. Marcos’s bedroom; it now houses her late husband's memorabilia.
The rooms give one a claustrophobic feeling, perhaps because they are so dark and air-tight. There are absolutely no windows. The narra panelling, according to Mae Gaffud, was stripped of the deep brown veneer that dated back to the Marcos administration, to allow the natural wood coloring to show through. Even so, the room resembles a chocolate tomb.
President Elpidio Quirino’s memorabilia are quite engulfed by the decor. A painting by Fernando Amorsolo, who also did the portrait of Manuel A. Roxas, has been donated by the Quirino family, and there is a bust of the president done by the National Artist for Sculpture Guillermo Tolentino. The antique bed from Vigan that stands on the platform where Mrs. Marcos's bed used to be, is just a Malacañang Heritage Foundation acquisition. The photographs of Quirino abroad, on some of his official trips, are more authentic. Quirino succeeded Roxas, becoming 2nd President of the Third Philippine Republic.
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