El Filibusterismo

Jose P. Rizal, Leon Ma. Guerrero

• Publisher: Anvil Publishing, Inc.
• Year: 2021
• ISBN:
  9789712736681
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: Classics
• Index: Literature

An incendiary novel that brings to light the long-drawn-out indignities suffered by ordinary Filipinos at the hands of the Spanish friars and statesmen in 19th century Philippines. Thirteen years after the events of Noli Me Tangere, the idealistic intellectual Crisostomo Ibarra resurrects as the cruel and fabulously wealthy jeweler, Simoun. He sows the seeds—and the guns—for the armed uprising against the Spanish through his influence on the Governor General and his social clout in Manila's upper echelons. His nefarious plans bring together several young idealistic university students—among them Basilio, whose mother Ibarra helped bury thirteen years before, and Isagani, the poet and passionate debater. In the battle for the soul and independence of the Philippine nation, which will prevail once and for all—peaceful reforms or armed struggle? In this second novel, Jose Rizal continues to wrestle with the need for reforms for the betterment of his countrymen. This yields some dark and difficult answers that brought about not only his execution, but also the first nationalist revolution in Asia.

Los Baños

His excellency the commander-in-chief and Governor General of the Philippine Islands had gone shooting in Bosoboso. But since such an exalted personage could not be less than the wooden images carried in processions and must therefore be escorted by a brass band, and since, an appreciation of the divine art of St. Cecilia had not yet become widespread among the deer and wild boar of Bosoboso, His Excellency, with his brass band and his cortege of friars, officers, and bureaucrats had, alas, shot not a single mouse, not one sparrow.

The provincial authorities foresaw dismissals and transfers; the poor mayors and local headmen were so worried they could not sleep, fearful that it might occur to the godlike hunter to make them take the place of the recalcitrant denizens of the forest, just as some years before, a provincial governor had gone traveling on the shoulders of some road workers just because no horses could be found quiet enough to be trusted with his person. Nor was there lacking a malicious rumor that His Excellency was set on taking drastic measures because he saw in the situation the first symptoms of rebellion which it was needful to suppress at birth—a hunt that bagged nothing injured the prestige of the Spanish name! The authorities were looking speculatively at one unfortunate and thinking of disguising him as a stag when His Excellency, in an act of clemency that Ben Zayb could find no phrases to praise, dispelled all anxieties saying that he found it disagreeable to sacrifice the beasts of the forest to his pleasure. The truth was that His Excellency was inwardly pleased and happy: what would have happened if he had missed, say, one of those stags that had no idea of political expediencies? Where would the prestige of sovereignty have fallen then? What, a veritable Commander-in-Chief of the Philippines missing his target like some novice? What might not have been said among the natives, among whom there were excellent shots? Then, indeed, the integrity of the nation would have been in dire peril!

So it was that His Excellency, with a high-pitched giggle and the air of a disappointed sportsman, ordered an immediate return to Los Baños, although not without descanting during the ride on his hunting feats in this or that forest of the Peninsula and suggesting, somewhat deprecatingly, and rather conveniently, that he did not much care for hunting in the Philippines, pshaw! The baths at Dampalit, the sunbathing on the shores of the lake, a game of ombre in the summer house, with little side trips to the neighboring falls or the crocodile lake, were more attractive and less risky for the integrity of the nation.

In the last days of December, therefore, His Excellency found himself at cards in his living room, waiting for the luncheon hour. He had come from the baths and, sipping the traditional glass of coconut water and nibbling the tender coconut meat that floated in it, was in the best of tempers to grant favors and privileges. His good humor increased apace with his winnings, for Father Irene and Father Sibyla, who were gaming with him, were each using all their wits to lose unobtrusively, to the mounting annoyance of Father Camorra, who had only arrived that morning and was not aware of what was afoot. The friar-gunner was playing in good faith and with the utmost concentration; he flushed and bit his lips every time Father Sibyla was distracted or played the wrong card but dared not say a word out of respect for the Dominican. He took it out instead on Father Irene, whom he considered a low-born flatterer and whom, for all his own coarseness, he despised. Father Sibyla did not even deign to look at Father Camorra and let him snort unregarded; Father Irene, more modest, made his excuses while fondling the tip of his large nose. His Excellency was enjoying himself and took advantage of his opponents’ mistakes like, the canon suggested smoothly, the excellent tactician that he was. Father Camorra was unaware that the intellectual development of the Filipinos through the teaching of Spanish was at stake on the gaming table; if he had known it, he would have joined, happily enough perhaps, in the intrigue.

A fresh, invigorating breeze blew in through an open balcony which overlooked the lake, its sweetly murmuring waters lapping the foot of the house in homage. Far off to the right could be glimpsed the isle of Talim, a pure blue; in the middle of the lake, almost directly opposite, the deserted isle of Kalamba, green and shaped like a half-moon; and to the left the lovely shoreline embroidered with bamboo, a hill overhanging the lake, beyond it great cultivated fields, then red roofs glimpsed among the dark green of trees—the town of Kalamba; finally, the coast lost itself in the distance, with the sky bringing down the horizon on the waters, giving the lake the appearance of a sea and justifying the name which the natives gave it: “the sweet-water sea.”

At one end of the living room, seated at a small table with papers, was a secretary. His Excellency was very hard-working and did not want to waste time so that he attended to official business when he was dummy or when the cards were being shuffled and dealt.

In between such times, the poor secretary yawned in desperation. That morning, they had taken up everyday matters like transfers, suspensions, deportations, concessions, but they had not yet come round to the great issue which had aroused so much interest, the student petition for a permit to open an academy for the teaching of Spanish.

Three men—Don Custodio, a high official, and a friar called Father Fernández, whose downcast head suggested that he was either thoughtful or depressed—walked up and down the room. From an adjoining chamber came the sound of ivory balls in collision, laughter, guffaws, and the dry cutting voice of Simoun: the jeweler was playing billiards with Ben Zayb.

Suddenly, Father Camorra sprang to his feet and flung the two cards in his hand at Father Irene’s head.

“By golly, Jesus Christ Himself wouldn’t take my place! By golly, I had that trick won, if not the game, and I am robbed! By golly, Jesus Christ Himself couldn’t stand it!”

He was in a perfect rage and called on everyone in the room, particularly the three bystanders, to sit in judgment: the General had been leading against him, Father Irene had the trick under control; for his part, he had played a spade, and by golly, that nincompoop Father Irene had trumped him! Jesus Christ! This mother’s son had not come to break his head against a stonewall and throw away his money!

“The dear old boy,” he added, red with fury, “seems to think I pick my money from the trees! And to think that my natives are even beginning to jew me down!”

Father Irene tried to explain himself, rubbing his nose to conce...

Table of contents

• Dedication
• To The Filipino People And Their Government
• Introduction A Novel of Omens and Prophecies
• A new Introduction Revolution Delayed
• NOTE ON THE TRANSLATION
• Acknowledgment
• On The Upper Deck This way to the stars
• On The Lower Deck
• Legends I want to cry, I don't know why!
• Cabesang Tales
• A Rig-Driver’s Christmas Eve
• Basilio
• Simoun
• Happy Christmas!
• Pilates
• Wealth And Want
• Los Baños
• Plácido Penitente
• A Class In Physics
• A Students’ Hostel
• Mr. Pasta
• A Chinaman’s Woes
• The Kiapo Fair
• An Optical Illusion
• A Leave-Taking
• The Arbitrator
• Manila Characters
• The Performance
• The Deal
• Dreams Love, what star art thou?
• Laughter And Tears
• Subversive Posters
• The Friar And The Filipino The Voice of the People is the Voice of God.
• Panic
• Last Words About Capitán Tiago His End Befitted His Life.
• Julî
• The High Official
• Consequences Of Posters
• The Final Argument
• The Wedding
• The Wedding Feast Dancing On a Volcano
• Ben Zayb’s Predicament
• Mystery All Is Known
• A Trick Of Fate
• The Last Chapter