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Those who attended the Samahang Plaridel Tribute to Adrian Cristobal
at the Sofitel last Wednesday night enjoyed Willie Nepomuceno’s
wildly hilarious impressions of Presidents Marcos, Aquino, Ramos,
Estrada and Arroyo in the context of Adrian as a columnist. Neal
Cruz promises an even bigger threat with Willi Nep in the Manila
Hotel next month.
Adrian’s widow Teching Cristobal sang
the George and Ira Gershwin song “They Can’t Take That Away From
Me.” The do-be-do-be-do-be-do-be at the end brought the house
down.
Daughter Estella sang the Mike Velarde classic
“Minamahal, Minamahal Kita” which made me think that being quite
handsome, Adrian could have been a movie actor too. Then his
intellect, patriotism and influence could have changed Philippine
movie history. And he could have made a difference in our national
history— more tellingly than his writings already have.
His other children, Celine, Anna (Cristobal-Torres)
and Adrian Jr. (the IPO Director-General), did not give musical
numbers. They too are intellectually and very musically
gifted.
But daughter Pia did. She beautifully sang
“O mio babbino caro!” (Oh! My beloved father), a haunting
Puccini aria. I hadn’t heard it for maybe 10 years and had
forgotten about it. When Pia came back to our table I asked her if
it was from Puccini’s Madama Butterfly and she told me it was from
Gianni Schicchi, which is also by Puccini.
When I got home that night I searched for my
ancient Decca Jubilee recording and listened to Renata Tebaldi over
and over again, seeing Pia instead of the Italian diva in my mind.
The aria is not a paean to a father. It is
Lauretta’s plea to her beloved dad to let her marry Rinuc-cio, her
boyfriend, who is of the aristocratic Donati family. The
Donati patriarch has just died. He is replaced by Aunt Zita who
forbids Rinuccio from marrying Lauretta because the Schicchis are of
a lower station and Gianni cannot or will not pay the Donatis a
dowry. Angry, Gianni himself also turns against the marriage.
But Lauretta pleads with her father for help, singing Giovacchino
For-zano’s lyrics:
O mio babbino caro (Oh my dear daddy), mi
piace è bello , bello (I love him, he is so handsome); vo’andare
in Porta Rossa (I want to go to Porta Rossa) a comperar l’anello
(to buy the ring)! Sì, sì, ci voglio andare (Yes, yes, I
want to go there)! e se l’amassi indarno (And if my love is put to
an end) andrei sul Ponte Vecchio (I would go to Ponte Vecchio), ma
per buttarmi in Arno (and throw myself into the Arno River)!
Mi struggo e mi tormento (I am distressed and
tormented)! O Dio, vorrei morir! (Oh God, I would rather die!).
Babbo, pietà, pietà! (Daddy, pity me, have mercy!)
Babbo, pietà, pietà! (Daddy, pity me, have
mercy!)
Like Adrian, Gianni Schicchi is a caring and
provident father. He not only solves the problem but devises a way
to make the Donati family beholden to him.
Adrian made people who dealt with him think
creatively and see beauty in things and enigmas. A couple of times
we exchanged challenging logic problems.
It worried him that most Filipinos were
being forced by circumstance and their economic condition to have no
time for cultural development, literature, good music and the arts
and, above all, knowledge of their own history.
Kit Tatad in his talk “Why Adrian
Counts” said: “Whether or not we are one nation now remains
unresolved. But Adrian Cristobal knew that if we are, we are not a
nation without a history, only a nation without a common
consciousness of its own history. He also knew that although the
terms are used everyday by the man in the street, we have yet no
common conception of truth, justice, or democracy.”
We learned from UP Diliman’s young Arts
and Letters associate dean, Wendell Capili, who represented his
generation of young writers whom Adrian nurtured, that our late
friend had repeatedly asked them to commit themselves to the work of
making the Filipino people care for their own cultural development.
Two of the poems I wrote when I was young
were inspired by conversations with Adrian. One of the poems
has to do with going to Mass at the Manila Cathedral, where we often
had chance meetings in the 60s—when he and Teching went to Mass
with their children and Jeanne and I went there with ours.
In the patio, “we mourned Bonifacio and grieved about our people
for sleeping through the mind.”
He was ministered to by a priest, a family
friend. Anna told me that when she asked her father if he wanted the
priest to come and see him, he joked about it and said, “Okay, if
it will make you happy.”
He had gone to confession and received the
last sacraments on Saturday morning, Dec. 22, when he died.
Eight days later would be the 101st death anniversary of another man
who loved our country deeply, served it best as a thinker and
writer, and died in the arms of Our Lord Jesus Christ.
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