Still unaware of the ruin that had come upon his hopes, Rizal was living in Berlin and working on the last chapters of “Noli Me Tangere.” He had taken cheap lodging in one of those huge modern German apartment-houses, in the complex depths of which he could bury himself, press on with his work, and be as remote as Tahaiti. He had known from the beginning that he must bring out his book at his own expense, poor as he was, if it was to be published at all. To a European publisher the subject would seem too unconventional and outlandish; and as for the Philippines, not a printer there would venture on his life to so much as look at it. The type was set (in Spanish) in a small job-office not far from Rizal’s lodging. Of the report that he himself eked out his remittances by working at times as a compositor in this shop, there is no satisfactory evidence; he had not previously appeared as a printer, but with his marvelous dexterity and ease in assimilating all knowledge he might have picked up even this craft, too, with others, difficult as it is. If so, he may have enjoyed in Berlin an unusual experience. He may have been an author putting into type his own copy.
One problem had harassed him. Whence could he [[131]]hope to get the money to pay for the publication? He was still largely supported by remittances from home, from Paciano the ever faithful, from other members of his family; but these were not more than enough to keep him alive. The Fates that packed his wallet so full of other good gifts seem to have omitted a facility in making money, but supplied in its stead an abnormal power of self-denial. He now started out to save the sum he needed by inciting the spirit to triumph over the flesh. About this time there came to visit him in Berlin Maximo Viola, a wealthy and excellent young Filipino he had known in Madrid. Viola records that he found the young author living in a rear room and subsisting upon one meal a day, largely bread and coffee,[1] which were cheap.
The raven had come that was not only to feed this prophet but to lead him out of the wilderness. Viola’s object had been to invite Rizal to go with him upon a walking tour through rural Germany and Switzerland. At the proposal, Rizal’s eyes blazed; no project could be more alluring to him, as Viola had well known. Then he said that it was impossible; he could not go. Why impossible? asked Viola. Native pride forbade any direct answer, but Viola extracted the truth. He was saving money to publish a book. What kind of a book? Rizal told him, whereupon the Filipino blood stirred in Viola’s veins also, and he offered on the spot to advance enough money to bring out the book and then enough to take Rizal on the walking tour.
A few weeks later, “Noli Me Tangere,” a finished [[132]]novel of five hundred pages, was printed and bound and launched upon its eventful way.[2]
The facts about this man would stagger credulity if they were not of so sure and recent record. This novel of his contains more than two hundred thousand words. He obtained his medical licentiate at Madrid in June, 1885, and nothing of his book had been written then; nothing was written until months later. After a time he went to Paris, where he was employed as a clinical assistant to a busy oculist and also in pursuing his studies. Thence he went first to Heidelberg, then to Leipzig, where he entered the universities. Next we find him in Berlin, again an active and laborious student. Yet “Noli Me Tangere” was completed on February 21, 1887. The thing does not seem to be in nature. We cannot recall another instance in literature of such rapid composition under the like conditions of distraction.
It was a stormy petrel that he had set free, and trouble began early because of and around it. His first object was to circulate it in the Philippines. Nothing could have been more unpromising, with a censorship keeping watch and ward and an author loathed and feared by the whole System. Yet he accomplished the difficult feat. He had stout friends in Barcelona and Madrid, Fernando Canon, Mariano Ponce, Damaso Ponce, Ramon Batle, and, in especial, Teresina Batle, who was Mr. Canon’s sweetheart. Her quick wit helped the conspiracy. Rizal sent to Mr. Batle certain [[133]]boxes containing copies of his book. These his friends disguised as dry-goods and the like innocent freight and forwarded to Manila. Ramon Eguarras and Alejandro Rojas were Manila proprietors of substance and good repute. They smuggled the boxes past the official Argus and before his very face.[3] When the authorities awoke, the fierce new appeal was going from house to house with ominous rumblings in its wake.
This could not last long. To know what the submerged people were reading and thinking was one of the chief businesses of the bureau of spies and department of sleuthing. Soon the censor was hot upon the trail of this omen of unrest. A copy of the book was brought to him; he read it with a horror that seems to have shaken his soul. Now the attention of Government was called to the scandalous work. Government, ever responsive to such ill news, appointed a committee of solemn owls from the faculty of Santo Tomas, no less, to study and report upon a literary felony so momentous; Government being apparently impressed with the notion that a crisis was near and revolution was to be crushed as usual in the serpent’s egg. For this nothing could be so effective as the weight of an awe-inspiring authority from the university. No great deliberation was needed to enable the committee to reach its findings. In what was plainly intended to be a blasting fire of ecclesiastical wrath, book and author were condemned, and Government was austerely warned that here was a most insidious and perilous attack upon all the safeguards of society, [[134]]upon law and order, civilization, monarchy, the supremacy of Spain, business, holy church, and religion itself.[4]
Long experimentation with the surviving methods of the Inquisition had made the Government expert in these matters. It issued at once a decree excluding from the pious Islands a work of such sacrilege and ordered diligent search to be made for any copies that might have slipped in to corrupt virtue and overthrow the king. Wherever such copies might be found they were to be burned by the public executioner. Most rigorous punishments waited upon the heels of this decree. Any Filipino found after a certain date in possession of a copy of “Noli Me Tangere” was to suffer imprisonment or deportation, with the loss of all his property; this to be confiscated for the benefit of whomsoever should inform against him. Despite all this valorous resolving and proclaiming and shaking of the long ears of senile decrepitude, the book continued to come in and to be circulated. One may suspect that what the Government chiefly effected was gratuitous advertisement. In a short time “Noli Me Tangere” became the first topic of conversation throughout the educated circles in the islands. The classes whose vices and villainies were most fiercely attacked in it were its most determined readers. Let the Government do its utmost to annihilate the book; in the teeth of decrees, Civil Guards, spies, and inquisitors, Rizal’s purposes were already accomplished. The corrupt, greedy, tyrannical friar, the plundering, swaggering, brutal Spanish officer, the beneficiaries of [[135]]the System and those consenting to it, saw themselves for the first time pilloried in print.[5]
About this process is always something more potent and salutary than can be easily explained. It is the elusive, indomitable spirit of that pitiless publicity, at once the armed champion of modern social progress, the healer of its diseases, and the corrector of its errors. Suppose the social malefactor to know full well, as well as he knows anything, that when he reads in print the story of his misdeeds not one hundred other persons are likely to see it; he is shaken with ineffable alarm, nevertheless. The magic of the printed page overwhelms and confounds him; in his ear every type-letter is a separate demon yelling “Scoundrel!” Suppose him to have known theretofore that one hundred thousand men were saying among themselves this that he now reads in print; the knowledge would have disturbed him not to the quiver of an eyelash. But to have it thus in visible record, open to the world’s eye—intolerable! Many a man case-hardened otherwise to conscience or reproof has fled to suicide before that unwavering finger and relentless condemnation.
The life of all this is truth. Against printed words that are not true even the guilty can make a stand, but it is invincible verity that leaves him naked and trembling. When the first cold shiver had gone by of the discovery that some one had at last dared to put into print the horror of the Philippines, one cry for vengeance went up from the stripped and shamed exploiters. It was a cry like the angry snarl of hurt [[136]]hyenas, ready to tear into pieces whomsoever should fall into their den.