Chapter 09: Brussels 1890

Maisonduroi, Local Landmark in Brussels

Rizal mystified his friends when in January, 1890, he moved from Paris to Brussels. Del Pillar recalled the reason why he had left London the previous year, a girl who was falling in love with him. "You have the same reason," I thought to myself, "for leaving Paris!" And Rizal's roommate in Paris, Valentin Ventura, wrote: "You most decidedly have the qualities of a wanderer; but I congratulate you, for it saves you from getting married -- or charmed, which is the same thing." (02)

No, he told his friends, they were wrong; he needed to economize; (03) all his money had been used up in publishing "Morga's events" and other writings. [Valentin] Ventura generously invited Rizal to return to Paris and live with him without paying rent. This would have been cheaper than Brussels, but Rizal did not go back. The truth seems to be that young Ventura's social life and his friends were interfering with Rizal's stern task. (04) Perhaps, too, his friends were right. He may have been running away from the sweet face of Adelina Bousted [sic. Correction: Nellie Bousted {not her sister, Adelina, as here.}].

Triumph of Science Over Death	Prometheus Bound

In Brussels, as Dr. Rizal told Luna, "I go to the clinic, I read, I write, I go to the gymnasium and to the armory. Speaking of shooting, I am sending you a target containing ten bullet holes; it was seven and a half meters from me. At twenty-centimeter target." (05) He was also diverting himself with sculpturing, as he had been doing all his life. Two of his statuettes he sent to his dear friend Blumentritt. One of them was named The Triumph of Death over Life, and the other, The Triumph of Science over Death. (06) He wrote a learned article on the introduction of reformed spelling in Tagalog. (07)

Few were the waking hours in all of Rizal's adult life when he was not engaged in some occupation that made for improvement. Hours were too precious for him to waste. "I never saw him idle," might have been said by any of his friends. (08) Day after day he labored on the great book which was to follow Noli Me Tangere.

When Juan Luna told him (09) that some of the countrymen in Madrid were spending their time in idleness, gambling, and quarreling, his disappointment was pathetic. Ventura suggested that José write to them: "You have some influence over the young element; write to a few of them that they ought to dedicate themselves a little to something more useful, and that they should understand that by doing what they do, they not only hurt themselves, but harm also their countrymen. . ." (10) So Rizal wrote to Del Pilar:

"Luna in Paris complains about the gambling of the Filipinos in Madrid, and so does Ventura. They tell me that reports come from the Philippines that the older people are very unhappy about it; it seems that Don Felipe Roxas is the one who learned that these gamblers are known in Manila. I fear we are playing into the hand of the friars. Is there nothing there to remind them that the Filipino did not come to Europe to gamble and enjoy himself, but to work for our liberty and for the honor of his race? To gamble, it is not necessary to leave the Philippines, for there is too much gambling there. If we are the ones called upon to do anything, if we, in whom the poor country reposes its little hope, pass our time in these ways, just when the years of youth ought to be utilized in some nobler and grander manner for the very reason that youth is noble and generous, I very much fear that we will be fighting for a futile illusion, and that in place of being worthy of liberty we will be worthy only of slavery.

"Appeal to the patriotism of all the Filipinos to give the Spanish nation a proof that we are better than our misfortunes, that we are not brutalized, and that our noble sentiments cannot be put to sleep by the corruption of their customs."

The young Filipino sports in Madrid were furious when they saw this letter. Thereafter they called José the "Pope".

While Rizal spent countless hours on his next book in Brussels, he began to see the first harvest of what he had already sown. Dr. Blumentritt wrote enthusiastically:

"Your 'Philippines within a Century' has had a great effect. In general the liberal group in Spain is already looking with very different eyes at the Filipinos, and Barrantes (a Spanish writer) makes concessions which would have seemed incredible a year ago. . . The fear that the friars feel must be very great." (11)

Del Pilar also told him that "there is a person in politics who says that apparently the friars desire to be on good terms with the Filipino youth, and according to him we ought to give heed to that fact. (12)

But unfortunately these letters contradicted the tragic reports which poured in from the Philippines. José believed that an attempt was being made to divide the Filipinos, tempting some and destroying others. (13) To his trusted friend Ponce, he wrote sadly:

"There is much wickedness, much mischief, in the ranks of our enemies. I realize that we must regard them, not as lions, but as reptiles. So we must arm ourselves and put on our gloves before we touch them. There are many reptiles." (14)

The storm of persecution now broke with even more terrible fury against his family, his town, and as far as he could be reached, against himself. His works had already been prohibited in the Philippines. (15) His brother-in-law Hidalgo, after being released for good behavior, was exiled for the second time "without any accusation, without his knowing any crime of which he was accused, excepting that he was my brother-in-law." (16)

Hidalgo told him that "since January, many reports of your death have been heard here, presumably from friar sources: that you were poisoned, that you are imprisoned in Madrid, and that you have been bought off for more than a hundred pesos, and now direct your efforts in favor of the friars and are indifferent toward this country; rumors which are received here with laughter. . ." (17)

The letters said that rents had been doubled and redoubled by the Calamba landlords until they were intolerable. Francisco Rizalo and another Calamba citizen had appealed to the Supreme Court claiming that the friars had no valid title to the land which they themselves and their ancestors had occupied from time immemorial. José had asked lawyers of the Supreme Court whether any rent should be paid before these cases were settled and had been advised not to pay the rent. He had written this to Paciano; whereupon Francisco and many other people refused to pay. (18) Now Paciano wrote that the hacienda had filed a complaint for their immediate ejectment before the justice of the peace, regardless of the Supreme Court. "Fear," said Paciano, "had driven some of the poor people insane. The friars had brought a new lawyer into the hacienda and would soon have him made justice of the peace." Paciano had taken the troubles of his ignorant townsmen on his own shoulders and had already turned grey in his thirties. (19) The next mail said that the new lawyer had become justice of the peace and their case was lost. (20)

When the news of the disasters reached Rizal he wrote his sister Soledad these noble words:

"I have caused much harm to my family, but at least there remains to us the consolation of knowing that the motive is not disgraceful nor does it humiliate anybody. On the contrary it raises us up and gives us more dignity in the eyes of our very enemies themselves; to fall with the head high and the brow serene is not to fall, it is to triumph. The sad thing is to fall with the stain of dishonor. Moreover, I may be what my enemies desire me to be, yet never an accusation are they able to hurl against me which makes me blush or lower my forehead, and I hope that God will be merciful enough with me to prevent me from committing one of those faults which would involve my family." (21)

Marcelo H. del Pilar

He could not remain in Brussels writing books with his family thus threatened. He began to make arrangements to return to the Philippines. He might not help them but he could at least suffer with them. (22) First of all, he resigned as joint editor of La Solidaridad. This twenty-nine year old paper did not then expect to live another year. To Del Pilar he wrote the strangest of all his letters:

"Sad presentiments assault me though I do not give them entire credence. In my childhood I had a strange belief that I would not reach thirty years of age. I do not know why I thought this. There were two months during which almost every night I had no other dream than that my friends and relatives were dead. Once I dreamed that I descended by a path which led me to the center of the earth and there I met a multitude of persons seated, dressed in white, with white faces, silent and surrounded by white light. There I saw my two brothers, one of them already dead and the other one living. Although I do not believe in these things and although my body is very strong and I have no illness, nevertheless I am preparing to die and arranging all I must leave behind, and getting ready for any eventuality. For this reason I desire to complete at all costs the second volume of Noli, and if it is possible, I do not desire to leave that which I have begun, which nobody else would be able to finish. . . do not believe that I am sad or have taken into melancholy. Every two days I go to the gymnasium and practice fencing and engage in target practice; but who is able to foretell the misfortunes that are likely to come?

"From time to time though, I will be sending you supplementary articles.

José Rizal (22)

Cuban Interior

Hearing that Graciano López Jaena was thinking of going to Cuba, he wrote a letter to Ponce which shows what was in his heart. It is the more interesting because Rizal himself started to Cuba six years later -- but never arrived!

Graciano López Jaena

"I am thinking of going (to the Philippines) before long, and God knows what may happen. Graciano [López Jaena] ought to do the same. Instead of going to Cuba to catch yellow fever, he ought to go to the Philippines to allow himself to be killed in defense of his ideals; we have only once to die, and if we do not die well, we lose an opportunity which will not again be presented to us. He should go resolutely to defy danger, and if one does not escape the danger, at least he will be a martyr to his ideals. I am opposed to his going to Cuba: it is useless; Cuba is exhausted; it is a nutshell. If one has to die, let him at least die in his country, for his country, and in behalf of his country." (23)

"I want to go back to the Philippines, and although I know it would be daring and imprudent, what does that matter? The Filipinos are all very prudent, and that is why our country is going the way she is. As it seems to me that we are not making any progress by following prudence, I am going to look for another pathway! The only thing that can detain me is a doubt whether my parents agree; I am afraid to disturb their last years; in case they object to my coming, I hope by working to gain a livelihood in some other part of the world." (24)

Horrified, his friends all urged him to stay away from the Philippines, for they knew he was walking into death. (25) In spite of them all, he would have been on his way that very month (July, 1890) if he had not received a letter from Paciano that made him change his plans.

Mariano Ponce

Great was Ponce's joy when Rizal wrote him:

"I have at this moment received a letter from my brother (Paciano) to tell me that the case against the hacienda is opened in Madrid: I have made up my mind and am going there; write me whether you are going there too. . . Is Marcel (Del Pilar) still there?. . . Pedro Serrano is in Paris. . . As he is in good circumstances financially, I will go to see him. I appreciate your unselfish invitation to come and live with you and Del Pilar; and if possible Serrano should be with us also. We four would be able to organize the whole Filipino colony in Europe; the four of us could be four better musketeers than those of Dumas; but, my friend, I do not wish to be a burden to anybody, nor do I wish to contract more debts."

To Del Pilar, who was a lawyer by profession, he wrote: (26)

"I have received a letter about our case against the friars accused before the Supreme Court; I send you the power of attorney; if you think my presence necessary, I will come thee; if not I will return to my own country. I shall leave here at the end of the month. My brother writes that 'since you have carried our fight against the clergy to Europe you ought to defeat them, for if they end up in defeat they will be much weakened' . . . The case ought to be filed with the Supreme Court before the end of this month. Present it at once and I will come. Do not tell anybody that I am coming. . . Do not be surprised if I bring Serrano with me. . . Do you have any place to lodge me there? . . . Rizal."

It was against this background of agony and uncertainty that he wrote the following poem, which lacks finish but is terrible in its depth of feeling:

A MI . . . . . .

Ya no se invoca á la musa;
pasó de moda la lira;
ya ningún poeta la usa. . .
Aún la juventud ilusa
en otras cosas se inspira.

Hoy, si á la imaginación
le exijen que versos dé,
no exijen que versos dé,
no se invoca al Helicón:
solo se pide al garcon
una taza de café.

Y, en vez del estro sincero
Que el corazón commovía,
Se escribe una poesía
Con una pluma de acero,
Un chiste y una ironía.

¡Musa, que en me edad pasada
me inspiraste cariñosa
cantos de amor, ve y reposa;
Hoy necesito una espada,
rios de oro y acre prosa.

Necesito razonar,
meditar y combatir;
y algunas veces Lloras,
pues; quién mucho quiere amar
mucho tiene que sufrir!

Huyeron los días de calma,
días de alegres amores,
en que bastaban las flores
para consolar al alma
de sus penas y Dolores.

Van huyendo, poco á poco,
cuantos amé, de mi lado:
aquél, muerto; éste, caqsado,
porque sella cuanto toco
con la desventura el hado.

¡Huye también, musa! Vete!
Busca otra region más pura;
que me Patria te promete
por laureles el grillete,
por templo cárcel obscura.

Que sí es infame é impío
oprimir á la verdad,
¿No fuera en mi desvarío
detenerte al lado mío
privada de libertad?

Y ¿ á qué cantar, si mi canto
ha de resonar á llanto
que á nadie conmoverá?
Si del ajeno quebranto
el mundo cansado está?

A qué, cuando entre el gentio
que me critica y maltrata,
seca el alma, el labio frío,
no hay un corazón que lata
cos los latidos del mío?

¡Deja dormir en la sima
del olvido cuanto siento!
¡Bien está allí Que al aliento
no lo mezcle con la rima
que se evapora en el viento.

Como duermen de los mares
los monstrous en el abismo,
¡deja dormir mis pesares,
mis caprichos, mis cantares,
sepultados en mí mismo!

Yo bien sé que tus favores
solo sueles prodigar
en esa edad de las flores,
de los primeros amores
sin nubes y sin pesar.

Muchos años han pasado
desde que con beso ardiente
has abrasado mi frente. . .
Aquel beso se ha enfriado
y hasta lo tengo olvidado.

Mas, antes que partas, dí,
dí que á tu acento sublime
siempre ha respondido en mi
¡un canto para el que gime
y un reto para el que oprime!

Mas tú vendrás, inspiración sagrada,
de Nuevo á caldear mi fantasia
cuando mustia la fe, rota la espada,
morir no pueda por la Patria mia. . .

Tú me traerás la cítara en lutada
con las cuerdas que vibran la elegía,
para endulzar de mi Nación las penas
y el ruido amortiguar de sus cadenas.

Pero si el triunfo con laurel corona
nuestros esfuerzos, y mi Patria unida
surge cual reina de la ardiente zona,
blanca perla del fango, redimida,
entonces; vuelve y con vigor entona
el himno sacro de la nueva vida:
que nosotros el coro cantaremos
aún cuando en el sepulcro descansemos!

TO MY MUSE

No longer invoked is the muse,
And passed out of vogue is the lyre,
Which none of the poets will use;
But young men, deluded, now choose
Quite different means to inspire.

Today if verse is called upon
To let imagination play,
No more invoked is Helicon;
They merely order the garçon
To bring a taza de café.

Instead of inspiration real
To set the beating heart on fire,
They write their poetry no higher,
(While flourishing a pen of steel)
Than foolish jest and cheap satire.

O Muse, through whom in early years
My joyous inspiration chose
To sing of love; take your repose!
Today my needs are keen rapiers,
And streams of gold and acrid prose.

I must strive in hot debate,
Meditate, and wage combat,
Sometimes weep about my fate--
Any man whose love is great
Has to suffer much for that.

Fled are all the days of calm,
Those blissful lovers' hours,
When cause enough were flowers
To give our souls a soothing balm
For every pain and grief of ours.

Those I loved have one by one
Gone forever from my side;
This one married, that one died.
The seal of fate has now undone
Every plan my hand has tried.

Go, too, Muse, I bid thee flee;
Seek another clime more pure;
For my homeland offers thee
For thy laurels -- tyranny,
And for temples -- jails obscure.

Though it seem a shame or impious
To drive you out, O truth within me,
Would it not appear delirious
To retain you by me thus
Deprived of all your liberty?

And -- what to sing when grim command
From destiny cries: "Search for truth";
When tempests roar above our land;
And Filipino towns demand,
In raucous voice, thy tender youth.

And -- what to sing? If my sad song,
Trembling through a flood of tears,
Can excite no pity long;
If, when others suffer wrong,
The weary world unheeding hears?

And what? If in this heedless mob
Which criticizes and maltreats--
Souls drv'n, with lips too cold to sob --
There be no tender heart that beats
In sympathy with my heart throb.

Then let slumber in the lake
Of dark oblivion, all my care;
That my spirit, with it there,
May not futile verses make,
That vanish quickly in thin air.

As the monsters of the deep
In the abysmal darkness loll,
So let my deep sorrow sleep;
All my songs and fancies keep
Entombed within my secret soul.

Well I know that all your grace
You were wont to dissipate
In the flower of youth's brief space
And of first love's thrilled embrace,
Free from clouds of worry's weight.

Many years have now passed by
Since the time your ardent kiss
Touched my brow with burning bliss
Now those kisses frozen lie;
Soon their memory will die.

But before you leave me, tell,
How, to your sublime request,
You ever found me answer well;
A song for all who were distressed
A slash for all who have oppressed.

Sacred Inspiration, thou wilt yet come back,
That my flaming fancy by thee may be fanned.
If my faith should wither, and my sword should crack.
I should not have strength to die for fatherland.

You will offer me a zither veiled in black,
Vibrant with an elegy on every strand,
To relieve the keenness of my nation's pains
And to muffle down the clanging of her chains.

If some future day, adorn'd with laurel crown,
Through our travail, my dear motherland gives birth,
Offering a queen to rule this ardent zone,
A pearl pure and white, redeemed from the earth,
Then return and sing to her with vigorous tone,
A sacred hymn of that new life of higher worth,
And we ourselves will sing to join thee in the chorus
E'en though perchance a sepulcher be arching o'er us.
_______________
(01) Epistolario Rizalino, 5 vols. Manila: Bureau of Printing, 1930-1938, v. 2, p. 290.
(02) Ibid., v. 2, p. 286.
(03) Ibid., v. 3, p. 82.
(04) Ibid., v. 2, p. 307.
(05) Ibid., v. 3, p. 74.
(06) Ibid., v. 3, p. 75.
(07) Ibid., v. 3, p. 10-21.
(08) Charles E. Russell and Eugilio B. Rodriguez. The Hero of the Philippines. New York: Century Company, 1923, p. 206.
(09) Epistolario Rizalino, op. cit. v. 3, pp. 31, 86.
(10) Ibid., v. 3, p. 27.
(11) Ibid., v. 2, p. 306.
(12) Ibid., v. 2, p. 292.
(13) Ibid., v. 3, p. 144.
(14) Ibid., v. 2, p. 304.
(15) Ibid., v. 2, p. 309.
(16) Ibid., v. 2, p. 299.
(17) Ibid., v. 3, p. 3.
(18) Ibid., v. 3, p. 33.
(19) Ibid., v. 3, pp. 46, 49, 52.
(20) Ibid., v. 3, p. 52; Austin Craig. Rizal's Life and Minor Writings. Manila: Philippine Education Co., Inc., 1927, p. 113f.
(21) Ibid., v. 3, p. 56.
(22) Ibid., v. 3, p. 60 (June 11, 1890)
(23) Ibid., v. 3, p. 79.
(24) Ibid., v. 3, p. 82.
(25) Ibid., v. 3, pp. 88, 89, 120.
(26) Ibid., v. 3, p. 34 (June 20, 1890).