Noli Me Tangere E-Book

José Rizal

• Herausgeber: CLXBX
• Kategorie: Geisteswissenschaft
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 278

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2026

Beschreibung

Noli Me Tangere by José Rizal is a powerful and influential novel that exposes the social injustices and political oppression experienced in the Philippines during the Spanish colonial period. First published in 1887, this groundbreaking work played a crucial role in awakening national consciousness and inspiring movements for reform and independence. 📚🌏 The story follows Juan Crisóstomo Ibarra, a young Filipino who returns to his homeland after studying in Europe. Filled with hope and idealism, Ibarra dreams of improving society through education and progress. However, upon his return he quickly discovers that his country is deeply troubled by corruption, abuse of power, and social inequality. As Ibarra attempts to build a school and contribute to the betterment of his community, he encounters powerful opposition from religious authorities and colonial officials who seek to maintain control over the people. The novel vividly portrays a society dominated by fear, hypocrisy, and injustice, where the voices of ordinary citizens are often suppressed. Through a rich cast of memorable characters—including the compassionate María Clara, the courageous Elias, and the oppressive friars—Rizal paints a complex picture of colonial society. Each character represents different aspects of the social and political realities of the time, highlighting the struggles faced by Filipinos under foreign rule. Noli Me Tangere is both a compelling story and a sharp critique of the abuses committed by colonial authorities and religious institutions. Rizal uses satire, realism, and emotional storytelling to reveal the consequences of injustice and the urgent need for reform. Widely regarded as one of the greatest works of Philippine literature, the novel became a symbol of the country's awakening national identity. Its publication had a profound impact on Filipino society and eventually contributed to the broader movement for independence. Today, Noli Me Tangere remains a timeless literary masterpiece and an important historical work. 🇵🇭 Through its powerful narrative and courageous message, José Rizal's novel continues to inspire readers with its call for justice, dignity, and the pursuit of freedom.

Leseprobe

Noli Me Tangere

José Rizal

Copyright © 2026 by José Rizal

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Contents

1. A meeting

2. Chrysostom Ibarra

3. Dinner

4. Heretic and flitter

5. Captain Tiago

6. Rooftop romance

7. Memories

8. Friar's policy

9. The town

10. The chieftains

11. The City of the Dead

12. Omens of a storm

13. Fishing

14. In the forest

15. The eve of the festival

16. At nightfall

17. Correspondences

18. The morning

19. The sermon

20. The derrick

21. The banquet

22. The first cloud

23. Your Excellency

24. Law and force

25. The cockfighting arena

26. Disaster plans

27. The catastrophe

28. Woe to the vanquished!

29. The damned

30. Homeland and interests

31. Maria Clara's wedding

32. The ringleader

33. Hunting on the lake

34. Maria Clara

Epilogue

Chapter1

A meeting

At the end of October, Don Santiago de los Santos, commonly known as Captain Tiago, hosted a dinner party that became the talk of the town in Binondo, the surrounding suburbs, and even within the city itself. Captain Tiago was then considered the most flamboyant man around, and everyone knew that his house, like his country, never closed its doors to anyone, except perhaps to beneficial innovations and bold new ideas.

The news spread like lightning throughout the world of the parasites that God created in his infinite goodness and so lovingly multiplies in Manila.

This dinner was held in a house on Anloague Street. It was a fairly large building, constructed in the local style and situated on the banks of the Pasig River, called by some the Binondo Estuary, which, like all the rivers of Manila, plays the role of...It serves as a toilet paper dispenser, sewer, laundry area, fishing ground, means of transportation and communication, and even provides drinking water if the Chinese water carrier deems it necessary. It is worth noting that this powerful artery of the outskirts, where traffic is heaviest, has only one old wooden bridge for a distance of over a kilometer.

The house we are referring to is rather low and its lines are not very well thought out: we do not know if this is due to hurricanes and earthquakes or to the architect's lack of skill. A wide staircase with green balusters leads from the tiled entrance hall to the main floor, amidst flowerpots placed on pedestals of brightly colored china with fantastic designs.

Since there are no doormen or servants asking for an invitation ticket, we will go upstairs, dear reader, if you are drawn to the orchestra's music, the light, and the inviting clinking of dishes and cutlery, and you wish to see what gatherings are like there in the Pearl of the Orient. I would gladly spare you the description of the house, but I refrain because this is too important a matter, for we mortals in general are like turtles: we are valued and classified according to our shells.

Upon ascending, we suddenly found ourselves in a spacious room, called the " fall" there for some reason, which tonight serves as both a dining room and an orchestra hall. In the center stands a long, lavishly decorated table, offering sweet promises to the guests and threatening the timid young women, the simple girls , with two deadly hours in the company of strangers, whose conversations tend to be of a very peculiar nature.

The colorful paintings on the walls contrast sharply with the preparations for the gargantuan feast.These paintings depict religious subjects such as Purgatory, Hell, the Last Judgment, and the death of the Just . Also visible in the background, encased in a splendid and elegant Renaissance-style frame carved by Arévalo, is a curious, large canvas depicting two old women. At its base is the inscription: Our Lady of Peace and Safe Journey, venerated in Antipolo, who, in the guise of a beggar, visits the pious and celebrated Captain Inés in her illness . While the composition may not reveal much taste or artistry, it possesses ample realism: the sick woman resembles a corpse due to the yellow and violet hues of her face, and the vessels and other objects typically found in the rooms of the sick are reproduced so meticulously that their contents are visible.

Beautiful blue Chinese lanterns and air plants hang from the ceiling. On the river-facing side, whimsical, somewhat Chinese-style wooden arches lead to a rooftop terrace covered with vines and illuminated by colorful paper lanterns.

On a pine platform sits the magnificent grand piano, exorbitantly priced. And finally, completing the parlor's decor is a large oil portrait of a man in a tailcoat, stiff and upright like the tasseled cane he holds between his rigid, ring-covered fingers.

The room is almost full: the men separated from the women as in churches and synagogues. The fair sex is represented by a few young Spanish and Filipina women. They open their mouths with a yawn, but cover them instantly with their fans; they barely murmur a few words;The conversations that begin die in monosyllables, with a hissing sound, like that heard in silent temples. Do the images of the Virgins that hang on the walls force them to maintain religious composure and silence, or are the women here different from others?

The only one who received the ladies was an old woman, Captain Tiago's cousin, with kind features and who spoke rather poor Spanish. Her entire manner and civility consisted of offering the Spaniards a tray of cigars and wafers [ 1 ] , and having the Filipinas kiss their hands, exactly like the friars. The poor old woman eventually grew bored, and hearing the sound of a plate breaking in the kitchen, she hurried out, muttering:

—Jesus! Jesus! Please excuse me! I'm going to see what those unworthy people are doing!

And he never appeared again.

As for the men, they were more talkative. Some cadets spoke animatedly, but in low voices, pointing at various people in the room and laughing discreetly; in contrast, two foreigners, dressed in white, with their hands clasped behind their backs and without saying a word, paced back and forth across the room, like bored travelers on the deck of a ship. All the interest and liveliness emanated from a group consisting of two clergymen, two civilians, and a military officer, gathered around a small table on which bottles of wine and English biscuits were displayed.

The military man was an old lieutenant, tall, with a stern face: he looked like a Duke of Alba who had fallen behind in the ranks of the Civil Guard; he spoke little and harshly.

One of the friars, a young Dominican, as neat and bright as his gold-rimmed glasses, affected an early seriousness: he was the parish priest of Binondo, and in other times had held a professorship at St. John Lateran. He had a reputation as an accomplished dialectician. He spoke little and seemed to weigh his words.

On the contrary, the other, a Franciscan, talked a great deal and gestured even more. Although his hair was beginning to turn gray, he still looked young and robust. His harsh features, his unsettling gaze, and his Herculean physique gave him the appearance of a Roman patrician in disguise, and seeing him, one was reminded of those three friars Heine mentions in his "Gods in Exile," who, in September, in Tyrol, would cross a lake at midnight in a boat, and upon placing a silver coin, cold as ice, in the poor boatman's hand, would leave him filled with dread.

One of the locals, a small man with a black beard, was notable only for his extraordinarily large nose; the other, a blond young man, seemed to have just arrived in the country. The Franciscan was having a lively discussion with him.

—You'll see—the friar said;—when I've been in the country for a few months you'll be convinced of what I'm telling you; governing in Madrid is one thing, being in the Philippines is another.

-But...

—I, for example—continued Friar Dámaso, interrupting his interlocutor,—I who countAfter twenty-three years of plantain and morisqueta [ 2 ], I can speak with authority on the matter. Don't come at me with theories or rhetoric; I know the Indian better than anyone. Since I arrived in the country, I was assigned to a small town, and there I had the opportunity to study these people in complete tranquility.

"I don't understand how that has anything to do with the deregulation of tobacco!" the blond young man finally managed to reply, while the Franciscan friar took a small glass of sherry.

Friar Damasus, filled with surprise, almost dropped the cup. He stared for a moment at the young man, and

"What? What?" he exclaimed afterward, utterly astonished. "But is it possible that you cannot see what is clearer than daylight? Don't you see, son of God, that all this palpably proves that the ministers' reforms are irrational?"

This time it was the blond man who was perplexed; the lieutenant frowned; the little man shook his head as if to agree with Friar Damaso. The Dominican friar remained indifferent and almost turned his back.

"Do you think so?" the young man finally managed to ask very seriously, looking at the friar with great curiosity.

—Do I believe it? Like in the Gospel! The Indian is so indolent!

—Ah! Excuse me—said the young man, pulling his chair a little closer.—Does such indolence truly exist among the natives, or is it what a foreign traveler claims, that it is merely an invention to excuse our own indolence, our backwardness, and our absurd colonial system?

—Ha! Envy! Ask Mr. Laruja, who knows the country so well; ask him if the ignorance and indolence of the Indian have any equal.

—Indeed—replied the little man, who was the one being referred to;—nowhere in the world is there a more indolent being than the Indian: nowhere!

—No one more vicious or more ungrateful!

—You couldn't be more rude!

The blond young man began to look around anxiously.

"Gentlemen," he said in a low voice, "I think we're in an Indian's house; those young ladies..."

—Bah! Don't be so apprehensive! Santiago doesn't consider himself an Indian, and besides, he's not here, and... even if he were! That's just nonsense from newcomers. Give him a few months; he'll change his mind after he's been to many parties and dances , slept on cots, and eaten a lot of tinola .

—Is what you call tinola a fruit of the lotus species, which makes men forgetful?

"What lottery? What lottery!" Father Dámaso replied, laughing. "Tinola is a chicken and pumpkin stew. How long have you been here?"

—Four days—replied the young man, somewhat annoyed.

—Are you coming as an employee?

—No, sir; I came on my own, to get to know the country.

"Man, what a strange bird!" exclaimed Friar Damaso, looking at it curiously.

"Your Reverence, Father Dámaso," the Dominican interrupted abruptly, cutting off the conversation, "was saying that you've been in the town of San Diego for twenty years and you've left. Weren't you happy in the town?"

Friar Dámaso, upon hearing this question, asked in such a natural and almost negligent tone, lost his joy and stopped laughing.

"No!" he growled sharply, and slumped violently against the back of the armchair.

The Dominican continued in an even more indifferent tone:

"It must be very painful to leave a community where you know yourself like the habit you wear. I, at least, felt it when I left Camiling, even though I was only there for a few months... but the superiors did it for the good of the community..."

For the first time that night, Friar Damaso seemed very worried. Suddenly he punched the arm of his chair, and breathing heavily he exclaimed:

—There is religion or there isn't! Priests are free or they aren't! The country is lost, it's lost!

And he threw another punch.

Everyone in the room, surprised, turned toward the group. The two foreigners, who had been strolling around, stopped for a moment, made a face, and then continued their walk.

"What do you mean?" the lieutenant asked, frowning.

"What do I mean?" Friar Damaso repeated, raising his voice and turning to face his interlocutor. "I'll say whatever I please! I mean that when the priest throws the corpse of a heretic out of the cemetery, no one, not even the king, has the right to interfere, much less impose punishments. And yet, the general, that calamitous figure in his braid, meddles in everything."

—Father, Your Excellency is Viceroy of the Patronage!— shouted the military man, rising to his feet

—What Viceroyal Board of Trustees, what dead child! "—replied the Franciscan, rising as well.—In other times he would have been dragged out, as the corporations once did with the impious Governor Bustamante. Those were truly times of faith!

—I warn you that I will not allow... Your Excellency represents HM the King!

—What king? For us there is no king but the legitimate one...

"Halt!" shouted the lieutenant, threateningly, as if addressing his soldiers. "Either you retract everything you've said, or I'll report this to His Excellency tomorrow..."

"Go there right now, go there!" replied Friar Damaso sarcastically, approaching with his fists clenched. "Do you think that just because I wear a habit I'm lacking in it?... Go there! If you like, I'll lend you my car!"

The situation was becoming increasingly sour. Fortunately, the Dominican friar intervened.

“Gentlemen!” he said authoritatively, “we must not confuse matters or seek offenses where none exist. We must distinguish in Friar Damasus’s words those of the man from those of the priest. The latter’s words, as such, can never offend, for they come from absolute truth. In the man’s words, we must make a distinction: those he speaks in anger , those he speaks in prayer but not in the heart , and those he speaks in the heart . These last are the only ones that can offend, and even then, it depends on whether they already existed in the mind for a reason or simply arise accidentally in the heat of the moment.”

"Well, I, by accident and by myself , know the reasons, Father Sibyla!" interrupted the soldier, who was beginning to get confused by so many distinctions. "I know the reasons, and Your Reverence is going to hear them."In the absence of Father Dámaso, the assistant priest buried the body of a most worthy person, yes sir, most worthy. I had the pleasure of knowing him and stayed at his house several times. That he never went to confession? So what? I don't go to confession either! But to say that he committed suicide is slander. A man like him, who has a son in whom he places his love and hopes, a man who has faith in God, who knows his duties to society, an honorable and just man does not commit suicide.

And turning his back on the Franciscan, he continued:

"Well then; this friar, upon his return to the town, after mistreating the poor assistant, had the body of my unfortunate friend exhumed and removed from the cemetery, to bury it I don't know where. The people of San Diego were cowardly enough not to protest; it's true that very few knew about it. The deceased had no relatives, and his only son is in Europe. However, His Excellency found out, and, being a man of upright heart, he did not allow such an outrage to go unpunished. Father Dámaso was immediately transferred to another town. This is the story. Now, Your Reverence, make whatever distinctions you wish."

And with that, he walked away from the group.

"I'm so sorry to have unwittingly touched on such a delicate matter," Father Sibyla said regretfully. "But in the end, if the people have gained something from the change..."

—What is there to gain!— interrupted Friar Dámaso, stammering, unable to contain his anger.

Little by little, calm returned to the meeting.

Other people had arrived, among them aAn old, lame Spaniard with a kind and sweet face, leaning on the arm of an old Filipina woman, full of curls and makeup, dressed in European style.

The group greeted them amicably; Dr. Espadaña, who was the newcomer, and his wife, Dr. Doña Victorina, sat down among our acquaintances.

—But can you tell me, Mr. Laruja, where the owner of the house is? I haven't been introduced to him yet—said the blond young man.

—They say he's gone out; I haven't seen him either.

"There's no need for introductions here!" interjected Friar Damaso. "Santiago is a man of good character."

"A man who didn't invent gunpowder," Laruja added.

"You too, Mr. de Laruja!" exclaimed Doña Victorina with a syrupy reproach, fanning herself. How could the poor fellow possibly invent gunpowder when the Chinese had already invented it centuries before he was born?

"The Chinese? Are you crazy?" exclaimed Friar Dámaso. "Get out of here! It was invented by a Franciscan, one of my order, Friar Savalls, I don't know how many times, in the 7th century."

—A Franciscan! Well, perhaps that Father Savalls was in China as a missionary—replied the lady, who was not so easily convinced.

—You mean Schwartz, madam—replied Friar Sibyla without looking at her.

—I don't know; Brother Damasus said Savalls; I'm just repeating it!

"Fine! Savalls or Chevás, what difference does it make?" replied the Franciscan in a bad mood.

—And in the 14th century, not the 7th—added the domiNico, in a corrective tone, as if to mortify the other's pride.

—Before or after Christ?— asked Doña Victorina with great interest.

Fortunately for the person being questioned, two new characters entered the room, distracting everyone's attention.

Chapter2

Chrysostom Ibarra

The newcomers were the original portrait in a tailcoat and a young man dressed in full mourning.

"Good evening, gentlemen!" said Captain Tiago, kissing the friars' hands.

The Dominican adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses to look at the young newcomer, and Friar Damasus turned pale and opened his eyes wide.

—I have the pleasure of introducing to you Don Crisóstomo Ibarra, son of my late friend —continued Captain Tiago;— the gentleman has just arrived from Europe and I have gone to meet him.

A few exclamations were then heard in the living room. The lieutenant, ignoring the owner of the house, approached the young man and began to examine him from head to toe, filled with surprise and delight. At that moment, he was exchanging his usual phrases with the people to whom he had just been Presented. His striking height, his features, and the ease of his manner exuded a healthy youthfulness and made him extremely likeable. Some traces of Spanish blood were visible in his frank and intelligent face, through a handsome brown complexion, with a touch of pink in his cheeks, perhaps the result of his time spent in colder climates.

"Shut up!" he exclaimed with joyful surprise: "The priest of my town, Father Dámaso, my father's close friend!"

All eyes turned to the Franciscan: he did not move.

—Excuse me, I was mistaken!—added Ibarra, confused, observing the friar's cold and disdainful attitude.

"You're not wrong!" he finally replied, his voice rising. "But your father was never a close friend of mine."

Ibarra slowly withdrew the hand he had extended to the Franciscan, feeling deep in his soul the offense he had just received. He turned to hide his distress and anger, and found himself face to face with the stern figure of the lieutenant, who was still watching him.

—Are you the son of Don Rafael Ibarra?

The young man bowed, filled with sadness.

Friar Dámaso sat up in his chair and gave the lieutenant a spiteful look.

—Welcome to your country, and may you be happier there than your father!—exclaimed the soldier in a trembling voice.—I had the good fortune to know and interact with you, and I can say that you were one of the most worthy and honorable men in the Philippines.

—Sir!—replied Ibarra, moved;—the praise you give of my father fills me with comfort.

The old man's eyes filled with tears, he turned around and walked away quickly.

—The table is set!—announced an Indian servant, wearing an immaculate white shirt with the tails hanging outside.

And the guests hurried happily to take their places.

Chapter3

Dinner

Instinctively, the two religious men went to the head of the table, and as expected, what happened was what happens to opponents of a professorship: they praise the merits and superiority of their adversaries with words, but then imply the opposite, and grumble and murmur when they do not obtain it.

—The place of honor is for you, Friar Dámaso.

—For you, Friar Sibyla!

—If you command it, I will obey—said Father Sibyla, preparing to sit down.

"I didn't order it," protested the Franciscan, "I didn't order it!"

Friar Sibyla was about to sit down, ignoring the protests, when his eyes met those of the lieutenant. The highest-ranking officer is, according toReligious opinion in the Philippines is far inferior to that of the most ignorant layman. "Cedant arma togae ," Cicero said in the Senate; "cedant arma cotæ," say the friars in the Philippines. But Friar Sibyla was a refined person and replied:

—Lieutenant, we are in the world here, not in the church; the place belongs to you.

But judging by the tone of his voice, even in this world it was his turn. The lieutenant, either to avoid upsetting himself or to avoid sitting next to his adversary, the Franciscan friar, briefly refused.

None of the candidates for the preferred spot had remembered the homeowner. Ibarra saw him watching the scene with a smile on his lips and full of satisfaction.

—What, Don Santiago! Aren't you going to sit among us?

All the seats were already taken. No one moved, however. The generous Croesus would undoubtedly have to go and dine in the kitchen, while his guests gorged themselves on rich delicacies at the splendid table.

Only Ibarra made a move to get up.

"Stay still! Don't get up!" said Captain Tiago, placing his hand on the young man's shoulder. "This party is precisely to celebrate your arrival. Bring in the tinola! I had it made because I figured you, after so long, would be eager to try it."

They brought in a large platter crowned with smoke. The Dominican, after muttering " Blessed," began to distribute the contents. Whether by carelessness or ill intent, Father Damaso received a plate where, amidst much broth and pumpkin, swam a bare neck and a tough chicken wing, while the others ate magnificent pieces and tender breasts.The Franciscan friar angrily mashed the zucchini, took a sip of broth, dropped his spoon, and roughly shoved his plate forward, soiling the tablecloth. The Dominican friar, who had been watching him out of the corner of his eye, pretended to be chatting casually with the blond young man; but he couldn't prevent a mocking smile from playing on his lips.

—How long have you been away from the country?—Laruja asked Ibarra.

—About seven years.

—Then you'll have completely forgotten about him.

—On the contrary! My country and my fellow countrymen are the ones who have forgotten me. They didn't even bother to tell me how my father died!

—Ah!—exclaimed the lieutenant.

—And where were you that you didn't ask for news, even by telegraph?—asked Doña Victorina, who only opened her mouth to say nonsense.—When we got married we telegraphed the Peninsula , communicating the happy news to my husband's family.

—Madam, during these last two years I was in Northern Europe: in Germany and in Russian Poland.

Dr. Espadaña, who until then had not dared to speak, thought it appropriate to say something, and since he was better than his wife at talking nonsense, he blurted out the following drivel, blushing to the tips of his eyes:

—I knew a Pole from Warsaw in Spain named Stadtuitzki, if I remember correctly; have you by any chance seen him?

"It's quite possible," Ibarra replied kindly; "but I don't remember at the moment."

—Well, he couldn't be confused with anyone else! —added the doctor, gathering his courage:—he was as blond as gold and spoke very bad Spanish.

—They are good signs, but during my stay in those lands I have not spoken a word of Spanish except in some consulates.

—And how did you manage?—asked Doña Victorina, admiringly.

—I used the language of the country, ma'am.

—Do you also speak English?—asked the Dominican, who had been to Hong Kong and knew Pidgin English , that adulteration of Shakespeare's language by the children of the Celestial Empire.

—I spent a year in England among people who only spoke English.

—And which country in Europe do you like the most?—asked the blond young man.

—After Spain, my second homeland, I have no preference for any other country. However, I would choose the freest.

"You must have seen many remarkable things!" said Laruja.

"Remarkable! What is most remarkable is the lamentable backwardness of Europeans and their immeasurable pride. They feel a sovereign contempt for other peoples, and yet, except for an insignificant minority, they are as ignorant as they are, and even more wretched. Nature and men oppress them simultaneously. They long to enjoy the freedom and abundance of semi-savage countries. That is why they regard them with resentment and try to exterminate them."

"And you haven't seen anything more than that?" asked the Franciscan with a mocking laugh. He had been sulking since the beginning of the meal, looking for a way to get revenge for the Dominican's joke about the tinola dish. "What a sight!"Nonsense! The fault lies not with you, but with those who allow you to go to Europe to corrupt yourselves and learn such drivel. Your brains are hardly suited to understanding European culture. It begins by blinding you and ends by corrupting your weak minds. Fortunately, we are here to bring you back to reason, or else restrain you in a straitjacket.

Ibarra was left speechless: the others, surprised, also remained silent and looked at each other, fearing a scandal.

—As we are now finishing dinner, I am not surprised that your reverence is a little drunk—the young man was about to reply, but he stopped himself and only said the following:

—Gentlemen, do not be surprised by the familiarity with which my former priest treats me: that is how he treated me when I was a child! For his reverence, the years pass in vain; I thank him for it, because his authoritative words vividly remind me of those happy days of my childhood, when Friar Dámaso frequented my father's house and ate the best delicacies from his table.

The Dominican friar glanced furtively at the Franciscan friar, who had become trembling and whose eyes were bloodshot. Ibarra, impassive, gave him a contemptuous look and continued to rise.

—With your permission, I will now withdraw. I must leave for my hometown tomorrow, and I have some matters to attend to beforehand. Before that, gentlemen, I raise my glass to God, asking Him to enlighten Spain and make the Philippine Islands happy.

And he downed a small glass, which he hadn't touched until then. The old lieutenant imitated him, nodding his head at his words.

"Don't go!" Captain Tiago whispered. "Maria Clara should be here any minute: Isabel has gone to fetch her. The new priest from your village, who's a saint, is also due to arrive."

—I'll come back tomorrow. I have things to do today.

And he left. Meanwhile, the Franciscan gave free rein to his anger, which he had barely suppressed until then.

"Did you see?" he said to the blond young man, brandishing a dessert knife. "He's leaving out of pride! They can't stand being reprimanded by the priest! They think they're decent, educated people! All this is a consequence of sending young people to Europe. The government should prohibit it."

That night the blond young man was writing, among other things, the next chapter of his Colonial Studies : "How a chicken neck and wing on a friar's tin plate can disturb the joy of a feast." And among his observations were these: "In the Philippines, the most useless and insignificant person at a dinner or party is the one who hosts it and spends the money: the owner of the house can be thrown out into the street and everything will continue peacefully." "In the current state of affairs, it is almost doing Filipinos a favor not to let them leave their country or teach them to read."

Chapter4

Heretic and flitter

As Ibarra stepped out into the street, the night wind, which in October is usually quite cool in Manila, seemed to clear his brow, tormented by a thousand sad thoughts.

Cars flashed past him like lightning, hired carriages crawled along at a snail's pace, pulled by stunted, emaciated horses, and pedestrians of different nationalities gave the street a motley and original appearance. Ibarra paused for a moment, moved, to contemplate that multicolored crowd, gesticulating and laughing. The spectacle seemed new to him after seven years of absence. And amidst his sadness and deep worry, he experienced a feeling of infinite sweetness at finding himself back in his native land. What a difference between the gray, uniform, and somber crowds of European cities, always preoccupied with the uncertainty of tomorrow, dressed in dark fabrics, always running after a meager crust of bread for fear of being late, and that colorful parade of dark-haired women with ardent black eyes, with the splendorIt gives hair draped over the back like a silken cloak, and people of color, in whose simple souls there always existed, despite the selfish friar and the cruel soldier, the wholesome joy of primitive peoples, whom Nature has endowed with an inexhaustible wealth that saves them countless sorrows and cares.

Indian women strolled past him with a rhythmic gait, their silk and velvet slippers, embroidered with gold, trailing behind them. They wore colorful skirts with long trains, which swept the ground, or were tied at the waist for greater freedom of movement. They, too, possessed their own beauty! As they passed, they enveloped him in a voluptuous and ardent allure. Through their sheer, pineapple-patterned blouses, he glimpsed their velvety, brown flesh and their fertile breasts. There was nothing artificial, no deception, no artifice.

Men also passed by, their shirts white and shining like mirrors, their tails hanging out. And the Chinese, with their slanted eyes and feminine appearance, fearful and cunning, offered a striking contrast to the Spaniards, dressed in white English-style suits, haughty and insolent, like lords of a conquered land.

Amidst all those dark faces, a ruddy complexion and blond mustaches would occasionally appear. They were the true masters, the Germans and English, who scrutinized and seized everything, and while the Spaniards spent their time in processions and festivities, they amassed immense treasures.

Suddenly Ibarra noticed that the crowd stopped, as if all the passersby were responding to a spring. The elegant, gleaming patent leather Victorias, where they were reclining softly, full of Feathers and ribbons, the women of the Castilians [ 1 ] , and the rickety carriages full of Indians also stopped. A reverent murmur was heard. The women knelt and the men removed their hats, bowing respectfully. Ibarra did not immediately understand what this meant. He had never seen anything like it in Europe. Only the appearance of a God could give cause for such displays of respect...

A luxurious carriage drawn by four white horses then appeared at the end of the street. Men and women bowed their heads and murmured a kind of prayer. Even the ladies and gentlemen adopted a humble and reverent attitude.

The carriage with the four white horses passed in front of Ibarra, who remained with his hat on, still unaware of what was happening. Then he saw reclining in the back, an apoplectic friar in white habits.

It was the bishop! He hastily removed his hat and knelt on the ground. There was no other option but to follow custom, under penalty of arousing the anger of the fanatical or hypocritical crowd!

Sadness once again gripped his soul. Although seven years had passed, he found his town exactly the same as when he had left. And he sank into deep reflection. With that uneven gait that reveals the distracted or the idle, the young man made his way toward the Binondo town square. Everything was the same! The same streets with the same houses, their walls whitewashed or painted in fresco, a poor imitation of granite;the same church tower displaying its clock with its translucent face; the same Chinese shops with their dirty curtains and nauseating smell; the same stalls lit by lanterns [ 2 ] where old Indian women sold groceries and fruit...