The works of Rizal have numerous splendid topics to offer.

Many issues can be explicated to

make every student cognizant of the lofty ideals and sacrifices made by him in pursuit of
the Filipino sense of nationhood. It is imperative as well that students get their view of Jose
Rizal's life within the context of 19th century Philippines and interpret the values that can
be derived from his work to appreciate and examine the present Philippine situation.
This section is all about the novel of Dr. Jose Rizal entitled Noli Me Tangere, published in
1887. This is a societal novel dedicated to his Inang Bayan, the Philippines. It is his work
with the widest influence on contemporary fiction and has continued because of the
different characters he created, and set-in situations that are still true today.
This part also presents the first three-chapter excerpts from the novel which include: A
Social Gathering (Chapter 1), Crisostomo Ibarra (Chapter 2), and The Dinner (Chapter 3).
Each part is presented with the readings, guide questions and an output plan that would
help the students identify pertinent information for their better understanding about the
subject.

Plot Summary of Noli Me Tangere

Chapter 6 Noli Me Tangere

Juan Crisostomo Ibarra is a mestizo and a mixed-race heir of a well-to-

do clan. He is the sweetheart of Maria Clara, the unica hija of the wealthy Don Santiago de
los Santos, known to be Capitan Tiago. Ibarra endeavors for some reform for education to
improve the lives of his countrymen and to eradicate poverty. He returns home from
Europe to search for his affluent father, Don Rafael. The old Ibarra died in prison after
accidentally killing a Spanish tax collector and has been falsely accused of other
delinquencies by Padre Damaso, a longtime parish curate of San Diego, Juan Crisostomo
Ibarra's hometown.

As the young Ibarra arrives home, Capitan Tiago, his friend, hosts a dinner party that has
been attended by prominent people from the society which include Padre Damaso. At first
the young Ibarra thought that Padre Damaso and his father are friends. Yet, the former is
surprised because the latter humiliates him. As a response, Juan Crisostomo Ibarra holds
back from being disrespectful at the friar and leaves the party.

On his way home, a family friend, Señor Guevara, tells him how Ibarra's father was thrown
in prison and accused of heresy. He also explains that by the time Don Rafael, Juan
Crisostomo's father, was proven innocent, Don Rafael has already died in prison. The
younger Ibarra horrified. He realizes that Catholic friars in the Philippines has greatly
increased their influence since he left for Europe.
Juan Crisostomo tries to follow the footsteps of his father of being openhanded
philanthropist. He designs a school to help the people in his hometown. In doing so, he is
warned by the schoolmaster by telling him that Padre Damaso intervenes with the
educational system. Knowing about this, Ibarra tells his ideas to the town officials, the
religious leaders, and appears that he wants to work with them. For this, the officials agree
with him putting up a school.
The influential town leaders, together with Crisostomo Ibarra decide to celebrate the new
school. The church officials plan to bless the school building (despite the fact that it is not
yet complete) during San Diego's festivities. However, on that day a certain Elias warns Juan
Crisostomo that there is a plan to kill him. Elias explained to Juan Crisostomo the details of
the plot yet he ignores them. Juan Crisostomo escapes the harm and danger that time
because of Elias' swift action. At that point, Ibarra realizes that he has adversaries.

In that same day of celebration during dinner hosted by Ibarra, Father Damaso arrives
uninvited. During that moment, the Spanish friar insults the new school and gives racial
rudeness to Indios. He also makes negative remarks especially about the deceased father of
Juan Crisostomo. This leads to Ibarra's enragement. He punches and pins Padre Damaso
down, but before he kills the friar, Maria Clara stops him. Ibarra is debarred for this
scandalous event Capitan Tiago, Maria Clara's father is then enforced to break the
engagement of Maria Clara with Crisostomo. Father Salvi, who secretly loves Maria Clara
and the successor of Padre Damaso, plots with Lucas, brother of the deceased man who
meant to kill Ibarra during the blessing of the new school, to frame Ibarra. Crisostomo is
then arrested, imprisoned and found guilty.
Later in the story, Maria Clara discovers that her real father is Father Damaso and not
Capitan Tiago. She did not tell this to Ibarra to keep the family's secret and to honor her
deceased mother. However, when Ibarra escapes from prison with the help of Elias, he
finds time to talk with Maria Clara and at that moment everything is clarified. She
apologizes and explains that she gives Father Salvi a letter for Ibarra that eventually inflicts
him to jail because she is threatened. She expresses her undying love for Ibarra and after
they talk, he says goodbye to her. When she learns about the reported death of Ibarra
when he escaped, Maria Clara enters the nunnery.

In the novel, Rizal brilliantly describes the Philippine society and explains the type of
disease that the Filipinos could not bear. He creates memorable characters whose lives and
experiences manifest the toxic effects of religious and colonial oppression.

Characters:
Crisostomo Ibarra. He is a Filipino who studied in Europe for seven years and the son of
Don Rafael Ibarra. He is Maria Clara's sweetheart and love interest.
Elias. He is Ibarra's mysterious friend. He is a master boater who helps Ibarra to escape; he
is also a fugitive.
Maria Clara. She is Ibarra's sweetheart and the beautiful daughter of Capitan Tiago. She is
the illegitimate daughter of Father Damaso and Pia Alba.
Father Damaso. His full name as Damaso Verdolagas; the Franciscan friar and Maria Clara's
biological father.
Don Filipo. He is a close relative of Ibarra, and a Filibuster.
Linares. He is a nephew of Don Tiburcio de Espadana. He is the would-be fiance of Maria
Clara.
Captain General (no specific name). He is the most powerful official in the Philippines; a
hater of secular priests and corrupt officials; and a friend of Ibarra.
Captain Pablo. He is a rebel leader whose family is destroyed because of the
Spaniards.
Tarcilo and Bruno. They are brothers, whose father is killed by the Spaniards. Sisa. The
mother of Basilio and Crispin. She becomes insane after losing her
sons.
Basilio. The elder son of Sisa.
Crispin. The younger son of Sisa who dies after getting the punishment from the soldiers.
He receives false accusation of stealing an amount of money.
Padre Sibyla. His full name is Hernando de la Sibyla, a Filipino friar and is described as short
and fair skinned.
Capitan Tiago. He is known in his fullname as Don Santiago de los Santos the known father
of Maria Clara but not the real one.
Padri Salvi. He is known in his full name as Bernardo Salvi. He is in love with Maria Clara.
Pilosopo Tasyo. He is known as Don Anastasio; an older man whom Ibarra seeks advice
from. The town thinks him mad, but in actuality he is quite wise.
The Alferez. He is the chief of the Guardia Civil and a mortal enemy of the priests for the
power in San Diego.
Don Tiburcio. He is the Spanish husband of Donya Victorina who is limp and submissive to
is wife. He also pretends to be a doctor.
Doña Victorina. She is known as Victorina de los Reyes de De Espadaña. She
is a woman who passes herself off as a Peninsular.
Doña Consolacion. She is the wife of the Alferez. She is another woman who passes herself
as a Peninsular and best remembered for her abusive treatment of Sisa.
Pedro. He is the abusive husband of Sisa who loves cockfighting.

Chapter 1- A Social Gathering

On the last days of October, Don Santiago de los Santos popularly known as Capitan Tiago,
gave a dinner. In spite of the fact that, contrary to his usual custom, he had made the
announcement only that afternoon, it was already the Walled City, for at that time Capitan
Tiago was considered one of the most the sole topic of conversations in Binondo and
adjacent districts, and even in hospitable of men, and it was well known that his house, like
his country, shut its doors against nothing except commerce and all new or bold ideas. Like
an electric shock, the announcement run through the world of parasites, bores, and
hangers- on, whom God in His infinite bounty creates and so kindly multiplies in Manila.
Some looked at once for shoe-polish, others for buttons and cravats, but all were especially
concerned about how to greet the master of the house in the most familiar tone, in order
to create an atmosphere of ancient friendship, or, if occasion should arise, to excuse a late
arrival.
The dinner was held in a house on Calle Anloague, and although we do not remember the
number, we will describe it in such a way that it may still be recognized, provided the
earthquakes have not destroyed it. We do not believe that its owner has had it torn down,
for such labors are generally entrusted to God or nature which Powers hold the contracts
also for many of the projects of our government. It is a rather large building, in the style of
many in the country, and fronts upon the arm of the Pasig which is known to some as the
Binondo River, and which, like all the streams in Manila, plays the varied roles of bath,
sewer, laundry, fishery, means of transportation and communication, and even drinking
water if the Chinese water-carrier finds it convenient. It is worthy of note that in the
distance of nearly a mile this important artery of the district, where traffic is most dense
and movement most deafening, can boast of only one wooden bridge, which is out of repair
on one side for six months and impassable on the other for the rest of the year, so that
during the hot season the ponies take advantage of this permanent status quo to jump off
the bridge into the water, to the great surprise of the abstracted mortal who may be dozing
inside the carriage or philosophizing upon the progress of the age.
The house of which we are speaking is somewhat low and not exac correct in all its lines:
whether the architect who built it was afflicted with poor eyesight or whether the
earthquakes and typhoons have twisted it out of shape, no one can say with certainty. A
wide staircase with green newels and carpeted steps leads from the tiled entrance up to
the main floor between rows of flower-pots set upon pedestals of motley-colored and
fantastically decorated Chinese porcelain.

Since there are either porters nor servants who demand invitation cards, we will
Go in, Oh you who reads this,whether friend or foe, you are attracted by the
strains of the orchestra, the lights, or the suggestive rattling of dishes, knives, and forks,
and if you wish to see what such a gathering is like in the distant Pearl of the Orient. Gladly,
and for my own comfort, I should spare you this description of the house, were it not of
great importance, since we were mortals in general are very much like tortoises: we are
esteemed and classified according to our shells; in this and still other respects the mortals
of the Philippines in particular also
resemble tortoises.

If we go up the stairs, we immediately find ourselves in a spacious hallway, called there, for
some unknown reason, the caida, which tonight serves as the dining room and at the same
time affords the place for the orchestra. In the center, a large table profusely and
expensively decorated seems to be beckon to the hanger-on with sweet promises, while it
threatens the bashful maiden, the simple dalaga, with two mortal hours in the company of
strangers whose language and conversation usually have a very restricted and special
character. Contrasted with these terrestrial preparations are the motley paintings on the
walls representing religious matters, such as "Purgatory," "Hell," "The Last Judgment," "The
Death of the Just, and The Death of the Sinner."

At the back of the room, fastened in a splendid and elegant framework, in the Rennaissance
style, possibly by Arevalo, is a glass case in which are seen the figures of two old women.
The inscription on this reads: "Our Lady of Peace and Prosperous Voyages, who is
worshipped in Antipolo, visiting in the disguise of a beggar the holy and renowned Capitana
Inez, during her sickness." While the work reveals little taste or art, yet it possesses in
compensation an extreme realism, for to judge from the yellow and bluish tints of her face
the sick woman seems to be already a decaying corpse, and the glasses and the other
objects, accompaniments of long illness, are so minutely reproduced that even their
contents may be distinguished. In looking at these pictures, which excite the appetite and
inspire gay bucolic ideas, one may perhaps be led to think that the malicious host is well
acquainted with the characters of the majority of those who are to sit at his table and that,
in order to conceal his own way of thinking, he has hung from the ceiling costly Chinese
lanterns; bird-cages without birds; red, green, and blue globes of frosted glass; fade air-
plants; and dried and inflated fishes, which they call botetes. The view is closed on the side
of the river by curious wooden arches, half Chinese and half European, affording glimpses
of the terrace with arbors and bowers faintly lighted by paper lanterns of many colors.
In the sala, among massive mirrors and gleaming chandeliers, the guests are assembled.
Here, on a raised platform, stands a piano of great price, which tonight has the additional
virtue of not being played upon. Here, hanging on the wall, is an oil-painting of a handsome
man in full dress, rigid, erect, straight; say, "Ahem! See how well dressed and how dignified
I am!" The furnishings of the the tasseled cane he holds in his stiff, ring covered fingers-the
whole the house would consider not so much the comfort and health of his guests as his
room are elegant and perhaps uncomfortable and unhealthful, since the master own
ostentation, "A terrible thing is dysentery," he would say to them, "but you are
sitting in European chairs and that is something you don't find every day."

This room is almost filled with people, the men being separated from the of Filipino and
Spanish maidens, who, when they open their mouths to yawn, women as in synagogues
and catholic churches. The women consist of a number instantly cover them with their fans
and who murmur only a few words to each other, any conversation ventured upon dying
out in monosyllables like the sounds heard in a house at night, sounds made by the rats and
lizards. It is perhaps the different likenesses of Our Lady hanging on the walls that force
them to silence and a religious demeanor or is it that the women here are an exception?
A cousin of Capitan Tiago, a sweet-faced old woman, who speaks Spanish quite badly, is the
only one receiving the ladies. To offer to the Spanish ladies a plate of cigars and buyos, to
extend her hand to her countrywomen to be kissed, exactly as the friars do, -- this is the
sum of her courtesy, her policy. The poor old lady soon became bored, and taking
advantage of the noise of a plate breaking, rushed precipitately away, muttering, Jesus! Just
wait, you rascals! And failed to reappear.
The men, for their part, are making more of a stir. Some cadets in one corner are
conversing in a lively manner but in low tones, looking around now and then to point out
different persons in the room while they laugh more or less openly among themselves. In
contrast, two foreigners dressed in white are promenading silently from one end of the
room to the other with their hands crossed behind their backs, like the bored passengers
on the deck of the ship. All the interest and the great animation proceed from a group
composed of two priests, two civilians, and a soldier who are seated around a small table
on which are seen bottles of wine and English biscuits.
The soldier, a tall, elderly lieutenant with an austere countenance—a Du of Alva straggling
behind in the roster of the Civil guard-talks little, but in a harsh, curt way. One of the
priests, a youthful Dominican friar, handsome, graceful, polished as the gold-mounted
eyeglasses he wears, maintains a premature gravity. He is the curate of Binondo and has
been in former years a professor in the college of San Juan de Letran, where he enjoyed the
reputation of being a consummate dialectician, so much so that in the days when the sons
of Guzman still dared to match themselves in subtleties with laymen, the able disputant B.
de Luna had never been able either to catch or to confuse him, the distinctions made by
Padre Sibyla leaving his opponent in the situation of a fisherman who tries to catch eels
with a lasso. The Dominican says little, appearing to weigh his words. Quite in contrast, the
other priest, a Franciscan, talks much and gesticulates more. In spite of the fact that his hair
is beginning to turn gray, he seems to be preserving well his robust constitution, while his
regular features, his rather disquieting glance, his wide jaws and herculean frame give him
the of a Roman noble in disguise and make us involuntarily recall one of those three monks
of whom Heine tells in his "Gods in Exile," who at the September equinox in the Tyrol used
to cross a lake at midnight and each time place in the hand of the poor boatman a silver
piece, cold as ice, which left him full of terror. However, Padre Damaso, is not so mysterious
as they were. He is full of merriment, and if the tone of his voice is rough like that of a man
who has had occasion to correct himself and who believes that whatever he says is holy and
above improvement, still his frank, merry laugh wipes out this agreeable impression and
even obliges us to pardon his showing to the room bare feet and hairy legs that would
make the fortune of a Mendieta in the Quiapo fairs.

One of the civilians is a very small man with a black beard, the only thing notable about him
being his nose, which, to judge from its size, ought not to belong to him. The other is a
rubicund youth, who seems to have arrived but recently in the country. With him the
Franciscan is carrying on a lively discussion.
"You'll see," the friar was saying, "when you've been here a few months you'll be convinced
of what I say. It's one thing to govern in Madrid and another to live in the Philippines."
"But--" "I, for example," continued Padre Damaso, raising his voice still higher to prevent
the other from speaking, "I for example, who can look back over twenty- three years of
bananas and morisqueta, know whereof I speak. Don't come at me with theories and fine
speeches, for I know the Indian. Mark well that the moment I arrived in the country I was
assigned to a toxin, small it is true, but especially devoted to agriculture. I didn't understand
Tagalog very well then, but I was, soon confessing the women, and we understood one
another and they came to like me so well that three years later, when I was transferred to
another and larger town, made vacant by the death of the native curate, all fell to weeping,
they heaped gifts upon me, they escorted me with music-"
"But that only goes to show--"
"Wait, wait! Don't be so hasty! My successor remained a shorter time,

and when he left he had more attendance, more tears, and more music. Yet t had been
more given to whipping and had raised the fees in the parish to almo double
But you will allow me -"
"But that isn't all I stayed in the town of San Diego twenty years and it has been only a few
months since I left it."
Here he showed signs of chagrin.
Twenty years, no one can deny, are more than sufficient to get acquainted with a town. San
Diego has a population of six thousand souls and knew every inhabitant as well as if I had
been his mother and wet-nurse. I knew in which foot this one was lame, where the shoe
pinched that one, who was courting that girl, what affairs she had had and with whom, who
was the real father of the child, and so on- for I was the confessor of every last one, and
they took care not to fail in their duty. Our host, Santiago, will tell you whether I am
speaking the truth, for he has a lot of land there and that was where we first became
friends, Well then, you may see what the Indian is: when I left I was escorted by only a few
old women and some of the tertiary brethren-and that after I had been there twenty
years!"
-
"But I don't see what that has to do with the abolition of the tobacco monopoly ventured
the rubicund youth, taking advantage of the Franciscan's pausing to drink a glass of sherry
Padre Damaso was so greatly surprised that he nearly let his glass fall. He remained for a
moment staring fixedly at the young man.
"What? How's that?" he was finally able to exclaim in great wonderment. "Is it possible that
you don't see it as clear as day? Don't you see my son, that all this proves plainly that the
reforms of the ministers are irrational?"
It was now the youth's turn to look perplexed. The lieutenant wrinkled his eyebrows a little
more and the small man nodded toward Padre Damaso equivocally. The Dominican
contented himself with almost turning his back on the whole group.
"Do you really believe so?" the young man at length asked with great seriousness, as he
looked at the friar with curiosity.
"Do I believe so? As I believe the Gospel! The Indian is so indolent!"
"Ah pardon me for interrupting you," said the young man, lowering his voice and drawing
his chair a little closer, "but you have said something that awakens all my interest. Does this
indolence actually, naturally, exist among the natives or is there some truth in what a
foreign traveler says: that with this indolence we excuse our own, as well as our
backwardness and our colonial System

He referred to other colonies whose inhabitants belong to the same

"Bah, jealousy! Ask Señor Laruja, who also knows this country. Ask him if there is any equal
to the ignorance and indolence of the Indian,"
"It's true", affirmed the little man, who was referred to as Señor Laruja. "In no part of the
world can you find any one more indolent than the Indian, in no part
of the world"
"Nor more vicious, nor more ungrateful!"
"Nor more unmannerly!"
The rubicund youth began to glance about nervously. "Gentlemen," he whispered, "I
believe that we are in the house of an Indian. Those young ladies--"
"Bah, don't be so apprehensive! Santiago doesn't consider himself an Indian and besides,
he's not here. And what if he were! These are the nonsensical ideas of the newcomers. Let
a few months pass and you will change your opinion, after you have attended a lot of
fiestas and bailoehan, slept on cots, and eaten your fill of tinola."
"Ah, is this thing you call tinola a variety of lotus which makes people - er-forgetful?"
"Nothing of the kind!" exclaimed Padre Damaso with a smile. You're getting absurd. Tinola
is a stew of chicken and squash. How long has it been since you got here?"
"Four days," responded the youth, rather offended.
"Have you come as a government employee?"
"No sir, I've come at my own expense to study the country."
"Man, what a rare bird!" exclaimed Padre Damaso, staring at him with curiosity. "To come
at one's own expense and for such foolishness! What a wonder! When there are so many
books! And with two fingerbreadths of forehead! Many have written books as big as that!
With two fingerbreadths of forehead!"
The Dominican here brusquely broke in upon the conversation. "Did your Reverence, Padre
Damaso, say that you had been twenty years in the town of San Diego and that you had left
it? Wasn't your Reverence satisfied with the town?"
At this question, which was put in a very natural and almost negligent tone, Padre Damaso
suddenly lost all his merriment and stopped laughing. "No!" he grunted dryly, and let
himself back heavily against the back of his chair.
The Dominican went on in a still more indifferent tone. "It must be painful to leave a town
where one has been for twenty years and which he knows as well as the clothes he wears. I
certainly was sorry to leave Camiling and that after I had been there only a few months. But
my superiors did it for the good of the Padre Damaso, for the first time that evening,
seemed to be thoughtful. Suddenly he brought his fist down on the arm of his chair and
with: heavy breath exclaimed: "Either Religion is a fact or it is not! That is, either curates are
free or they are not! The country is going to ruin, it is lost!" And again
he struck the arm of his chair.

Everybody in the sala turned toward the group with astonished looks. The Dominican raised
his head to stare at the Franciscan from under his glasses. The two foreigners paused a
moment, stared with an expression of mingled severity and reproof, then immediately
continued their promenade.
"He's in a bad humor because you haven't treated him with deference," murmured Señor
Laruja into the ear of the rubicund youth.
"What does your Reverence mean? What's the trouble?" inquired the Dominican and the
lieutenant at the same time, but in different tones.
"That's why so many calamities come! The ruling powers support heretics against the
ministers of God!" continued the Franciscan, raising his heavy fists. "What do you mean?"
again inquired the frowning lieutenant, half rising
from his chair.
"What do I mean?" repeated Padre Damaso, raising his voice and facing the lieutenant. "I'll
tell you what I mean. I, yes I, mean to say that when a priest throws out of his cemetery the
corpse of a heretic, no one, not even the King, himself, has any right to interfere and much
less to impose any punishment! But a little General-a little General Calamity--
33
"Padre, his Excellency is the Vice-Regal Patron!" shouted the soldier, rising to his feet.
"Excellency! Vice-Regal Patron! What of that!" retorted the Franciscan, also rising. "In other
times he would have been dragged down a staircase as the religious orders once did with
the impious Governor Bustamante. Those were indeed the days of faith."
"I warn you that I can't permit this! His excellency represents his Majesty the King!"
"King or rook! What difference that does make? For us there is no King other than the
legitimate--"
"Halt!" shouted the lieutenant in a threatening tone, as if he were commanding his soldiers.
"Either you withdraw what you have said or tomorrow I will report it to his excellency!"
"Go ahead-right now-go on!" was the sarcastic rejoinder of Padi Damaso as he approached
the officer with clenched fists. "Do you think tha because I wear the cloth, I'm afraid? Go
now, while I can lend you my carriage

The dispute was taking a ludicrous turn, but fortunately the Dominican intervened.
"Gentlemen," he began in a very authoritative tone and with the nasal that so well
becomes the friars, "you must not confuse things or seek for offenses where there are
none. We must distinguish in the words of Padre Damaso those of the man from those of
the priests. The latter, as such, per se, can never give offense, because they spring from
absolute truth, while in those of the man there is secondary distinction to be made: those
which he utters ab irato, those which he utters ex ore, but not in corde, and those which he
does utter in corde. These last are the only ones that can really offend, and only according
to whether they pre-existed as a motive in mente, or arouse solely per accidents in the heat
of the discussion, if there really exist--"
"But I, by accidents and for my own part, understand his motives, Padre Sibyla," broke in
the old soldier, who saw himself about to be entangled in so many distinctions that he
feared lest he might still be held to blame. "I understand the motives about which your
Reverence is going to make distinctions. During the absence of Padre Damaso from San
Diego, his coadjutor buried the body of an extremely worthy individual-yes sir, extremely
worthy, for I had had dealings with him many times and had been entertained in his house.
What if he never went to confession, what does that matter? Neither do I go to confession!
But to say that he committed suicide is a lie, a slander! A man such as he was, who has a
son upon whom he centers his affection and hopes, a man who has faith in God, who
recognizes his duties to society, a just and an honorable man, does not commit suicide..
This much I will say and will refrain from expressing the rest of my thoughts here, so please
your Reverence."
Then, turning his back from the Franciscan, he went on: "Now then, this priest on his return
to the town, after maltreating the poor coadjutor, had the corpse dug up and taken away
from the cemetery to be buried I don't know where. The people of San Diego were
cowardly enough not to protest, although it is true that few knew of the outrage. The dead
man had no relatives there and his only son was in Europe. But his Excellency learned of the
affair as he is an upright man asked for some punishment-and Padre Damaso was
transferred to a better town. That's all there is to it. Now your Reverence can make your
distinctions."
So saying, he withdrew from the group.
"I'm sorry that I inadvertently brought up so delicate a subject," said Padre Sibyla sadly. But
after all, if there has been a gain in the change of towns-
"How is there be a gain? And what of all the things that are lost in moving, the letters, and
the - and everything that is mislaid?" interrupted Padre Damaso, stammering in the vain
effort to control his anger.
Little by little the party resumed its former tranquility. Other guests had Come in, among
them a lame old Spaniard of mild and inoffensive aspect leaning on the arm of an elderly
Filipina, who was resplendent in frizzes and paint and a European gown. The group
welcomed them heartily, and Doctor De Espadaña and his señora, the Doctora Doña
Victorina, took their seats among our acquaintances Some newspaper reporters and
shopkeepers greeted one another and moved
about aimlessly without knowing just what to do.
"But can you tell me, Señor Laruja, what kind of man our host is?
inquired the rubicund youth. "I haven't been introduced to him yet."
"They say that he has gone out. I haven't seen him either."
"There's no need of introductions here," volunteered Padre Damaso
"Santiago is made of the right stuff."
"No, he's not the man who invented gunpowder," added Laruja.
"You too Señor Laruja," exclaimed Doña Victorina in mild reproach, as she fanned herself.
"How could the poor man invent gunpowder if, as is said, the Chinese invented it centuries
ago?"
"The Chinese! Are you crazy?" cried Padre Damaso. "Out with you! A Franciscan, one of my
Order, Padre What-do-you-call-him Savalls, invented it in the-ah seventh century!"
"A Franciscan? Well, he must have been a missionary in China, that Padre Savalls," replied
the lady, who did not thus easily part from her beliefs.
at her.
"Schwartz, perhaps you mean, señora," said Padre Sibyla, without looking
"I don't know. Padre Damaso said a Franciscan and I was only repeating." "Well, Savalls or
Chevas, what does it matter? The difference of a letter doesn't make him a China man,"
replied the Franciscan in bad humor.
"And in the fourteenth century, not the seventh," added the Dominican in a tone of
correction, as if to mortify the pride of the other friar.
"Well, neither does a century more or less make him a Dominican." "Don't get angry, your
Reverence," admonished Padre Sibyla, smiling. "So much the better that he did invent it so
as to save his brethren the trouble."
"And did you say, Padre Sibyla, that it was in the fourteenth century?" asked Doña Victorina
with great interest. "Was that before or after Christ?"
Fortunately for the individual questioned, two persons entered the room.

It was not two beautiful and well-gowned young women that attracted attention of all,
even including Padre Sibyla, nor was it his Excellency the Captain- General with his staff,
that the lieutenant should start from his abstraction and take a couple of steps forward, or
that Padre Damaso should look as if turned to
stone;
it was simply the original of the oil-painting leading by the hand a young man
dressed in deep mourning.
"Good evening, gentlemen! Good evening, Padre!" were the greetings of Capitan Tiago as
he kissed the hands of the priests, who forgot to bestow upon him their benediction. The
Dominican had taken off his glasses to stare at the newly arrived youth, while Padre
Damaso was pale and unnaturally wide-eyed.
"I have the honor of presenting to you Don Crisostomo Ibarra, the son of my deceased
friend," went on Capitan Tiago. "The young gentleman has just arrived from Europe and I
went to meet him."
At the mention of the name, exclamations were heard. The lieutenant forgot to pay his
respects to his host and approached the young man, looking him over from head to foot.
The young man himself at that moment was exchanging the conventional greetings with all
in the group, nor did there seem to be anything extraordinary about him except his
mourning garments in the center of that brilliantly lighted room. Yet in spite of them his
remarkable stature, his features, and his movements breathed forth an air of healthy
youthfulness in which both body and mind had equally developed. There might have been
noticed in his frank, pleasant face some faint traces of Spanish blood showing through a
beautiful brown color, slightly flushed at the cheeks as a result perhaps of his residence in
cold countries.
"What!" he exclaimed with joyful surprise, "the curate of my native town! Padre Damaso,
my father's intimate friend!"
Every look in the room was directed toward the Franciscan, who made no
movement.
"Pardon me, perhaps I'm mistaken," added Ibarra, embarrassed.
"You are not mistaken," the friar was at last able to articulate in a changed voice, "but your
father was never an intimate friend of mine."
Ibarra slowly withdrew his extended hand, looking greatly surprised, and turned to
encounter the gloomy gaze of the lieutenant fixed on him.
"Young man, are you the son of Don Rafael Ibarra?" he asked.
The youth bowed. Padre Damaso partly rose in his chair and stared fixedly at the
lieutenant.

"Welcome back to your country! And may you be happier in it than your
father was!" exclaimed the officer in a trembling voice. "I knew him well and can say that he
was one of the worthiest and most honorable men in the Philippines."
"Sir," replied Ibarra, deeply moved, "the praise you bestow upon my father removes my
doubts about the manner of his death, of which 1, his son, am yet
ignorant."
The eyes of the old soldier filled with tears and turning away hastily he withdrew. The
young man thus found himself lone in the center of the room. His host having disappeared,
he saw no one who might introduce him to the young ladies, many of whom were watching
him with interest. After a few moments of hesitation, he started toward them in a simple
and natural manner.
"Allow me," he said, "to overstep the rules of strict etiquette. It has been seven years since I
have been in my own country and upon returning to it, I cannot suppress my admiration
and refrain from paying my respects to its most precious ornaments, the ladies."
But as none of them ventured a reply, he found himself obliged to retire. He then turned
toward a group of men who, upon seeing him approach, arranged themselves in a
semicircle.
"Gentlemen," he addressed them, "it is a custom in Germany, when a stranger finds himself
at a function and there is no one to introduce him to those present, that he gives his name
and so introduce himself. Allow me to adopt this usage here, not to introduce foreign
customs when our own are so beautiful, but because I find myself driven to it by necessity. I
have already paid my respects to the skies and to the ladies of my native land; now I wish to
greet its citizens, my fellow countrymen. Gentlemen, my name is Juan Crisostomo Ibarra y
Magsalin."
The others gave their names, more or less obscure, and unimportant here. "My name is A
----," said one youth dryly, as he made a slight bow.
"Then I have the honor of addressing the poet whose works have done so much to keep up
my enthusiasm for my native land. It is said that you do not write any more, but I could not
learn the reason."
"The reason? Because one does not seek inspiration in order to debate himself and lie. One
writer has been imprisoned for having put a very obvious truth into verse. They may have
called me a poet but they sha'n't call me a fool."
"And may I enquire what that truth was?"
"He said that the lion's son is also a lion. He came very near to being exiled for it," replied
the strange youth, moving away from the group.
A man with a smiling face, dressed in the fashion of the natives of the country, with
diamond studs in his shirt-bosom came up at that moment almost running. He went directly
to Ibarra and grasped his hand, saying, "Señor Ibarra, I've been eager to make your
acquaintance. Capitan Tiago is a friend of mine and I knew your respected father. I am
known as Capitan Tinong and live in Tondo, where you will always be welcome. I hope that
you will honor me with a visit. Come and dine with us tomorrow." He smiled and rubbed his
hands.
"Thank you," replied Ibarra, warmly, charmed with such amiability, "but tomorrow morning
I must leave for San Diego."
"How unfortunate! Then it will be in your return."
"Dinner is served!" announced a waiter from the café La Campana, and the guests began to
file out toward the table, the women, especially the Filipinas, with great hesitation.
Source: Jose Rizal (2018). The social cancer complete english version of Noli Me
Yangere. Isa-Jecho Publishing Inc. Kalayaan Avenue, Diliman, Quezon City.

Chapter 3- The Dinner

Padre Sibyla seemed to be very content as he moved along tranquilly with the look of
disdain no longer playing about his thin, refined lips. He condescended to speak to the lame
doctor, De Espadaña, who answered monosyllables only, as he was somewhat of a
stutterer. The Franciscan was in a frightful humor, kicking at the chairs and even elbowing a
cadet
as
vivaciously, praising the magnificence of the table. Doña Victorina, however, was just
turning up her nose in disdain when she suddenly became as furious trampled serpent-the
lieutenant had stepped on the train of her gown. "But, don't you have any eyes?" she
demanded.
"Yes Señora, two better than yours, but the fact is that I was admiring your frizzes retorted
the rather ungallant soldier as he moved away from her.
As if from instinct the two friars both started toward the head of the table, perhaps from
habit, and then, as might have been expected, the same thing happened that occurs with
the competitors for a university position, who openly exalt the qualifications and
superiority of their opponents, later giving to understand that just the contrary was meant,
and who murmur and grumble when they do not receive the appointment.
For you Padre Damaso."
"For you Padre Sibyla."
"An older friend of the family-confessor of the deceased lady-age, dignity. and authority-"
"Not so very old either! On the other hand, you are the curate of the district," replied Padre
Damaso sourly without taking his hand from the back of the chair
"Since you command it, I obey," concluded Padre Sibyla, disposing himself to take the seat.
"I don't command it!" protested the Franciscan. "I don't command it!"
Padre Sibyla was about to seat himself without paying any more attention to these protests
when his eyes happened to encounter those of the lieutenant According to clerical opinion
in the Philippines, the highest secular official is inferior to a friar-cook: cedant arma togae,
said Cicero in the Senate cedant arma cottae, say the friars in the Philippines.
But Padre Sibyla was a well-breed person, so he said "Lieutenant, here we are in the world
and not in the church. The seat of honor belongs to you." To judge from the tone of his
voice, however, even in the world it really did belong to him and the lieutenant, either to
keep out of trouble or to avoid sitting between two friars

None of the claimants had given a thought to their host. Ibarra noticed him watching the
scene with a smile of satisfaction.
Lucullus.
"How's this, Don Santiago, aren't you going to sit down with us?" But all the seats were
occupied: Lucullus was not to sup in the house of
"Sit still, don't get up!" said Capitan Tiago, placing his hand on the young man's shoulder.
"This fiesta is for the special purpose of giving thanks to the Virgin for your safe arrival. Oy!
Bring on the tinola! I ordered tinola as you doubtless have not tasted any for so long a
time."
A large steaming tureen was brought in. The Dominican, after muttering the benedicite, to
which scarcely any one knew how to respond, began to serve the contents. But whether
from carelessness or other cause, Padre Damaso received a plate in which a bare neck and
a tough wing of chicken floated about in a large quantity of soup amid lumps of squash,
while the others were eating legs and breasts, especially Ibarra, to whose lot fell the second
joints. Observing all this, the Franciscan mashed up some pieces of squash, barely tasted
the soup, dropped his spoon noisily, and roughly pushed his plate away. The Dominican was
very busy talking to the rubicund youth.
"How long have you been away from the country?" Laruja asked Ibarra. "Almost seven
years."
"Then you have probably forgotten all about it."
"Quite the contrary. Even if my country does not seem to have forgotten me, I have always
thought about it."
"How do you mean that it has forgotten you?" inquired the rubicund youth.
"I mean that it has been a year since I have received any news from here, so that I find
myself a stranger who does not yet know how and when his father died."
This statement drew a sudden exclamation from the lieutenant.
"And where were you that you didn't telegraph?" asked Doña Victorina. "When we were
married, we telegraphed to the Peninsula."
"Señora, for the past two years I have been in the northern part of Europe, in Germany and
Russian Poland."
Doctor De Espadaña, who until now had not ventured upon any conversation, thought this
a good opportunity to say something. "I-I knew in S- spain a P-pole from W-warsaw, c-called
S-stadtnitzki, if I r-remember c- correctly. P-perhaps you s-saw him?" he asked timidly and
almost blushingly.

"It's very likely," answered Ibarra in a friendly manner, "but just at this "B-but you c-
couldn't c-confused him with anyone else," went on the
moment I don't recall him.
Doctor, taking courage. "He was r-ruddy as gold and t-talked Spanish
b-badly."
very
only
"Those are good clues, but unfortunately while there I talked Spanish
in a few consulates."
"How then did you get along?" asked the wondering Doña Victorina. "The language of the
country served my needs, madam."
"Do you also speak English?" inquired the Dominican, who had been in Hongkong, and who
was a master of pidgin-English, that adulteration of Shakespeare's tongue used by the sons
of the Celestial Empire.
youth.
"I stayed in England a year among people who talked nothing but English." "Which country
of Europe pleased you the most?" asked the rubicund
"After Spain, my second fatherland, any country of free Europe."
"And you who seem to have traveled so much, tell us what do you consider the most
notable thing that you have seen?" inquired Laruja.
Ibarra appeared to reflect. "Notable-- in what way?"
"For example, in regard to the life of the people the social, political, religious life-in general,
in its essential features-as a whole."
Ibarra paused thoughtfully before replying. "Frankly, I like everything in those people,
setting aside the national pride of each one. But before visiting a country, I tried to
familiarize myself with its history, its Exodus, if I may so speak, and afterwards I found
everything quite natural. I have observed that the prosperity or misery of each people is in
direct proportion to its liberties or its prejudices and, accordingly, to the sacrifices or
selfishness of its forefathers."
"And haven't you observed anything more than that?" broke in the Franciscan with a sneer.
Since the beginning of the dinner, he had not uttered a single word, his whole attention
having been taking up, no doubt, with the food. "It wasn't worthwhile to squander your
fortune to learn so trifling a thing. Any schoolboy knows that."
Ibarra was placed in an embarrassing position, and the rest looked from one to the other as
if faring a disagreeable scene. He was about to say, "The dinner is nearly over and his
Reverence is now satiated." But restrained himself and merely remarked to the others,
"Gentlemen, don't be surprised at the familiarity with which our former curate treats me.
He treated me so when I was

a child, and the years seem to make no difference in his Reverence. I appreciate it, too,
because it recalls the days when his Reverence visited our home and honored my father's
table."
The Dominican glanced furtively at the Franciscan, who was trembling visibly. Ibarra
continued as he rose from the table: "Please permit me to retire, since, as I have just
arrived and must go away tomorrow morning, there remain some important matters for me
to attend to. The principal part of the dinner is over and I drink but little wine and seldom
touch cordials. Gentlemen, all for Spain and the Philippines!" Saying this, he drained his
glass, which he had not before touched. The old lieutenant silently followed his example.
"Don't go!" whispered Capitan Tiago. "Maria Clara will be here. Isabel has gone to get her.
The new curate of your town, who is a saint, is also coming."
"I'll be back here tomorrow before going. I have a very important visit to make now." With
this he went away.
Meanwhile the Franciscan had recovered himself. "Do you see?" he said to the rubicund
youth, at the same time flourishing his dessert spoon. "That comes from boastfulness. They
can't stand to have the curate correct them. They even think that they are respectable
persons. It's the evil result of sending young men to Europe. The government ought to
prohibit it."
"And how about the lieutenant?" Doña Victorina chimed in upon the Franciscan, "he didn't
get the frown off his face the whole evening. He did well to leave us so old and still only a
lieutenant!" The lady could not forget the allusion to her frizzes and the trampled ruffles of
her gown.
That night the rubicund youth wrote down, among other things, the following title for a
chapter in his Colonial studies: "Concerning the manner in which the neck and wing of a
chicken in a friar's plate of soup may disturb the merriment of a feast," Among his notes
there appeared these observations: "In the Philippines the most unnecessary person at the
dinner is he who gives it, for they are quite capable of beginning by throwing the host into
the street and then everything will go on smoothly. Under present conditions it would
perhaps be a good thing not to allow the Filipinos to leave the country, and even not to
teach them to read."