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The Reign of Greed. The Reign of Greed. El Filibusterismo. By. José Rizal. 0. (0 Reviews). The Reign of Greed by José Rizal. Published: Pages:  He was the author of Noli Me Tángere, El Filibusterismo, and a number of poems and essays. He was executed on December 30, Read "El Filibusterismo" by Jose Rizal available from Rakuten Kobo. El Filibusterismo ebook by Jose Rizal. Preview . Luna Benamor, in English translation.
I was nudging you with my elbow. Dont you know that hes called the Brown Cardinal? The Brown Cardinal? Or Black Eminence, as you wish. I dont understand.
Richelieu had a Capuchin adviser who was called the Gray Eminence; well, thats what this man is to the General. Thats what Ive heard from a certain person,who always speaks ill of him behind his back and flatters him to his face. Does he also visit Capitan Tiago? From the first day after his arrival, and Im sure that  a certain person looks upon him as a rivalin the inheritance. I believe that hes going to see the General about the question of instruction in Castilian. At that moment Isagani was called away by a servant to his uncle.
On one of the benches at the stern, huddled in among the other passengers, sat a native priest gazing at the landscapes that were successively unfolded to his view. His neighbors made room for him, the men on passing taking off their hats, and the gamblers not daring to set their table near where he was.
He said little, but neither smoked nor assumed arrogant airs, nor did he disdain to mingle with the other men, returning the salutes with courtesy and affability as if he felt much honored and very grateful.
Although advanced in years, with hair almost completely gray, he appeared to be in vigorous health, and even when seated held his body straight and his. He differed from the ordinary native priests, few enough indeed, who at that period served merely as coadjutors or administered some curacies temporarily, in a certain self-possession and gravity, like one who was conscious of his personal dignity and the sacredness of his office.
A superficial examination of his appearance, if not his white hair, revealed at once that he belonged to another epoch, another generation, when the better young men were not afraid to risk their dignity by becoming priests, when the native clergy looked any friar at all in the face, and when their class, not yet degraded and vilified, called for free men and not slaves, superior intelligences and not servile wills.
In his sad and serious features was to be read the serenity of a soul fortified by study and meditation, perhaps tried out by deep moral suffering. This priest was Padre Florentino, Isaganis uncle, and his story is easily told. Scion of a wealthy and influential family of Manila, of agreeable appearance and cheerful disposition, suited to shine in the world, he had never felt any call to the sacerdotal  profession, but by reason of some promises or vows, his mother, after not a few struggles and violent disputes, compelled him to enter the seminary.
She was a great friend of the Archbishop, had a will of iron, and was as inexorable as is every devout woman who believes that she is interpreting the will of God. Vainly the young Florentine offered resistance, vainly he begged, vainly he pleaded his love affairs, even provoking scandals: The Archbishop ordained him, his first mass was celebrated with great pomp, three days were given over to feasting, and his mother died happy and content, leaving him all her fortune.
But in that struggle Florentine received a wound from which he never recovered. Weeks before his first mass the woman he loved, in desperation, married a nobodya blow the rudest he had ever experienced.
He lost his moral energy, life became dull and insupportable. If not his virtue and the respect for his office, that unfortunate love affair saved him from the depths into which the regular orders and secular clergymen both fall in the Philippines.
He devoted himself to his parishioners as a duty, and by inclination to the natural sciences. When the events of seventy-two occurred,4 he feared that the large income his curacy yielded him would attract attention to him, so, desiring peace above everything, he sought and secured his release, living thereafter as a private individual on his patrimonial estate situated on the Pacific coast.
He there adopted his nephew, Isagani, who was reported by the malicious to be his own son by his old sweetheart when she became a widow, and by the more serious and better informed, the natural child of a cousin, a lady in Manila.
Padre Florentino had no recourse but to accept, so he summoned his nephew in order to let him know where he was going, and to charge him not to come near the upper deck while he was there.
If the captain notices you, hell invite you also, and we should then be abusing his kindness. My uncles way! All so that I wont have any reason for talking with Doa Victorina. Natives of Spain; to distinguish them from the Filipinos, i. See Glossary: It was a common saying among the old Filipinos that the Spaniards white men were fire activity , while they themselves were water passivity. The liberal demonstrations in Manila, and the mutiny in the Cavite Arsenal, resulting in the garroting of the three native priests to whom this work was dedicated: When Padre Florentino joined the group above, the bad humor provoked by the previous discussion had entirely disappeared.
Perhaps their spirits had been raised by the attractive houses of the town of Pasig, or the glasses of sherry they had drunk in preparation for the coming meal, or the prospect of a good breakfast. Whatever the cause, the fact was that they were all laughing and joking, even including the lean Franciscan, although he made little noise and his smiles looked like death-grins.
Evil times, evil times! Get out, dont say that, Vice-Rector! In Hongkong youre doing a fine business, putting up every building thatha, ha! Tut, tut! Were not complaining, and we havent either estates or banking-houses.
You know that my Indians are beginning to haggle over the fees and to flash schedules on me! Just look how they cite schedules to me now, and none other than those of the Archbishop Basilio Sancho,1 as if from his time  up to now prices had not risen.
Ha, ha, ha! Why should a baptism cost less than a chicken? But I play the deaf man, collect what I can, and never complain. Were not avaricious, are we, Padre Salvi?
At that moment Simouns head appeared above the hatchway. Well, whereve you been keeping yourself? Don Custodio called to him, having forgotten all about their dispute. Youre missing the prettiest part of the trip! As for legends, the Pasig has a few, observed the captain, who did not relish any depreciation of the river where he navigated and earned his livelihood. Here you have that of Malapad-nabato, a rock sacred before the coming of the Spaniards as the abode of spirits.
Afterwards, when the superstition had been dissipated and the rock profaned, it was converted into a nest of tulisanes, since from its crest they easily captured the luckless bankas, which had to contend against both the currents and men. Later, in our time, in spite of human interference, there are still told stories about wrecked bankas, and if on rounding it I didnt steer with my six senses, Id be smashed against its sides.
Then you have another legend, that of Doa Jeronimas cave, which Padre Florentino can relate to you. Everybody knows that, remarked Padre Sibyla disdainfully.
But neither Simoun, nor Ben-Zayb, nor Padre Irene, nor Padre Camorra knew it, so they begged for the story, some in jest and others from genuine curiosity. The priest, adopting the tone of burlesque with which some had made their request, began like an old tutor relating a story to children.
Once upon a time there was a student who had made a promise of marriage to a young woman in his country,  but it seems that he failed to remember her. She waited for him faithfully year after year, her youth passed, she grew into middle age, and then one day she heard a report that her old sweetheart was the Archbishop of Manila. Disguising herself as a man, she came round the Cape and presented herself before his grace, demanding the fulfilment of his promise.
What she asked was of course impossible, so the Archbishop ordered the preparation of the cave that you may have noticed with its entrance covered and decorated with a curtain of vines. There she lived and died and there she is buried. The legend states that Doa Jeronima was so fat that she had to turn sidewise to get into it. Her fame as an enchantress sprung from her custom of throwing into the river the silver dishes which she used in the sumptuous banquets that were attended by crowds of gentlemen.
A net was spread under the water to hold the dishes and thus they were cleaned. It hasnt been twenty years since the river washed the very entrance of the cave, but it has gradually been receding, just as the memory of her is dying out among the people.
A beautiful legend! Im going to write an article about it. Its sentimental! Doa Victorina thought of dwelling in such a cave and was about to say so, when Simoun took the floor instead.
But whats your opinion about that, Padre Salvi? Doesnt it seem to you as though his Grace, instead of giving her a cave, ought to have placed her in a nunneryin St. Claras, for example? What do you say?
There was a start of surprise on Padre Sibylas part to notice that Padre Salvi shuddered and looked askance at Simoun. Because its not a very gallant act, continued Simoun quite naturally, to give a rocky cliff as a home to one with whose hopes we have trifled. Its hardly religious to expose her thus to temptation, in a cave on the banks of a riverit smacks of nymphs and dryads.
It would  have been more gallant, more pious, more romantic, more in keeping with the customs of this country, to shut her up in St. Claras, like a new Eloise, in order to visit and console her from time to time.
I neither can nor should pass judgment upon the conduct of archbishops, replied the Franciscan sourly. But you, who are the ecclesiastical governor, acting in the place of our Archbishop, what would you do if such a case should arise?
Padre Salvi shrugged his shoulders and calmly responded, Its not worth while thinking about what cant happen. But speaking of legends, dont overlook the most beautiful, since it is the truest: Nicholas, the ruins of whose church you may have noticed.
Im going to relate it to Seor Simoun, as he probably hasnt heard it. It seems that formerly the river, as well as the lake, was infested with caymans, so huge and voracious that they attacked bankas and upset them with a slap of the tail.
Our chronicles relate that one day an infidel Chinaman, who up to that time had refused to be converted, was passing in front of the church, when suddenly the devil presented himself to him in the form of a cayman and upset the banka, in order to devour him and carry him off to hell.
Inspired by God, the Chinaman at that moment called upon St. Nicholas and instantly the cayman was changed into a stone. The old people say that in their time the monster could easily be recognized in the pieces of stone that were left, and, for my part, I can assure you that I have clearly made out the head, to judge from which the monster must have been enormously large.
Marvelous, a marvelous legend! Its good for an articlethe description of the monster, the terror of the Chinaman, the waters of the river, the bamboo brakes.
Also, itll do for a study of comparative religions; because, look you, an infidel Chinaman in great distress invoked exactly the saint that he must know only by hearsay and in whom he did not believe. Here theres  no room for the proverb that a known evil is preferable to an unknown good. If I should find myself in China and get caught in such a difficulty, I would invoke the obscurest saint in the calendar before Confucius or Buddha.
Whether this is due to the manifest superiority of Catholicism or to the inconsequential and illogical inconsistency in the brains of the yellow race, a profound study of anthropology alone will be able to elucidate.
Ben-Zayb had adopted the tone of a lecturer and was describing circles in the air with his forefinger, priding himself on his imagination, which from the most insignificant facts could deduce so many applications and inferences.
But noticing that Simoun was preoccupied and thinking that he was pondering over what he, Ben-Zayb, had just said, he inquired what the jeweler was meditating about.
About two very important questions, answered Simoun; two questions that you might add to your article. First, what may have become of the devil on seeing himself suddenly confined within a stone?
Did he escape? Did he stay there?
The Reign of Greed: A Complete English Version of El Filibusterismo
Was he crushed? Second, if the petrified animals that I have seen in various European museums may not have been the victims of some antediluvian saint?
The tone in which the jeweler spoke was so serious, while he rested his forehead on the tip of his forefinger in an attitude of deep meditation, that Padre Camorra responded very gravely, Who knows, who knows? Since were busy with legends and are now entering the lake, remarked Padre Sibyla, the captain must know many At that moment the steamer crossed the bar and the panorama spread out before their eyes was so truly magnificent that all were impressed.
In front extended the beautiful lake bordered by green shores and blue mountains, like a huge mirror, framed in emeralds and sapphires, reflecting the sky in its glass. On the right were spread out the low shores, forming bays with graceful curves, and dim there in the distance the crags of Sungay, while in the  background rose Makiling, imposing and majestic, crowned with fleecy clouds.
On the left lay Talim Island with its curious sweep of hills.
A fresh breeze rippled over the wide plain of water. By the way, captain, said Ben-Zayb, turning around, do you know in what part of the lake a certain Guevara, Navarra, or Ibarra, was killed? The group looked toward the captain, with the exception of Simoun, who had turned away his head as though to look for something on the shore.
Ah, yes! Where, captain? Did he leave any tracks in the water? The good captain winked several times, an indication that he was annoyed, but reading the request in the eyes of all, took a few steps toward the bow and scanned the shore.
Look over there, he said in a scarcely audible voice, after making sure that no strangers were near.
According to the officer who conducted the pursuit, Ibarra, upon finding himself surrounded, jumped out of his banka there near the Kinabutasan2 and, swimming under water, covered all that distance of more than two miles, saluted by bullets every time that he raised his head to breathe. Over yonder is where they lost track of him, and a little farther on near the shore they discovered something like the color of blood. And now I think of it, its just thirteen years, day for day, since this happened.
So that his corpse began Ben-Zayb.
Went to join his fathers, replied Padre Sibyla. Wasnt he also another filibuster, Padre Salvi? Thats what might be called cheap funerals, Padre Camorra, eh? But whats the matter with you, Seor Simoun? Are you seasickan old traveler like you? On such a drop of water as this! I want to tell you, broke in the captain, who had come to hold all those places in great affection, that you cant call this a drop of water. Its larger than any lake in Switzerland and all those in Spain put together.
The Reign of Greed Complete English Version of 'El Filibusterismo'
Ive seen old sailors who got seasick here. Between this island Talim and Halahala point extends a strait a mile wide and a league long, which the Indians call Kinabutasan, a name that in their language means place that was cleft open; from which it is inferred that in other times the island was joined to the mainland and was separated from it by some severe earthquake, thus leaving this strait: Fray Martinez de Zuigas Estadismo Cabesang Tales Those who have read the first part of this story will perhaps remember an old wood-cutter who lived in the depths of the forest.
He no longer hunts or cuts firewood, for his fortunes have improved and he works only at making brooms. His son Tales abbreviation of Telesforo had worked at first on shares on the lands of a capitalist, but later, having become the owner of two carabaos and several hundred pesos, determined to work on his own account, aided by his father, his wife, and his three children.
So they cut down and cleared away some thick woods which were situated on the borders of the town and which they believed belonged to no one. During the labors of cleaning and cultivating the new land, the whole family fell ill with malaria and the mother died, along with the eldest daughter, Lucia, in the flower of her age. This, which was the natural consequence of breaking up new soil infested with various kinds of bacteria, they attributed to the anger of the woodland spirit, so they were resigned and went on with their labor, believing him pacified.
But when they began to harvest their first crop a religious corporation, which owned land in the neighboring town, laid claim to the fields, alleging that they fell within their boundaries, and to.
However, the administrator of the religious order left to them, for humanitys sake, the usufruct of the land on condition that they pay a small sum annuallya mere bagatelle, twenty or thirty pesos. Tales, as peaceful a man as could be found, was as much opposed to lawsuits as any one and more submissive to the friars than most people; so, in order not to smash a palyok against a kawali as he said, for to him the friars were iron pots and he a clay jar , he had the weakness to yield to their claim, remembering that he did not know Spanish and had no money to pay lawyers.
Besides, Tandang Selo said to him, Patience! You would spend more in one year of litigation than in ten years of paying what the white padres demand. And perhaps theyll pay you back in masses!
Pretend that those thirty pesos had been lost in gambling or had fallen into the water and been swallowed by a cayman. The harvest was abundant and sold well, so Tales planned to build a wooden house in the barrio of Sagpang, of the town of Tiani, which adjoined San Diego. Another year passed, bringing another good crop, and for this reason the friars raised the rent to fifty pesos, which Tales paid in order not to quarrel and because he expected to sell his sugar at a good price.
Pretend that the cayman has grown some, old Selo consoled him. That year he at last saw his dream realized: The father and grandfather then thought of providing some education for the two children, especially the daughter Juliana, or Juli, as they called her, for she gave promise of being accomplished and beautiful.
A boy who was a friend of the family, Basilio, was studying in Manila, and he was of as lowly origin as they. But this dream seemed destined not to be realized. The first care the community took when they saw the family prospering was to appoint as cabeza de barangay its most  industrious member, which left only Tano, the son, who was only fourteen years old.
The father was therefore called Cabesang Tales and had to order a sack coat, download a felt hat, and prepare to spend his money.
In order to avoid any quarrel with the curate or the government, he settled from his own pocket the shortages in the tax-lists, paying for those who had died or moved away, and he lost considerable time in making the collections and on his trips to the capital. Pretend that the caymans relatives have joined him, advised Tandang Selo, smiling placidly. Next year youll put on a long skirt and go to Manila to study like the young ladies of the town, Cabesang Tales told his daughter every time he heard her talking of Basilios progress.
But that next year did not come, and in its stead there was another increase in the rent. Cabesang Tales became serious and scratched his head. The clay jar was giving up all its rice to the iron pot. When the rent had risen to two hundred pesos, Tales was not content with scratching his head and sighing; he murmured and protested. The friar-administrator then told him that if he could not pay, some one else would be assigned to cultivate that landmany who desired it had offered themselves.
He thought at first that the friar was joking, but the friar was talking seriously, and indicated a servant of his to take possession of the land.
Poor Tales turned pale, he felt a buzzing in his ears, he saw in the red mist that rose before his eyes his wife and daughter, pallid, emaciated, dying, victims of the intermittent feversthen he saw the thick forest converted into productive fields, he saw the stream of sweat watering its furrows, he saw himself plowing under the hot sun, bruising his feet against the stones and roots, while this friar had been driving about in his carriage with the wretch who was to get the land following like a slave behind his master.
No, a thousand  times, no! First let the fields sink into the depths of the earth and bury them all! Who was this intruder that he should have any right to his land?
Had he brought from his own country a single handful of that soil? Had he crooked a single one of his fingers to pull up the roots that ran through it? Exasperated by the threats of the friar, who tried to uphold his authority at any cost in the presence of the other tenants, Cabesang Tales rebelled and refused to pay a single cuarto, having ever before himself that red mist, saying that he would give up his fields to the first man who could irrigate it with blood drawn from his own veins.
Old Selo, on looking at his sons face, did not dare to mention the cayman, but tried to calm him by talking of clay jars, reminding him that the winner in a lawsuit was left without a shirt to his back. We shall all be turned to clay, father, and without shirts we were born, was the reply. So he resolutely refused to pay or to give up a single span of his land unless the friars should first prove the legality of their claim by exhibiting a title-deed of some kind. As they had none, a lawsuit followed, and Cabesang Tales entered into it, confiding that some at least, if not all, were lovers of justice and respecters of the law.
I serve and have been serving the King with my money and my services, he said to those who remonstrated with him. Im asking for justice and he is obliged to give it to me. Drawn on by fatality, and as if he had put into play in the lawsuit the whole future of himself and his children, he went on spending his savings to pay lawyers, notaries, and solicitors, not to mention the officials and clerks who exploited his ignorance and his needs.
He moved to and fro between the village and the capital, passed his days without eating and his nights without sleeping, while his talk was always about briefs, exhibits, and appeals. There was then seen a struggle such as was never before carried on under the skies of the Philippines: He fought as tenaciously as the ant which bites when it knows that it is going to be crushed, as does the fly which looks into space only through. Yet the clay jar defying the iron pot and smashing itself into a thousand pieces bad in it something impressiveit had the sublimeness of desperation!
On the days when his journeys left him free he patrolled his fields armed with a shotgun, saying that the tulisanes were hovering around and he had need of defending himself in order not to fall into their hands and thus lose his lawsuit.
As if to improve his marksmanship, he shot at birds and fruits, even the butterflies, with such accurate aim that the friar-administrator did not dare to go to Sagpang without an escort of civil-guards, while the friars hireling, who gazed from afar at the threatening figure of Tales wandering over the fields like a sentinel upon the walls, was terror stricken and refused to take the property away from him. But the local judges and those at the capital, warned by the experience of one of their number who had been summarily dismissed, dared not give him the decision, fearing their own dismissal.
Yet they were not really bad men, those judges, they were upright and conscientious, good citizens, excellent fathers, dutiful sonsand they were able to appreciate poor Tales situation better than Tales himself could.
Many of them were versed in the scientific and historical basis of property, they knew that the friars by their own statutes could not own property, but they also knew that to come from far across the sea with an appointment secured with great difficulty, to undertake the duties of the position with the best intentions, and now to lose it because an Indian fancied that justice had to be done on earth as in heaventhat surely was an idea!
They had their  families and greater needs surely than that Indian: Another had sisters, all of marriageable age; that other there had many little children who expected their daily bread and who, like fledglings in a nest, would surely die of hunger the day he was out of a job; even the very least of them had there, far away, a wife who would be in distress if the monthly remittance failed.
All these moral and conscientious judges tried everything in their power in the way of counsel, advising Cabesang Tales to pay the rent demanded. But Tales, like all simple souls, once he had seen what was just, went straight toward it. He demanded proofs, documents, papers, title-deeds, but the friars had none of these, resting their case on his concessions in the past.
Cabesang Tales constant reply was: If every day I give alms to a beggar to escape annoyance, who will oblige me to continue my gifts if he abuses my generosity? From this stand no one could draw him, nor were there any threats that could intimidate him. In vain Governor M made a trip expressly to talk to him and frighten him. His reply to it all was: You may do what you like, Mr.
Governor, Im ignorant and powerless. But Ive cultivated those fields, my wife and daughter died while helping me clear them, and I wont give them up to any one but him who can do more with them than Ive done.
Let him first irrigate them with his blood and bury in them his wife and daughter! The upshot of this obstinacy was that the honorable judges gave the decision to the friars, and everybody laughed at him, saying that lawsuits are not won by justice. But Cabesang Tales appealed, loaded his shotgun, and patrolled his fields with deliberation. During this period his life seemed to be a wild dream.
His son, Tano, a youth as tall as his father and as good as his sister, was conscripted, but he let the boy go rather than download a substitute. I have to pay the lawyers, he told his weeping daughter. If I win the case Ill find a way to get him back, and if I lose it I wont have any need for sons. So the son went away and nothing more was heard of him except that his hair had been cropped and that he slept under a cart.
Six months later it was rumored that he had been seen embarking for the Carolines; another report was that he had been seen in the uniform of the Civil Guard. Tano in the Civil Guard! Tano, who was so good and so honest! The grandfather went many days without speaking to the father, Juli fell sick, but Cabesang Tales did not shed a single tear, although for two days he never left the house, as if he feared the looks of reproach from the whole village or that he would be called the executioner of his son.
But on the third day he again sallied forth with his shotgun. Murderous intentions were attributed to him, and there were well-meaning persons who whispered about that he had been heard to threaten that he would bury the friar-administrator in the furrows of his fields, whereat the friar was frightened at him in earnest. As a result of this, there came a decree from the Captain-General forbidding the use of firearms and ordering that they be taken up.
Cabesang Tales had to hand over his shotgun but he continued his rounds armed with a long bolo. What are you going to do with that bolo when the tulisanes have firearms? I must watch my crops, was the answer. Every stalk of cane growing there is one of my wifes bones. The bolo was taken up on the pretext that it was too long. He then took his fathers old ax and with it on his shoulder continued his sullen rounds.
Every time he left the house Tandang Selo and Juli trembled for his life. The latter would get up from her loom, go to the window, pray, make vows to the saints, and  recite novenas. The grandfather was at times unable to finish the handle of a broom and talked of returning to the forestlife in that house was unbearable. At last their fears were realized. As the fields were some distance from the village, Cabesang Tales, in spite of his ax, fell into the hands of tulisanes who had revolvers and rifles.
They told him that since he had money to pay judges and lawyers he must have some also for the outcasts and the hunted. They therefore demanded a ransom of five hundred pesos through the medium of a rustic, with the warning that if anything happened to their messenger, the captive would pay for it with his life.
Two days of grace were allowed. This news threw the poor family into the wildest terror, which was augmented when they learned that the Civil Guard was going out in pursuit of the bandits.
In case of an encounter, the first victim would be the captivethis they all knew. The old man was paralyzed, while the pale and frightened daughter tried often to talk but could not. Still, another thought more terrible, an idea more cruel, roused them from their stupor. The rustic sent by the tulisanes said that the band would probably have to move on, and if they were slow in sending the ransom the two days would elapse and Cabesang Tales would have his throat cut. This drove those two beings to madness, weak and powerless as they were.
Tandang Selo got up, sat down, went outside, came back again, knowing not where to go, where to seek aid. Juli appealed to her images, counted and recounted her money, but her two hundred pesos did not increase or multiply. Soon she dressed herself, gathered together all her jewels, and asked the advice of her grandfather, if she should go to see the gobernadorcillo, the judge, the notary, the lieutenant of the Civil Guard. The old man said yes to everything, or when she said no, he too said no.
At length came the neighbors, their relatives and friends, some poorer than others, in their simplicity magnifying  the fears. The most active of all was Sister Bali, a great panguinguera, who had been to Manila to practise religious exercises in the nunnery of the Sodality. Juli was willing to sell all her jewels, except a locket set with diamonds and emeralds which Basilio had given her, for this locket had a history: So she could not sell it without first consulting him.
Quickly the shell-combs and earrings were sold, as well as Julis rosary, to their richest neighbor, and thus fifty pesos were added, but two hundred and fifty were still lacking. The locket might be pawned, but Juli shook her head. A neighbor suggested that the house be sold and Tandang Selo approved the idea, satisfied to return to the forest and cut firewood as of old, but Sister Bali observed that this could not be done because the owner was not present.
The judges wife once sold me her tapis for a peso, but her husband said that the sale did not hold because it hadnt received his approval. He took back the tapis and she hasnt returned the peso yet, but I dont pay her when she wins at panguingui, ab! In that way Ive collected twelve cuartos, and for that alone Im going to play with her.
I cant bear to have people fail to pay what they owe me, ab! Another neighbor was going to ask Sister Bali why then did not she settle a little account with her, but the quick panguinguera suspected this and added at once: Do you know, Juli, what you can do? Borrow two hundred and fifty pesos on the house, payable when the lawsuit is won.
This seemed to be the best proposition, so they decided to act upon it that same day. Sister Bali offered to accompany her, and together they visited the houses of all the rich folks in Tiani, but no one would accept the proposal. The case, they said, was already lost, and to show favors to an enemy of the friars was to expose themselves to their  vengeance. The Canon Irene indulged in a rather equivocal smile, which he half hid with his hand as he rubbed his nose. A project in fine words, and especially with a big appropriation, with an appropriation in round numbers, dazzles, meets with acceptance at once, for this!
Don Custodio was on the point of refusing to explain it from resentment at not having found any supporters in his diatribe against Simoun. And when there is, you keep quiet! Do you know what they feed on? Ugh, how nasty! Rather, let the bar close up entirely! Now generally known as the Mariquina. On the Lower Deck There, below, other scenes were being enacted. Seated on benches or small wooden stools among valises, boxes, and baskets, a few feet from the engines, in the heat of the boilers, amid the human smells and the pestilential odor of oil, were to be seen the great majority of the passengers.
Some were silently gazing at the changing scenes along the banks, others were playing cards or conversing in the midst of the scraping of shovels, the roar of the engine, the hiss of escaping steam, the swash of disturbed waters, and the shrieks of the whistle. In one corner, heaped up like corpses, slept, or tried to sleep, a number of Chinese pedlers, seasick, pale, frothing through half-opened lips, and bathed in their copious perspiration.
Only a few youths, students for the most part, easily recognizable from their white garments and their confident bearing, made bold to move about from stern to bow, leaping over baskets and boxes, happy in the prospect of the approaching vacation. Now they commented on the movements of the engines, endeavoring to recall forgotten notions of physics, now they surrounded the young schoolgirl or the red-lipped downloadera with her collar of sampaguitas, whispering into their ears words that made them smile and cover their faces with their fans.
Nevertheless, two of them, instead of engaging in these fleeting gallantries, stood in the bow talking with a man, advanced in years, but still vigorous and erect. Both these youths seemed to be well known and respected, to judge from the deference shown them by their fellow passengers. The elder, who was dressed in complete black, was the medical  student, Basilio, famous for his successful cures and extraordinary treatments, while the other, taller and more robust, although much younger, was Isagani, one of the poets, or at least rimesters, who that year came from the Ateneo,1 a curious character, ordinarily quite taciturn and uncommunicative.
The man talking with them was the rich Capitan Basilio, who was returning from a business trip to Manila. At the advice of a certain person he is sending me to San Diego under the pretext of looking after his property, but in reality so that he may be left to smoke his opium with complete liberty. While the addiction to classical studies lasted—mark this well, young men—opium was used solely as a medicine; and besides, tell me who smoke it the most?
Isagani regarded him with attention: that gentleman was suffering from nostalgia for antiquity. Padre Sibyla is opposed to it. Each student has contributed a real. Here you have another instance, namesake, of how we are going backwards. In our times we learned Latin because our books were in Latin; now you study Latin a little but have no Latin books.
On the other hand, your books are in Castilian and that language is not taught—aetas parentum pejor avis tulit nos nequiores! The youths smiled at each other. Propose a thing to them and instead of seeing its advantages they only fix their attention on the difficulties. They want everything to come smooth and round as a billiard ball. But listen—speaking of uncles, what does yours say about Paulita? Is the gentleman a townsman of yours? Isagani lived on the seashore of the opposite coast.
Simoun examined him with such marked attention that he was annoyed, turned squarely around, and faced the jeweler with a provoking stare. But enough of that! Although his looks could not be read through the blue goggles, on the rest of his face surprise might be seen. Padre Camorra is rather incredulous and is a great wag. On one of the benches at the stern, huddled in among the other passengers, sat a native priest gazing at the landscapes that were successively unfolded to his view.
His neighbors made room for him, the men on passing taking off their hats, and the gamblers not daring to set their table near where he was. He said little, but neither smoked nor assumed arrogant airs, nor did he disdain to mingle with the other men, returning the salutes with courtesy and affability as if he felt much honored and very grateful.
Although advanced in years, with hair almost completely gray, he appeared to be in vigorous health, and even when seated held his body straight and his head erect, but without pride or arrogance. He differed from the ordinary native priests, few enough indeed, who at that period served merely as coadjutors or administered some curacies temporarily, in a certain self-possession and gravity, like one who was conscious of his personal dignity and the sacredness of his office.
A superficial examination of his appearance, if not his white hair, revealed at once that he belonged to another epoch, another generation, when the better young men were not afraid to risk their dignity by becoming priests, when the native clergy looked any friar at all in the face, and when their class, not yet degraded and vilified, called for free men and not slaves, superior intelligences and not servile wills. In his sad and serious features was to be read the serenity of a soul fortified by study and meditation, perhaps tried out by deep moral suffering.
Scion of a wealthy and influential family of Manila, of agreeable appearance and cheerful disposition, suited to shine in the world, he had never felt any call to the sacerdotal  profession, but by reason of some promises or vows, his mother, after not a few struggles and violent disputes, compelled him to enter the seminary.
She was a great friend of the Archbishop, had a will of iron, and was as inexorable as is every devout woman who believes that she is interpreting the will of God. Vainly the young Florentine offered resistance, vainly he begged, vainly he pleaded his love affairs, even provoking scandals: priest he had to become at twenty- five years of age, and priest he became. The Archbishop ordained him, his first mass was celebrated with great pomp, three days were given over to feasting, and his mother died happy and content, leaving him all her fortune.
But in that struggle Florentine received a wound from which he never recovered. Weeks before his first mass the woman he loved, in desperation, married a nobody—a blow the rudest he had ever experienced.
He lost his moral energy, life became dull and insupportable. If not his virtue and the respect for his office, that unfortunate love affair saved him from the depths into which the regular orders and secular clergymen both fall in the Philippines. He devoted himself to his parishioners as a duty, and by inclination to the natural sciences.
When the events of seventy-two occurred,4 he feared that the large income his curacy yielded him would attract attention to him, so, desiring peace above everything, he sought and secured his release, living thereafter as a private individual on his patrimonial estate situated on the Pacific coast.
He there adopted his nephew, Isagani, who was reported by the malicious to be his own son by his old sweetheart when she became a widow, and by the more serious and better informed, the natural child of a cousin, a lady in Manila.
Legends Ich weiss nicht was soil es bedeuten Dass ich so traurig bin! When Padre Florentino joined the group above, the bad humor provoked by the previous discussion had entirely disappeared.
Perhaps their spirits had been raised by the attractive houses of the town of Pasig, or the glasses of sherry they had drunk in preparation for the coming meal, or the prospect of a good breakfast. Whatever the cause, the fact was that they were all laughing and joking, even including the lean Franciscan, although he made little noise and his smiles looked like death-grins. Please enter your name. The E-mail message field is required. Please enter the message. Please verify that you are not a robot.
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El filibusterismo Author: New York: Penguin Books, Penguin classics. English View all editions and formats Rating: Subjects Philippines -- Fiction. More like this Similar Items. Show all links. Allow this favorite library to be seen by others Keep this favorite library private.
Find a copy in the library Finding libraries that hold this item Electronic books Fiction Additional Physical Format: Print version: Document, Fiction, Internet resource Document Type:He also lost his true love, Leonor Rivera.
Isagani regarded him with attention: His neighbors made room for him, the men on passing taking off their hats, and the gamblers not daring to set their table near where he was. English View all editions and formats. His parents told him not to return to the country and when he did, asked him to return back to Europe.