Chapter 11: El Filibusterismo (The Revolutionist)

A Copy of

El Filibusterismo

To Dagupan, where Leonor Rivera lived with her parents, came a young English engineer named Henry C. Kipping to take charge of the completion of the railroad from Bayambang. He fell in love with Leonor, and begged her to marry him. She told him that she was engaged to Rizal, whom she would always love, and that she would marry no other until she died.

Mrs. Rivera, on the other hand, was overjoyed at Kipping's suit and set herself to break the opposition of her daughter. After months of insinuations as to what she had heard of Rizal's escapades, she declared that she had information that he was engaged to a daughter of Dr. Fernando Blumentritt. According to Miss Sevilla, (01) Leonor's biographer, Mrs. Rivera finally forced Leonor to a decision against her will, by saying:

"If you truly love me, you ought to remember that after God, you are indebted to me for all you are, and that you owe me your obedience. I urge this marriage, not because it means anything to me, but because I am your mother. I seek your true happiness . . . Do you wish to kill your mother?"

Leonor fell into her mother's arms and cried:

"I owe you my life; I will sacrifice it for you, and make this marriage as you wish. But I will not live long. I ask that I shall not again be asked to play or sing, that my piano shall be kept locked."

The wedding day was fixed; the bans were posted. A few days before the date Mrs. Rivera was called to Manila by business, and during her absence the mail fell into the hands of Leonor! There was a letter from José! Now she knew that she had been the victim of a terrible deception. The girl went wild. When Mrs. Rivera returned to Dagupan, she calmly admitted everything. It was too late; all Filipino custom regarded the pair as practically married, and frowned upon breaking an engagement at the last moment. The marriage took place dismally June 17, 1891. Leonor asked for the letters that had been withheld from her all during the seven years that she had not heard from José. Her mother told her that as a wife she might not keep love letters from any other man than her husband. She was allowed to burn the letters, and she poured the ashes into a silver box, which she kept upon her dresser the rest of her brief life. The box is covered with some of the dress which she had worn when, as a thirteen-year-old girl, she had been betrothed to Rizal, eleven years before. On the cloth covering the box are embroidered two letters, "J" and "L".

All this Rizal did not know. All he heard were reports that Leonor had deserted him and was betrothed to another man. He wrote to his loyal friend Blumentritt the whole tragic story, and Blumentritt replied: (02)

"Your last letter filled us with sadness; after all the misfortunes that have befallen you, now your beloved has abandoned you. My wife cannot comprehend how a woman whom a Rizal has honored with his love would be able to abandon him; she is disgusted with this girl. I myself feel it deeply, but only on your account, for I know how your heart is pained; but you are one of the heroes who conquer pain from a wound inflicted by a woman, because they follow higher ends. You have a courageous heart, and you are in love with a nobler woman, the Motherland. Filipinas is like one of those enchanted princesses in the German tales, who is captive of a horrid dragon, until she is freed by valiant knight." Three months later (03) Blumentritt was still pouring balm into a wound that was slow to heal:

"I am grieved with all my heart that you have lost the girl to whom you were engaged, but if she was able to renounce a Rizal, she did not possess the nobility of your spirit. She is like a child who threw away a diamond to seize a pebble. . . In other words she is not the woman for Rizal."

José sought comfort in other directions. He visited the summer home of his ardent and admiring friend Mr. E. Boustead in Biarritz. He had fenced with Nellie Boustead in Paris, and had taken a particular liking for Adelina Boustead [sic. This should be Nellie Boustead], an idealistic, spiritual, and highly educated younger sister. As information about the betrothal of Leonor came and was confirmed again and again, Rizal wrote to some of his friends that he might propose to Adelina [sic. = Nellie] as the best remedy he could think of for a broken heart. On February 9, 1891, Tomas Arejola wrote Rizal this interesting letter:

Bousted

"My esteemed friend Pepe: (04)

"In your letter you repeatedly speak of (Adelina [sic. This should be Nellie Boustead]]) Boustead who may perhaps become Mrs. Of this young lady, (who, your letter says, is a Filipina also) I have heard here several times during the past year. I am told that she is very commendable for her highly finished education, for her most beautiful moral and physical qualities, and in addition to this, for being a Filipina. The warmth of your reception and the attention of the family on this visit, as always before when you were there, permit me to venture to make the following comments: So far as you yourself are concerned you are now free from your engagement in the Philippines. On the other hand, so long as conditions there do not change, it would not be prudent for you to settle in our country, and even though this were possible, they would never leave you in peace in your home; so one fears that if you were married there, instead of felicity you would find bitterness and unpleasantness. And what remedy remains? What solution is possible in the face of such deep fears? You may be sure that if Miss Boustead agrees and you marry her, we here will applaud such a fine outcome."

But when José proposed, Adelina [sic. i.e. Nellie Boustead], a very religious girl, demanded as a first condition of consent, that he join her branch of the Protestant church. It was too conservative for his liberal views and he hesitated. Adelina [sic. i.e. Nellie Boustead] was not quite sure whether José loved her or was merely consoling himself for the loss of Leonor -- and probably Rizal asked himself the same question. Then Adelina's mother objected because Rizal was not established in business and was not able to maintain a family. No girl, thought the mother, could be sure of her love so quickly. So the second of Rizal's hopes for marriage was frustrated, though Adelina and her family remained his true friends for life. (05) The decision of Adelina [sic. = Nellie] Boustead was far more fateful than she could have dreamed. Rizal himself saw it. Upon her decision hung the answer to one of those questions which he was putting to the future. With a bride and a family he could not have risked returning to his country and to a probable martyrdom. When Adelina [sic. = Nellie] rejected him she left that dreadful door still open. . . "A strange belief that I would not reach thirty . . ." Three months away was his thirtieth birthday. Was he thinking of that looming cross when the next and worst letter of all came from his sister Narcisa in Calamba?

"My dear brother,

I will try to tell you clearly all that has happened in the past two months, January and February, in case you have not received any news about our fellow townsmen. They have been evicted and dispossessed of all their land, homes, animals, and harvest of sugar, rice, and other fruits of their labors. The sufferers from these atrocities exceed three hundred families, now destitute, not counting the small families who live in the distant fields, and are now suffering with their evicted masters; some live under the shade of the trees, those by the seashore are on the sand, some of the inhabitants of the central village are in the streets, because the lay brother Administrator has enforced the instructions he received forbidding anybody to show hospitality to the people dispossessed. This very sad and lamentable situation we endure as silently as possible, for the power of the authorities is so great that we can do nothing about it. What is there for us to do? We are now in a land very much persecuted by all the authorities including the Civil Guards, who are everywhere, injuring everybody . . . .

"The way people are dispossessed is very sad; the authorities go to a place with the justice of the peace, the lieutenant, his three pairs of guards, and the ecclesiastical judge; they arrive with powers to do all that the sentence of dispossession includes: and if they do not find any animals, they flog those who had the animals in charge, or the lieutenant of the barrio; in proof of this one of them has two teeth knocked out from a hard blow struck him on the mouth; others sometimes fall senseless during the violent flogging.

"Because of these ferocious abuses the unfortunates are almost starved for want of bread enough to sustain life. I believe that if they continue these atrocities, Calamba will cease to exist. The well-to-do are able to transfer to other towns: but those who cannot do this will naturally have to suffer misery, hunger and other calamities, or death itself. There are an infinity of things which I will not tell in this letter, so as not to pain you too much.

"The only thing we hope from those over there [in Europe] who already have the power of attorney, is that they will present the complaint before the Supreme Court against these iniquitous outrages.

Your Sister,
Narcisa" (06)

     His brother and brothers-in-law exiled! His parents driven from their home! Now the entire town of Calamba being destroyed, and all, he well knew, was to torture him! What could he do quickly enough to save what was left? His money was gone. He would accept the generous offer of hospitality from his faithful friend Basa and go to Hong Kong! At once he wrote:

"I am eager to return to Manila . . . If I had the money I would go immediately . . . The only thing that keeps me here is a lack of the means with which to make the trip; if you could kindly guarantee my passage by means of a written order to the Compaña Maritima for a first class passage to Hong Kong I could realize my desire. . . In Hong Kong I expect to practice as an oculist and make a living in that way . . . Please guarantee to pay at that end only in case I take passage, for I might die or something might happen, and I do not want you to lose anything if I do not embark or if I delay my journey . . . Be sure to insert the condition, 'If I embark' for I fear something may happen so that I cannot take the trip." (07)

He continued to write to Basa by every boat, and always appears that some apprehension of impending calamity. A letter to Deodato Arellano in Manila reveals what was at that time in his mind:
 

"I think it is necessary for me to retire, and set up my office and earn a living. My chosen point is either the Philippines, Hong Kong or Japan, for Europe seems like banishment to me. . . I have asked friend Basa to help me return so that I may with my work gain a little fortune, and if at the end of a few years I can achieve an independent condition, I shall be able to aid the campaign and accomplish more than I can now." (08)

There was one other thing besides money that detained Rizal in Europe. This was the publication of his next book El Filibusterismo, the sequel to Noli Me Tangere, upon which he had been toiling for three years. "My book," he told Basa, "is ready to go to the press. The first twenty chapters are already corrected and can be printed, and I am copying the remaining chapters. If I get money you will surely receive it in July. I have written it with more zeal than I wrote Noli, and though it is not as optimistic, it is at least more profound and more perfect."

Loyal Basa sent the passage order at once. He cabled to his friend: "Passage sent, bring Noli". Rizal's reply to the telegram reveals how large a peso had come to seem to him: "Do not send any more telegrams on my account, for it pains me to think of spending so much money; I appreciate your kindness, but this is too much kindness, and I know how to wait patiently. (09)

"I am now bargaining with a printing shop and I do not yet know whether I will print here or in Spain, so I cannot yet bring the book there to you. In case I publish it here, I will bring it to you by the first mail boat. Not more than three chapters remain to be corrected. It is larger than Noli, Part I. It will be finished the 16th of this month. If anything should happen to me, I am leaving the responsibility for its publication with Antonio Luna, and also the proof reading."

At last Rizal did find a publisher in Ghent who was willing to begin the book on small partial payments. By the next boat he wrote Basa:
 

"I am not sailing at once, because I am now printing the second part of Noli here, as you may see from the enclosed pages. I preferred to publish it in some way before leaving Europe, for it seemed to me a pity not to do so. For the past three months I have not received a single centavo, so I have pawned all that I have in order to publish this book. I will continue publishing it as long as I can; and when there is nothing to pawn I will stop and return to be at your side." (10)

How desperate he was, how wretchedly impoverished, how seemingly deserted! The letter to Jose Ma. Basa continues:

"I am tired of any longer depending upon my fellow countrymen; they seem to have conspired to make my life bitter. They have delayed my return by promising to send me a salary; and after having sent it one month, they did not again remember me, until the beginning of April; then I received another letter bringing me 100 as salary for January and February, and promising to send it to me regularly each month. Now we are in July and I have not received another centavo! I have already pawned all of my jewelry, I live in a little room, I eat in the cheapest restaurant in order to economize and so be able to publish my book; soon I will have to stop its publication if no money arrives. . . .

"P.S. Keep the work I am doing here absolutely secret so that the friars may not hear about it and get ready. Burn the pages which I am sending you instantly.
 

Partial Library of Rizal

"I have sent my four boxes of books [part of his library] and other belongings there. I will pay the bill when I arrive; if anything happens to me you will be able to sell all my books and belongings and keep what you realize from the sale as reimbursement. The books and other things I value at about 600. Goodbye." (11)
 

His next letter repeats the same ominous words:

"If anything happens to me, all those books will become your property, in case my family dos not pay what I owe you. There are in books alone more than 600. . .

"As no money has arrived and I am in debt to all the world and am bound by contract, I shall have to suspend publication, and give up in the middle of the book. It is a disaster, for I consider this second part more important than the first. If I do not finish it here, I do not know whether it will ever be finished. But the blame will not be mine nor yours; the blame will rest upon the others; you cannot do more for me than you have done. . . My Morga did not bring me anything excepting what you sent me, and 200 from Rodriguez Arias; my Noli brought me nothing, and this book is going to bring less than nothing. I had hoped to pay you and my other creditors with what I might realize from this volume."

Valentine Ventura

That experience of having toiled for years upon a book, pouring into it his very life blood, and then being compelled to stop its publication when it was half printed, was only one more agony added to the tortures which Rizal endured in 1891. But a part of the long delayed salaries of the Manila Propaganda committee reached him just in time to save the publication from stopping. [Note: It is also true that Rizal's friend, Valentine Ventura sent funds from Paris for this purpose. -- RLY] (12) Juan Luna offered to illustrate the book. (13) On September 18, 1891, Rizal had the comfort of sending the first two autographed copies of this new child of his heart to his loyal friends Basa and Sixto Lopez. (14) El Filibusterismo soon was being read with intense eagerness by José's friends throughout Europe. "Yesterday I received your book," wrote Trinidad Pardo de Tavera, "and today I have begun to devour it." (15) What they found was a book very different in spirit from that of Noli Me Tangere. "No idealism; no fallacious theories: Fire and steel for the dancer, judgment upon evil, -- and afterward let the instrument be broken if it is defective!" -- these words, uttered by Simoun in one of his soliloquies, fit the book perfectly.

It was dedicated to Dr. José Burgos and to the two other priests, Gomez and Zamora, who had been martyred in Rizal's childhood. The first page reads:
 

The Three Martyrs:

Burgos, Gomez, and Zamora

"Don Mariano Gomez (85 years old), Don José Burgos (30 years old), and Don Jacinto Zamora (35 years old), executed in Bagumbayan Field, February 28, 1872. . . I have a right to dedicate my book to you as victims of the evil that I undertake to combat. And while we wait expectantly for Spain some day to restore your good name and cease to be answerable for your death, let these pages serve as a tardy wreath of dried leaves over your unknown tombs, and let it be understood that every one that without clear proof attacks your memory, stains his hands in your blood."

El Filibusterismo is the passionately bitter cry of a soul in torture, and baffled as to what to do. The book has little humor such as we find relieving the pages of Noli Me Tangere. The writer was in no mood to write jokes, unless they were bitter satire. Noli Me Tangere had been friendly to the government, and had denounced only certain types of friars and others. El Filibusterismo has lost faith in Spain. The two books were four years apart, and what a terrible four years they had been, and what they had done to disillusion José Rizal!

All the terrible experiences of Rizal's family and of the people in Calamba appear in El Filibusterismo under assumed names. His father is represented by Cabesan Tales, who clears forestland, and then finds that the friars claim the land and demand rental, just as the crop is ripe. The next year the friars double the rent, and the following year the rent is again increased. Tales refuses to pay and is warned to get off the land. He appeals to the court and there loses what little money he has. Robbers, sent by the friars, steal his crops. The government will not protect him, so he protects his own land with a gun and a bolo. These the government takes away from him. The sturdy farmer patrols his land with an ax. He is seized by the robbers and held for five hundred pesos. His daughter Juli sells herself into slavery and redeems her father. When he gets home he finds his home taken from him. He steals a revolver and goes to join the robbers. That night the friar agent, and the tenant who took the land of Tales, are murdered.

The central figure of the book is the hero of Noli Me Tangere, Ibarra. The Civil Guards thought they had killed him but he had escaped to a distant country, had made a fortune, and had returned with a new name Simoun, bent upon terrible revenge. He worked under cover, posing as a friend of the government, while he plotted rebellion. At last he thought he had the perfect chance for which he waited. He would blow up all the leading government officials, including the Governor General himself, at a society wedding.

Paulita, the girl to be married, reminds us of the tragic story of Leonor. She was deeply in love with Isagani, a leader among the discontented students. Because he talked with such daring frankness about the education of his day, he was arrested. Paulita was finally persuaded by her relatives to allow herself to be married to Isagani's rival.

All the fine society of Manila was invited to the wedding. Ibarra, now Simoun, the wealthy jeweler, brought as a wedding gift a magnificent burning lamp -- which contained enough dynamite to kill every person in the building. Only one other person, Simoun's trusted confederate, Basilio, knew of the dynamite. As Basilio was fleeing from the building he saw Isagani, the disappointed lover, standing broken-hearted near the door, and told him to run for his life. Isagani would not move. Basilio told him about the infernal lamp. Instantly Isagani thought of Paulita, the girl he was losing. He rushed into the house, seized the lighted lamp, hurled it into the river and leaped after it.

In the great excitement which followed the plot was revealed, but Simoun had escaped and hidden in a Filipino home. To escape from his pursuers he drank a slow poison and then summoned good Padre Florentino to take his last confession. The concluding chapter is one of the most famous in the writings of Rizal: * * *

The Padre entered the room, saw Simoun on the bed, his face distorted with pain, and the empty bottle beside him.

"My God!" he cried, "What have you done?"

"Calm yourself," the sick man replied, "I do not want to fall alive into the hands of anybody. They would be able to extract the secret from me. . . There is not time to lose. I must tell you my secret. . . ."
 

"But an antidote, Señor Simoun! I have morphine, ether, chloroform . . . ."

"It is useless. Do not lose time. Come closer."

When Simoun said he was really Ibarra, the old priest fell back and looked at him with terror.

Then Simoun told him the sad story, how thirty years before he had returned from Europe, full of hope and smiling illusions. He had come to be married to a girl he loved, intending to do right and to pardon all who had done him wrong, if only they would allow him to live in peace. It was not to be so -- a mysterious hand smote him in the whirlwind of mutiny arranged by his enemies.

His name, fortune, love, future, liberty, everything was lost, and he escaped death only through the heroism of a friend. Then he decided to avenge himself. With the fortune of his family which he had hidden in a forest, he escaped, lived in a foreign country and devoted himself to commerce. He took part in the Cuban war, aiding first one side then the other, but always becoming richer. There he became acquainted with the Governor General, then with the Commanding Officer, over whom he gained control, at first by making loans of money, and later cementing his friendship through the knowledge which the jeweler possessed of his secret crimes. Thus by the power of money he wielded his influence. When he once again reached the Philippines, he served the Governor General as a secret instrument, and incited him to commit all kinds of injustice, taking advantage of his friend's insatiable thirst for gold. . . .

The confession was long and painful. It was already night when Padre Florentino wiped the sweat from his brow, leaned back and began to meditate. . . .

"God will pardon you, Señor Simoun," he said "He knows that you are fallible. He has seen how you have suffered, and now that he is permitting you to be punished for your sin by receiving death at the hands of those whom you have incited, we can see his infinite mercy. He has destroyed your plans one by one, even those which were best conceived. . . .

"The glory of saving a country does not go to him who helped to cause its ruin. Hatred never creates anything but monsters; crime, nothing but criminals. Only love is able to work miracles. Only virtue can save! No! If our country is ever to be free, it will not be through vice and crime; or will it be by corrupting her sons, by deceiving some of them, and bribing others. No! Redemption presupposes virtue; virtue, sacrifice; and sacrifice, love. . . .

"The just and the worthy must suffer so that their ideals may be known and disseminated! You have to strike the case and break it to release its perfume. You have to smite the rock in order to draw the spark. There is something providential in the persecution of tyrants, Señor Simoun."

"I knew that," murmured the sick man, "and that is the reason I fomented tyranny."

"Yes, my friend, but you pour out more corrupt liquid than anything else! You fomented social rottenness, but you did not sow an ideal. From the fermentation of vice, only disgust can spring, and if anything else should be born overnight, it would be at most a mushroom, because only mushrooms can spring spontaneously from manure. Certainly the vices of a government are fatal to it and cause its death, but they also kill the society in whose womb they are developed. With an immoral government goes a demoralized people; with a conscienceless administration go greedy servile citizens; in the towns, bandits; and thieves in the mountains! As the master, so is the slave! As the government, so also the country!"

A short pause followed.

"Then what shall we do?" asked the sick man in a low voice.

"Suffer and work!"

"Suffer! Work!" repeated the sick man bitterly. "Ah, that is easy to say when you do not suffer, when your work is rewarded! Does your God demand so much sacrifice from a man who is scarcely able to depend upon this one day, and is in complete doubt about tomorrow? . . . If you had seen what I have seen; misery, unfortunates suffering unutterable tortures for crimes which they have not committed, if you had seen assassinations to conceal the faults and incompetence of others, poor fathers of their families torn from their homes to work uselessly on highways which are destroyed every day and seem to have no use save to sink families into misery! . . . Ah! To suffer, -- to work! So that is the will of God! Then convince those people that their assassination is their salvation, and that their work brings the prosperity of their homes! To suffer! To work! What kind of God is that?"

"A most just God, Señor Simoun," answered the priest, "a God who punishes our lack of faith, our vices, the little use we have for dignity and civic virtues. We tolerate and are implicated in vice; sometimes we applaud it. It is just, very just that we should suffer the consequences, and that our children should suffer also. It is the God of liberty, Señor Simoun, who obliges you to live liberty by making us wear a heavy yoke; it is a God of piety, of justice, who punishes us to do us good, and only gives success to those who deserve it. The school of suffering tempers, the field of combat gives vigor to the soul. I do not wish to say that our liberty is to be earned by the edge of the sword. The sword enters very little into our modern destiny. But we must conquer by merit, by lifting up goodness and greatness even to the point of dying for it; and when a country arrives at this exalted stage, God will provide the weapon, the idols will be shattered, the tyrants will fall like a pack of cards, and liberty will shine forth like the first dawn. Our ills we owe to ourselves, so let us blame no one else . . . . So long as the Philippines has not sufficient energy to proclaim, with her head erect and her bosom bare, her right to social life and her determination to guarantee this with her sacrifice and her very blood; so long as she sees her countrymen in their private life ashamed among themselves, while they hear the voice of conscience rebelling and protesting; so long as in public life they are silent and give consent to those who abuse them, and even laugh at the abuses; so long as we see them making light of the most wicked action, and even begging with their eyes for a portion of the booty, -- how can they be granted liberty? With Spain or without Spain they would be the same, -- and perhaps, perhaps, worse without her! Why should we be independent if the slaves of today are to be the tyrants of tomorrow?"

Padre Florentino felt the sick man seize his hand and grip it tightly. So he was silent, waiting to hear what the other might say. He only felt two more pressures of the hand. He heard a sigh and then a long silence followed . . . . Padre Florentino, as though absorbed in deep thought, murmured:

"Where are the youth who will consecrate their rosy hours, their visions, and their enthusiasm to the good of their country? Where are those who will pour out their blood freely to wash away so many disgraces, so many crimes, so much abomination? Pure and spotless must the victim be if the sacrifice is to be acceptable. Where are you, oh youth! Come! For we await you!"

And feeling his eyes wet with tears he withdrew his hand from that of the sick man. He arose and walked to the window to gaze out at the wide surface of the ocean. A gentle tap on the door drew him from his meditation. It was the servant asking if he ought to make a light.

When the priest again approached the sick man and looked at him by the light of the lamp, motionless, his eyes closed, the hand that had pressed his hand open and extended over the edge of the bed, he thought for a moment he was sleeping; but noticing that he was not breathing, he touched him gently and then realized that he was dead. The body has already begun to turn cold.

He fell on his knees and prayed.

When he arose, he looked at the dead man on whose face he read the deepest sorrow, the burden of a wasted life which he carried even in death. The old man trembled and murmured:

"God have pity on those who have wandered from the path."

El Filibusterismo was read with enthusiasm by most of the Filipinos. From Barcelona came this glowing tribute signed by twelve of Rizal's countrymen.

"Distinguished Patriot: With unprecedented enthusiasm this Filipino colony of Barcelona has read your new production, the original style of which is comparable only to the sublime Alexander Dumas (16) and may well be offered as a model and precious jewel in the decadent days of Spanish literature. . . .

"Like a new Moses, with your immortal books you have given to the Philippines the Decalogue of her political redemption and her honor before mankind. If she knew how to obey the commands, precepts, and counsels so beautifully written in your novel, then, instead of a country in abject slavery, she would soon become great, free, prosperous, and master of her destiny."

Ponce thought it "really marvelous, as are all the brilliant productions of your pen. . . . I conceive of your book as a mighty whip which will wound the enemy in the most sensitive fiber of his heart, where he has already been rudely beaten by Noli. (17)

Like Noli, this new book drew every character from real life. Manuel Camus wrote from Singapore, "I want to thank you for the exactness of the type of Captain Tino of the steamship. He was my uncle!"

Graciano Lopez-Jaena

Perhaps the best appraisal of the book among scores of flattering letters is that of loyal Graciano Lopez-Jaena:

"El Filibusterismo is a better novel than Noli Me Tangere in its profound ideals and sublime thoughts. . . . I am enchanted with the whole work, which surpasses my expectations.

"But you commence the novel very alluringly like Dumas and you close it harshly like Sue (18) . . . .

"Your opening, like that of Dumas, is like a light, much light, magnificent, hopeful -- joy, a smiling future, glory, immortality; but your conclusion, like Sue, kills the heart, by plunging the spirit into the nebulous abyss of desperation.

"In my opinion, since you had presented to the eyes of the Filipino people a sympathetic, great generous Simoun. . . . you ought to have had him killed at the end of the novel, transformed into a hero, who prays dying in some combat, prays perishing in the flames of a great fire or struck by a thunderbolt, overwhelmed by cataclysms of a mighty earthquake; thus you would have succeeded in giving a magnificent crown to the work.

"You have stopped without solving the problem.

"As a political novel, your end is not a worthy climax to a work so beautiful.

"As I understand you, you desired to leave with the Filipino people the responsibility for solving the problems, political and social, which have been raised in your book. But in your magnificent work you have closed the doors, the way out. I fear that our countrymen will never reach any certainty, nor guess the answer to the riddle, but will lie helpless in desperation.

"It would be fitting if, as I believe you will, you were to write a book quickly solving the problem, and so hasten the coming of the fair day of our redemption.

Graciano Lopez Jaena"

Such was the almost universal feeling among the friends of Rizal, -- that he had written a magnificent book and spoiled it with his last chapter. Today, however, in the light of the glorious way in which Rizal died, men are able to realize that in that last chapter are the noblest words he ever wrote. Indeed it is that infinitely sad closing that is most often quoted. The book was a tremendous, if painful, sermon to those of Rizal's own countrymen who believed they could defraud their fellow countrymen, live double-faced lives, and still expect that good would come. "Love alone realizes wonderful achievements, virtue alone can save!" Pure and spotless must the victim be. . ."

The writer of those words now turned his face across the seas toward his Calvary. His own life was to be the "magnificent crown to the work" which Jaena had said the book needed. And one life is worth a million books.
_______________
(01) In a thesis in the University of the Philippines. See Dia Filipino, June 19, 1918, and June 19, 1930.
(02) Epistolario Rizalino, 5 vols. Manila: Bureau of Printing, 1930-1938, v. 3, p. 164, Feb. 15, 1891.
(03) Ibid., v. 3, p. 189.
(04) Ibid., v. 3, p. 160, Feb. 9, 1891.
(05) Unpublished letters of Adelina. April 11 and May 11, 1891.
(06) Epistolario Rizalino, op. cit., v. 3, p. 167.
(07) Ibid., v. 3, p. 190.
(08) Ibid., v. 3, p. 191.
(09) Ibid., v. 3, p. 195.
(10) Ibid., v. 3, p. 200.
(11) Ibid.
(12) Ibid., v. 3, p. 223.
(13) Ibid., v. 3, p. 214.
(14) Ibid., v. 3, p. 229.
(15) Ibid., v. 3, p. 232.
(16) French author whose works include The Count of Monte Cristo.
(17) Epistolario Rizalino, op cit. v. 3, p. 246.
(18) I.e. Eugene Sue, author of The Wandering Jew.