‘Niño dormido’
One of the things I remember from childhood Christmases was the long Midnight Mass that ended with the priest holding up an image of the Baby Jesus for the faithful to kiss before they ran off to the noche buena feast.
Looking back on Christmas rituals, I remember that the Nativity scene, or belen, in our church came complete with an image of St. Joseph, the Virgin Mary, the Magi (Gaspar, Melchor and Baltazar), some shepherds, and assorted farm animals that never included chickens and ducks. The manger remained empty till the Midnight Mass on Dec. 24, when an image of a baby boy was laid on the humble crib of straw, under a flying angel, carrying a sign in Latin that read: “Gloria in excelsis deo” (Glory to God in the highest).
The image of the Baby Jesus is the focal point of the belen, which got its name from the Spanish form of Bethlehem, the birthplace of Jesus.
St. Francis of Assisi is credited for the tradition of building a makeshift cave or manger in churches for the Christmas Eve Mass. In 1223 Francis set up a manger in the church of Greccio and filled it with straw; to complete the scene, he brought in a live ox and ass. However, if you read the Gospels, there is no mention of an ass!
Long before Francis, in the sixth century, a crib was erected in Santa Maria Maggiore in Rome, which by the 12th century was thought to be the “original” one from Bethlehem and was venerated as such by the faithful and the misguided. I have yet to find out from archival sources when the belen and the Christmas tree first came to the Philippines.
Before the British left Manila in 1764, after two years of occupation, they looted the churches and government coffers. The Archbishop of Manila, who was the acting governor-general, raised what was called the “ransom of Manila” to spare the walled city and its inhabitants from death and destruction. Archival documents from the religious orders that document what was taken prove that 18th-century Manila was far from being a hick colony of Spain. One of the items taken by the British was a charming ivory image of the Christ Child lying on an intricately-made, silver-filigreed, four-poster bed. For two centuries this delightful (and very valuable) work of art was forgotten in some English manor—until it came up for auction and was acquired by the Bangko Sentral ng Pilipinas in the 1980s during the term of Jaime C. Laya. This solid-ivory niño and its bed make up one of the treasures of the BSP collection—a relic of the galleon trade and an example of the skill of 18th-century Filipino artisans.
Known in Manila antique collectors’ circles as “niño dormido,” the sleeping Christ Child comes in many forms today, often of wood, plaster, or resin. But the most coveted ones are antiques made from ivory that will fit in your palm. These are often clothed in robes embroidered with gold or silver thread, some with gold or silver sandals, sometimes adorned with gold bracelets, belts, or caps with pearls, emeralds, diamonds and other precious stones.
I was a college student on an allowance when I saw one brought to the Heritage Art Center in Cubao, where I spent my afternoons. The vendor took it out of a basket of vegetables, and unwrapped it from old cloth. E. Aguilar Cruz examined the niño under its gaudy pink cloak with a belt of gold thread. It had Chinese features, its left hand on its cheek, and looked as if it was in that dream state between sleeping and waking. For a while it looked to me like an image of the young Buddha in nirvana rather than a Christian image.
To shatter what was left of my flimsy faith, E. Aguilar Cruz asked me to look under the robe to check if the ivory image was anatomically complete and was male. The seller wanted P25,000 for it—a large sum at that time—and left without making a sale. I am happy that it ended up with the Intramuros Administration rather than in a private collection in Forbes Park, so that it can be studied by art historians or enjoyed by the public in a museum.
There are many reproductions of the niño dormido available, but modern carvers using better tools cannot capture the essence of antique ones. These have Oriental or Chinese features, including the almond-shaped, heavy-lidded eyes that are not quite closed. These have fleshy thighs, curled toes, folds on the neck, big earlobes (some hanging down to the shoulders), a round stomach, and, most important, a mysterious half-smile that suggests tranquility and peace rather than sleep or sleepiness.
All these plus the clothing distinguish a so-called Hispano-Philippine ivory from those made in Europe or Portuguese Goa. It has been suggested that raw ivory was imported into Manila from China and India to be carved by Chinese artisans into religious images, and then sent off to Mexico and Spain via the galleon trade. Recent studies now suggest that these religious images in ivory were carved in Manila, by Filipinos trained by Chinese artisans. Another theory is that Filipinos copied or incorporated the Oriental features into their work from early works made by Chinese.
During his Manila visit last January, Pope Francis mentioned an image of a sleeping St. Joseph that he keeps in his room. It spawned a whole cottage industry and makes us forget the treasured images of the niño dormido in ivory kept under lock and key in churches, museums, and private collections.
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