Thursday, August 26, 2010

Rizal and Correggio's Noli me Tángere: Penélope's Conjecture

Emilio Aguinaldo, ca. 1898. Photo of Emilio Ag...Image via Wikipedia
Emilio Aguinaldo
Dr. José Rizal’s and Correggio’s NOLI me TANGERE
By
Penélope V. Flores



Exactly 112 years ago, on June 12th 1898, the Philippine revolutionary establishment raised the Philippine flag and declared the government of the Philippines a democratically formed constitutional republic independent from Spanish domination with Emilio Aguinaldo as the elected president.  What is noteworthy is that a hundred and twelve years ago, there was no other South East Asian country that was democratically formed with a nationally elected representative body and a ratified written constitution like that proclaimed in Malolos, Bulacan on January 23, 1899.  That it was a short-lived republic is immaterial.  The Philippines  (and Cuba) would be “up for sale” for $20,000,000 by Spain to a new master—the United States of America at the Treaty of Paris before the end of the century.

Much of that nationalistic fervor came from the responsible and intellectual activity of José Rizal through his novel Noli me tángere.

The purpose of this article is to examine the source of the novel’s title.  It is not my objective to make rhetorical statements about the meaning of Noli me tángere. There are countless historians, scholars and researchers who have dissected the meaning of the title, and why this novel was written.  Additionally, there is a rich body of illuminative literary criticism and historical commentary in the literature pondering the Noli me tángere.  Neither will I go into the story pilot and the literary characterization of the protagonists and antagonists in the novel.  What I’m looking for is the “how” and “where” the idea for the book title came about.

Applying the concept in today’s modern marketing and advertising parlance, any title of a book spells its success or dooms its failure in terms of product outcomes. Publishing houses and their agents scour their collective brains looking for a particular book title that would click with the reader and the public. 

 How did Rizal find that title for his novel that clicked with the public? 

Rizal in 1886
It was 1886 in Europe.  Rizal at that time was writing a novel that would open the eyes of readers about the plight of the Filipino people by the hand of the Spanish colonizers.  This historical novel had characters that seemed autobiographical.  Every episode in the novel came from actual experiences by people Rizal knew.  Rizal began writing in Madrid where he finished half of the manuscript.   He continued writing about a fourth of the material in Paris, France, and the last portion in Leipzig, Germany. The fimal chapters were ready for publication on February of 1887.

Rizal was determined to make the novel accessible to Philippine and Spanish readers.  It was important to have it published.  But there were logistical and structural problems. First, in order for the novel to be read by the progressive elements of the Spanish Cortes, the text had to be written in the Castilian language.  Second, this window of opportunity for his reformist message to reach a sympathetic audience is extremely short.  When the opportunity presents itself it must be grasped immediately.  At that particular time, there were more moderate members of the Spanish parliament than the previous years.  Third, the novel, which was critical of the friars, could not be printed in Madrid, since the contents would immediately be censored.  No Spanish printer would take the risk of publishing it.  Therefore, it had to be printed outside Spain.  Not any country could be selected. It had to be a nearby accessible country. Fourth, printing a book in a foreign language outside Spain was very expensive.  Rizal lacked the necessary funds to finance the project.  Paciano, Rizal’s brother was then having economic difficulties at that particular time (the world price of sugar went down) and Rizal had not received his allowance.

Enter Maximo Viola, a wealthy Filipino compatriot, a close friend, and a student at the Universidad de Barcelona.  He would help publish Rizal’s novel.   Both were completing their medical degrees at that time (Rizal at the Universidad Central de Madrid).  That May 1887, with their courses completed and the novel deposited at the printers, they traveled together (see Viola’s My Travels with Dr. José Rizal, 1913) to Berlin, Dresden, Prague, Vienna, Munich, Nuremberg, Stuttgart, Konstanz, Basel and Geneva.  At Leitmeritz, Austria (now Litomérice, Czech Republic) José Rizal finally met face-to-face with Ferdinand Blumentritt, the Filipinologist with whom he had a long and lasting correspondence.

A Personal Connection with José Rizal
Maximo had several sisters, Juliana being one of them.  She is my connection to Rizal.  Juliana is my father’s mother (my grandmother, Viola side). Maximo offered José Rizal the money to publish the Noli me tángere.  Rizal resisted, but upon Viola’s insistence Rizal recapitulated, accepting three hundred pesetas to cover the printing cost, with the understanding that the amount would be repaid when Rizal’s money arrived from Calamba.  The book project had begun.

Viola searched for the most affordable printer to publish two thousand copies of the book.  He scouted the printing presses and finally was able to persuade a trade school in Berlin, the Setzerinnungsschule des Letter-Vereins, Berliner Buchdruckkerei Actien-Gesellschaft  (Guild school of typesetters, Berlin Book Printing Press Co.) to undertake the project.  It was Viola who carried Rizal’s original handwritten manuscript to the printers.  Señor Vicente Blasco Ibañez, a Spanish writer of note volunteered his services as proofreader and consultant. In March 1887, the first copies rolled hot off the press.  In Madrid, the copies sold for five pesetas.

At the end of the book project, in recognition for Viola’s work, Rizal gave the galley proofs, not to his own family, but to Viola with a personal dedication.  It is a Viola family joke that this original galley proof, hidden in their Kamalig (granary) at San Miguel de Mayumo, Bulacan looked like “pinag-balutan ng pan de sal,” because it was not a bound book.  In the consequential disarray during the Spanish revolution it was lost.

The Title’s Plausible Explanation
Since my interest is in the probable sources of Rizal’s choice of a book title, I had to come up with some plausible conjectures.  I present three perspectives: 1) the Bible perspective, 2) the Medical (Social Cancer) perspective, and 3) the El Prado perspective.

Of the three above, items 1 and 2 had been examined studiously and prodigiously.  Number 3 is an idea that came to me as I traced Rizal’s personal individuality and his humanity (in the manner of Ambeth Ocampo's approach), as opposed to studying him as a national hero).  It had never been studied nor published before.

  1. The Bible scenario concerns Chapter 20, verse 17 of the Gospel according to John in the New Testament.  Rizal picks up the title from the words of Jesus to Mary Magdalene.  There are many titles where one can get a book title.  Why was this chapter singled out?  And why this particular quote?  Did he look at a bible index and look for possible biblical expressions that describe the theme of his novel? (I'll address this again in my next blog).

  1. The medical scenario promised to reveal the social ills of the Philippine society.  Rizal had a strong inclination to use this title to serve as a clinical excision to cure the malignant cancer infecting the society. Could this title describe the whole point of his novel? Could this be the title he needed?  Was it an appealing title for a book dealing with several sensitive issues?  Guerrero’s Rizal biography quotes him saying:
“I shall endeavor to show your condition, faithfully and ruthlessly. I shall lift a corner of the veil, which shrouds the disease, sacrificing to the right everything even self-love -- for as your son, your defects and weaknesses are also mine.” 

Filipinas’ Cancerous Society would have made an accurate title and Rizal would have found it very appropriate.  But he must have been convinced it sounds too archaic and academic.  Lacking punch it would read like a sociological treatise, not a novel characterized by sarcasm, irony, and symbolism.  If his purpose was to piqué his readers’ interest, Rizal knew for sure that such a dry and trite title would shy away readers rather than attract them. 

In Guerrero’s introduction to the English translation of Noli me Tángere, he suggested that Untouchable was contemplated as a title.  However, although appropriate for the novel and theme, that title was thought to be misleading.  It was surmised that the Hindu scheduled caste of the Untouchables might cloud the issue of Rizal’s social reform platform.


  1. The El Prado Perspective.
In this scenario, Rizal frequents the national museum of El Prado.  In 1872, many religious works of the Madrid and Toledo schools were added to the Prado Museum. Thanks to Carlos V and his son Felipe II, the Prado has the world’s top collection of the Italian paintings of the 15th century romantic mannerists and baroque periods. 

In Rizal’s time, many art lovers visited the Prado.  It is hard to believe that Rizal, the consummate lover of art, the student who enrolled at the Real Academia de Bellas Artes de San Fernando in Madrid (he studied landscape) would not have been enamored of the Prado’s collection.

Let’s follow Rizal one fateful day in 1886.  He had very little cash and for weeks now had been subsisting on bread and water.  Studying hard, he is also writing the novel in between his studies and submitting articles for La Solidaridad, a fortnightly anti-friar propagandist newsletter edited by Marcelo H. del Pilar. 

Rizal had been wracking his brains for an appropriate title for his novel.  The manuscript is nearly finished.  He is tired and decides to relax his mind and stop thinking about it.  He goes to the Prado (a walking distance from his apartment).  Absent mindedly, he paces the ground floor and in one place he glances up.  In front of him, in a panel 130 by 104 centimeters, is a most dazzling portrait of infinitesimal expression.  Correggio’s exquisite rendition is as fine a work as any of the late Renaissance Italian school ever produced.

“Stunning!” Rizal, exclaims. “ It is intensely physical and yet steadily aware of light and its spiritual significance.  There is an inner solidity in the Christ figure.  Correggio keeps the Mary Magdalene figure reasonably human, thus making the picture still more lovable.  There is this wonderful dream-like dawn, leaving an overwhelming impression of actuality.  Really this canvas has the best technical mannerist wizardry of all.”

Jesus is pictured with outstretched arms, a swath of bold blue shroud draped around his torso.  Rizal’s eye follows a pyramid from the top of the hill to the foreground outlined with a gardener’s hoe in the right corner. (According to the scriptures, Mary Magdalene first mistakenly thought the figure of Jesus before him was a gardener.)

Rizal's vision traces a diagonal line beginning down at the arms of the Magdalene up to the powerful open arms of the risen Christ.  “A most powerful and striking composition,” he observed.  He admires the canvas from a distance, and then he moves slowly toward the picture to read the title.  It was: Noli me tángere.

Rizal must have come to this realization: “The symbolism of this expression is rich with nuances and vigorously stated, very much like the expression in my novel.”

Knowing how methodical Rizal was in his systematic research, he must have consulted the Prado’s library.  He would have found that Titian influenced Correggio.  And amazingly, Titian also painted a Noli me Tángere. In addition, Titian explained that his painting’s biblical passage title came from John.

The possible triangulation of Noli me Tángere as a book title is complete.  Titian influenced Correggio.  Correggio stimulated Rizal.




            
                                Antonio Allegri called Correggio, Noli me Tángere, 1534
                                El Prado Museum, Madrid, Catalogue No.111
                                Entered the Prado 1839


Only in John’s Gospel
Then to Rizal’s complete amazement, he discovers something extraordinarily cunning and importantly ominous about this particular text.  The phrase “touch me not” is found nowhere else except in the Gospel according to John. Matthew, Luke and Mark do not carry this specific phraseology.  Now, Rizal understood perfectly well why Titian, (followed by Correggio) looking for a Renaissance subject chose this particular passage to portray.  It was a unique theme to show off an artist’s power of imagery and interpretation.

With this discovery and imbued by the hidden message, Rizal must have reread the biblical passage within that honest purposeful context and with a fresh meaning.  He has the conceptual map of his almost finished manuscript dancing before his eyes.  He must have internalized the cognitive meaning of the gospel according to John and became fully convinced this was the message he wanted to convey for the title of the novel.

Rizal could visualize the Correggio canvas expressing the undercurrent violence and pain.  He could relate to the same emotion and expression emanating from his novel.  He was writing about a sensitive topic which no one dared touch.  The subject is a taboo topic.  Yet there it was –Touch me not—full of hidden yet transparent symbolism.

Finally, his search was over.  He had found a title:  Noli me tángere.

Read part 2 on my bext blog on Noli me Tángere: Looking for a Book Title


http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/b/b0/Jose_rizal_01.jpg/75px-Jose_rizal_01.jpg

Sunday, August 15, 2010

More on Penelope's visit to Litomérice, Czech Republic, July 2010

I found this article written by Alan Levy. He describes the Rizal monument in Litomerice better than I did.

"Three busts in one block."


"What Litomerice celebrates in a ceremony every June is not the late Jose Rizal's early martryrdom -- which incited a full-scale rebellion against Spanish rule -- but four of the best days of his life. Three busts of him stand within a square-block's radius of the town's spiffed-up, arcaded central square. (See box.)"

"Born in the Philippine town of Calamba (since 1974, officially "twinned" with Litomerice as "sister towns"), Rizal had been in Europe since May 1882, studying medicine and philosophy in Madrid and ophthalmology in Paris and Heidelberg. (He was a licensed eye doctor.) In Germany, he had finished writing and just published -- in Spanish -- his first novel, Noli Me Tangere (Don't Touch Me). Now he and Maximo Viola -- a Filipino physician who'd funded publication of Rizal's novel -- embarked on a farewell trip across central Europe together before Rizal would sail east from Marseilles that summer."

"Blumentritt, a Prague-born and -educated German-speaker not quite eight years Rizal's senior, had settled in Leitmeritz upon graduation from Charles University, where he'd studied Spanish colonialism, to take up an appointment to teach history and geography in the town's Technical Secondary School (of which he later became director). He married a local girl, Rosa Muller, and they had two sons and a daughter to whom they gave a Spanish name, Dolores; at home, she was called Loleng, the Tagalog, or Philippine language, version."


"Math in Tagalog
Rizal, who'd been campaigning to introduce Philippine studies into European universities, had heard that Blumentritt was learning Tagalog. While still in Heidelberg, Rizal sent Blumentritt an arithmetic book written in Tagalog and Spanish by a Filipino scholar. Blumentritt responded enthusiastically, and thus began what Rizal's biographer, Austin Coates, has called "the most remarkable -- and the most voluminous -- correspondence in Philippine letters, which went on almost uninterruptedly until terminated by death."

"In an 1886 exchange of letters, Rizal rebuked the staunchly Catholic Blumentritt for his research reliance on Spanish authors and monks. (The latter are the villains of Noli Me Tangere.)"

"Blumentritt sent Rizal some etchings of his family. Rizal, who also was an artist, sent back a self-portrait. Blumentritt wrote to Rizal: "I look forward with even greater impatience than before to the moment when I should come to know you personally."

"RIZAL IN LITOMERICE
The town's stunning main square, now called Mirove namesti (Peace Square) is dominated by a tower shaped like a chalice. The Gothic building beneath it houses Mayor Jiri Landa's office, in the vestibule of which stands a bust of Rizal. In the tourist office on the ground floor, you can obtain an excellent 60-page paperback in English, Jose Rizal, Ferdinand Blumentritt and the Philippines in the New Age (1998) by Jindrich Tomas, the town archivist. At Mirove nam. 12, another bust is built into the facade of the elegant Hotel Salva Guarda, which was the mayor's office at the time of Rizal's visit. From a park behind the Salva Guarda, a third bust of Rizal looks out across the town to its majestic St. Stephen's Cathedral."

"Across Mirove namesti from the Salva Guarda is the Hotel Rak, where Rizal and Viola stayed. A short walk past the Rak along Novobranska brings you to Na Valech 2, where Blumentritt died in 1913. Across busy Na Valech is the school where Blumentritt spent his career."

"The Blumentritt home Rizal visited in 1887 was at Lange Gasse (now Dlouha) 29. That building was destroyed May 9, 1945 -- a day after World War II ended in Europe -- by Soviet bombers clearing a route for the belated entry into Prague of Red Army tanks."


"GETTING THERE
A bus leaves Prague's Florenc terminal at 9 a.m. daily and takes 65 minutes. There is a fast return bus at 6:35 p.m. from Litomerice that takes one hour to Prague's Nadrazi Holesovice. Fare each way: 56 Kc ($1.40)"

"That occasion came May 13, 1887, when Rizal and Viola stepped off a train in Leitmeritz. The whole Blumentritt family was there to welcome them and escort them to their billets at the Hotel Rak on the main square. "


"Beer and a butterfly
It wasn't a historic weekend -- or even a newsworthy one: just one friend sharing his life with another. After a visit to the Blumentritt home, they strolled the slopes of the hilly town, inhaling the scent of its May flowers and blossoming fruit trees, while conversing mostly in German. They visited the bishop's residence, where Rizal particularly admired a Czech Bible from the 15th century, and the mayor's office, where Rizal and Viola signed the city chronicle's guest book. They drank in a town pub, where Viola pronounced its beer the best in Bohemia, and ate Austro-Czech food, for Rizal had mentioned in a letter that he didn't like north German cuisine. Blumentritt also took his guests to a meeting of the Tourists' Club. Their farewell dinner was in an inn beneath tall trees that Rizal admired on the Shooter's Isle (now Strelecky ostrov) in the Elbe."

"As the train to Prague pulled out on May 16, Blumentritt stood silent, his eyes blurred with tears, while his daughter Dolores ran along the platform "like a butterfly," Rizal recalled. On May 19 from Brno, Rizal wrote a prescient thank-you to Blumentritt:

"Shall this magnificent farewell to Europe be perhaps the omen of a terrible reception in the Philippines?" But, Rizal concluded, he would always remember that "you are not alone, Rizal. There is a little corner of Bohemia [where] there are good, noble souls and friends who appreciate you. Think of them."

"And he told Blumentritt: "I am in my heart a Leitmeritzan just as you consider yourself a Filipino in sentiment."

"When Rizal reached Manila in August 1887, his novel had preceded him and he was indeed notorious. After he published a fiery sequel, El filibusterismo (The Subversive, 1891), he was arrested as a revolutionary agitator and banished to Dapitan on Mindanao island. In November 1896, he was put on trial and condemned to death for instigating an insurrection and founding revolutionary societies."

"On Dec. 29, 1896, from his cell in Fort Santiago, Rizal penned his last letter to Blumentritt: "My dear brother: When you receive this letter, I am already dead. Tomorrow at 7 o'clock I shall be shot. I am, however, innocent of the crime of rebellion. Farewell, my best, my dearest friend, and never think ill of me."

Friday, August 13, 2010

16th Century Visuals of the Philippine Archipelago

Old Time Mapmakers Coming Across As Novices:
16th Century Visuals of the Philippine Archipelago



Penelope V. Flores and Manuel G. Flores
San Francisco State University and
Educational Multimedia Resources
pflores@sfsu.edu



Abstract

Sorting out the 16th and 17th century chaos of visual maps of the Philippines has been like putting together a giant jigsaw puzzle where there is no picture board as a guide. In our research study, old time cartographers come across as novices. The conceptual framework used in this study is based on the world-system’s origins of the knowledge of Southeast Asian portolans (pilot books) and maps through the geographic thought of sixteenth to eighteenth century chroniclers, explorers, and cartographers. We analyze the pre-Pedro Murillo 1734 Philippine visual map. There is a general confusion of the life and subsequent deaths of phantom peninsulas and dragon-tail-like promontories that metamorphose into America. To this navigation of Philippine seas, we get entangled with Terra Orientales and ensnared by that infamous shifting linea—Treaty of Tordesilla’s demarcation line. The discrepancies and the various published rendering of Pigafetta’s text and account of Maximillian are full of ambiguities. We find the Zooloo string of islands called Samal scattered all over the Marianas. We document several transliterations and corrupted various ways of copyists. Knowledge of how medieval Europe depicted the Philippines is crucial to our understanding of Philippine culture and history.


1. Introduction

No understanding of the Philippines within Southeast Asia could be complete without reference to cartography—particularly at the time when a veritable revolution took place in map designs and projection during the sixteenth century.

Maps of Southeast Asia and the Philippines in the early 16th century was a mad confusion of peninsulas that was like dragon tails, and islands that dotted the Insulis or inland seas. First there was an archaic geography of Southeast Asia perpetrated by Ptolemy showing the Golden Chersonesus which corresponds to modern Malaysia. Medieval maps show the mythical Southeast Asia where the Indian Ocean was a closed ocean with no outlet and was a place of the gold and silver islands called Chryse and Argyre. According to the bible, Paradise was located in the East. Even now, Sri Lanka is believed to be the fabled garden of Eden.

It is in this setting that we locate the Philippine archipelago using Italian, Dutch, Portuguese, Spanish, German, and English mapmakers. Each generation of maps incurred serious location errors mirrored by other mapmakers. Even with the voyage of discovery, many chroniclers were often mistaken. Copyists conflated some islands and corrupted name places. The effect was a complicated jumble of interpretations.

But are we not anachronistically viewing maps from contemporary eyes? In the 16th century, these maps were the ultimate in new world information.

2. Southeast Asia in the 16th century

2.1. Mythological Southeast Asia
Medieval thought commonly envisioned the area of the Philippines and Southeast Asia as “three Indias”, India Gangem, India Extra Gangem, and India Orientalis. This probably arose from the Biblical account of the three eastern kings who visited the infant Jesus. This notion of three Indias took literal form on world maps in the late fifteenth and early sixteenth century. Renaissance mapmakers felt they had made better sense out of “three Indias.” Soon the belief that Asia possessed three peninsular sub continents took on a life of its own, culminating with the belief that America was the easternmost “India”. Hence, Columbus sailing westward believed that he had reached the southeastern outskirts of Asia represented as Indus Externalis and so named the indigenous people of his new discovery “Indians.” A most symbolically rendered map of Asia as the mythical horse Pegasus is presented by a theologian Heinrich Bunting as a rich allegorical figure. The horse’s two hind legs form the supposedly double peninsulas based on Asia and America as mapped by Giacomo Gastaldi in 1546. The Pacific is roughly interpreted as the same size of the Atlantic Ocean.












Fig 1. 1581 H. Bünting Pegasus map of Asia


The Chinese, Arabs and later the Portuguese knew about Southeast Asia, but very few maps existed. In addition the Portuguese were so secretive about their new discoveries in the Spice Islands that under penalty of death no mapmakers dared subvert the order. So, in the 16th century a devise was made to represent Southeast Asia: the hand map.

2.1 Barros’s Hand Map

The Portuguese João de Barros in 1522 offered a hand map of Southeast Asia. It was to form the human hand into a map. He instructed his readers to point their left hand toward their body, palm down, index finger straightened and separated from the thumb, with the remaining three fingers also separated from the index finger, these three are curled so that they extend out only to the knuckle. The thumb represented India.The index finger is the Malay peninsula, and the flesh between them Myanmar. The space represents the Indian Ocean. The three curled fingers are Cambodia and Vietnam with their natural shape approximating the land’s true southwest-northeast contour. The space between the index finger and the third finger bent at the knuckles represent the Gulf of Siam. The natural indentation of the hand visually represented Chao Phraya river; that between the third finger and the fourth fingers is the Mekong River. The contour of the hand goes up the wrist and shows the curve of Indochina. Chiang Mai is represented in the wrist. This Barros hand map is more accurate than any other maps of the period. (Suarez, 1999: 123.) And then we have the numerous islands of the Inland sea.



3. The Philippine’s 7,488 islands.

It is interesting to note that in a map below Java Minor there is an inscription which refers to an archipelago of precisely 7,448 islands. Marco Polo got this number from the testimony of seamen that sailed the China seas that “according to the testimony of experienced pilots and seamen that sail upon the China sea, they are well acquainted with the truth that it contained 7,448 islands, most of them inhabited.”










Fig.2. Ruysch’s 7,448 8 Islands Archipelagus 7448 Insularus, by Sebastian Münster,1540 in Suarez: 128.


This figure is approximately an allusion to the 7,100 islands of the Philippines. It could have been low tide when Marco Polo’s pilots chanced upon these islands. Several mapmakers make the same claim: Father Odoric, in reference to islands of the eastern seas estimated it as “at least 5000” While Mandeville repeats the same, speaking of “Inde and the isles beyond the Inde, where be more than 5,000 isles” (Suarez, 1999: 107).

Sebastian Münster’s Cosmographia (1540) called a treatyse of the Newe India, (Lach, 1965: 209) gave the literate public of Europe its first clear cartographic glimpse of the “marvelous fruitful island of Puloan, (Palawan, Philippines) located due north of Porne (Borneo).” Poloan in Münster’s (1540) map is oriented east west horizontally.
















Fig. 3. Münster

The Caroline Islands is found off Samar’s Guirayan point. And this is the reason why in many old time maps, the Caroline island group is called New Philippines. The Philippine island of Samal is dutifully reported in Guam. The Jesuits’s letters contributed to this confusion.












Fig.4. Nueva Filipinas:The Caroline Islands









The Italian mapmaker Giacomo Gastaldi’s 1548 reconstruction of the Philippines is frustrating. Luzon does not appear. It is on Gastaldi’s map of 1550 that the word “Giapam”(Japan) appears in place of Marco Polo’s “Zipangu” for the first time.












The German cartographer, Martin Waldseemüller was the one who prepared a new set of world maps of an edition of Ptolemy”s Geographica. In Waldseemüller’s 1507 map of the New World, he indicated the new continent between Europe and India as “America” after the Florentine navigator Amerigo Vespucci, who retraced Columbus voyages and realized that there was a vast continent between India and Europe. In Waldseemüller’s 1510 map of the Malay Peninsula, we find the Zooloo string of islands scattered all over (now) Singapore and Indonesian seas.







.








We document several transliterations and corrupted various ways of copyists.








Diogo Ribeiro, a Portuguese in the employ of Spain was the chief instrument maker in Seville. He was the master map charter of all known seas: the Eastern hemisphere and the Pacific region (Lach, 1965 : 221.) His Padron Real had for the first time the Philippines’ longitudinal axis correctly oriented after the Magellan voyage.











Oronce Fine’s (1531),






The Venetian humanist and civil servant Giovanni Batista Ramusio’s 1554 three-volume Della Navigationi et Viaggi first appeared in 1550, to aid in correcting Ptolemy’s maps of Asia and Africa based on voyages and crews who sailed around the world. (Lach, 1965: 207). His 1550 volume included Pigafetta’s Primo Viaggio intorno al Mondo published in 1524 and was translated to French and then to Italian which according to William Scott (1994: 283) “has given rise to the modern Philippine controversy over a supposed Magellan visit to Butuan.”


The Dutchman, Jan Huygen van Linschoten’s maps are contained in his Itinerario which gives the best descriptions derived from Portuguese maps. What caught our attention is one of his digressions about the “relationships between the Portuguese in Goa and their native wives, the Christian Luso-Indians (mestiços) [Luzon natives who of course were Christianized by the Spanish, underscore ours] indulging in a few snide comments on miscegenation (Lach, 1965: 482).


Gerard Mercatur’s 1569 maps of early Philippines was very limited.



The Portuguese, Dutch, English, and Spanish maps from the Spanish voyages of 1525 to 1700 are enlarged in full detail and in color, much like the vellum specimen of the originals.




A woodcut from Pigafetta’s Primo Viaggio shows Mattau (Mactan) island off Zyubu presented as more than a third the size of present Cebu.











Fig. xx Cebu and Mactan, Pigafetta 1525, Primo Viaggio Intorno al Globo Terraqueo, Milan 1800. P125.


I note several errors. Tandaya is the name of the chief of Samar. The map names the island Samar as Tendaya.

We find the island of Camiguing in the northern coast of Mindanao where they were told are the towns of Butuan, Surigao, Calagan, and Caraga were located. Masagua, Sarangani, Mactan, Cabu were mistranslated words and are subsequently mutilated in many maps of the archipelago.


5. Conclusion

Knowledge of how medieval Europe depicted the Philippines is crucial to our understanding of Philippine culture and history. Many Filipino scholars at present have done scant studies of the several islands depicted in modern maps. There has been little analysis of the mistranslations, misnaming, misspelled, misidentified and mislocated islands. Early errors perpetuated are persistently used today. This is a travestry of the highest nature. Somehow, things must change.

From the Ancient Baybayin Script to the Romanized Alphabet

Abstract

People commit historic struggles to construct lessons about their changing society. This was how the indigenous Filipinos’ relationships with the foreign colonizers enriched and hampered their local, educational, and cultural experience. When the Spanish conquistadors came to settle in the Philippines in the mid-sixteenth century they were surprised to find a literate population—the people already knew how to read and write. This paper traces the social changes in baybayin literacy from the initial contact with Spanish missionaries in the Philippines to the introduction of the Romanized alphabet. Differences between modes of literacy and points of learning in another language are generally subject to social evaluation and social stigma. The integration of Philippine socio-cultural, socio-linguistic, and gender equity is the conceptual framework used in this paper.





1. Introduction

When the Spanish conquistadors came to settle in the Philippines in the mid-sixteenth century they were surprised to find a literate population—the people already knew how to read and write. Miguel de Legazpi in 1567 indicated, “They have their letters and characters like those of the Malays, from whom they learned them; they write on bamboo bark and palm leaves with a pointed tool.” (Merino, 175: 292).The Malays referred to meant the Muslim merchants from Borneo and Luzon. The Jesuit, Father Chirino, who was in the Philippines from 1590 to 1604, noted that Manila by 1600 was almost 100 percent literate. He observed, “The people were so accustomed to writing and reading that there is hardly a man, much less a woman, who does not read and write in letters proper to the island of Manila” (Chirino, 1602). Another Spanish observer, the historian Antonio de Morga wrote that almost all the natives, both men and women write in this language. He commented: “There are very few who do not write it excellently and correctly.” (Morga,1609).


2. Origin of the Baybayin Script

Contemporary research is not united in the origin of this pre-hispanic syllabary. Alzina, in 1668, said the Visayans had learned it from the Tagalogs, who in turn had learned it from the Borneans (Scott, 1984: 55, Bernad, 1972: 150). Professor Juan Francisco of Indo-Philippine studies (Francisco, 1994) believes that it is derived from an extant form of Sanskrit. The Buginese, Makassarese and Mandar alphabets of Celebes (Sulawesi) to the south of Philippines are considered the origins since they share a particular characteristic with the Philippine script—the inability to express a final consonant (Scott, 1984: 61). To anthropologist F. Landa Jocano it is enough that a system of writing among the ancient Filipinos existed and was universal in many parts of the archipelago. He comments, “They had a system of writing and had achieved almost a hundred per cent literacy rate,” (Jocano,1975: 235). Corpuz however, disputes that writing was universal in prehispanic Philippines (pp. 20-36).


2.1. Surviving Artifacts of the Ancient Script

There are three surviving artifacts exhibited in the Philippine National Museum bearing this ancient script. The first is a 15th century earthenware jar excavated in Calatagan, Batangas. The native script was inscribed around the shoulder rim. The rounded earthenware is slightly flattened at the bottom with a splayed wide rim, suggesting it was used as a container jar, not a cooking clay pot as some scholars say. The writing is in an ancient extant language and has not yet been fully deciphered. It is 12 centimeters high and 20.2 centimeters wide. The Batangas earthenware shape is very similar to a regular banga still in use in many traditional kitchens.

The second artifact is a silver bar with inscriptions found among the 1970 excavation pits in Butuan. This script did not resemble any of the syllabaries chronicled by the Spanish during the contact period. This silver strip is dated from the 12th to the 15th century and looters had gained access first rendering the archeological context of its site lost to scholars. An Indonesian paleographer, Boechari, recognized it as of Javanese origin—suggesting an early Hindu-Buddhist influence in Mindanao (Casals, 1991). The strip measures 17.8 centimeters long and 1.3 centimeters wide. On one side are 22 symbols etched by a metal point.

The third artifact of this ancient script is found in a copper plate. In 1990 an antique dealer obtained through pot hunters in Laguna Bay a thin copper plate measuring 20 by 30 centimeters wherein an old Malay script closely related to old Tagalog script is inscribed, and therefore Tagalog speakers can readily understand. The text is a certification of debts paid in substantial amounts of gold (Salcedo, 1998). There may be other artifacts, but these may have been written in perishable materials such as leaves, bark of trees, and bamboo nodes.

2.2. A Comparative Perspective: 1603 to 1645 in Europe and England

The archives of the University of Santo Tomas preserve more than a hundred specimens of Filipino signatures between 1603 to 1645 as well as two complete documents showing a variety of styles ranging from elegant cursive to awkward scrawls (Scott, 1984: 53).To put this in comparative perspective, from 1570 to 1590 in rural France, 3 to 10 percent among the men and none of the women knew their ABCs. Spain and Portugal at the dawn of the seventeenth century did not fare any better. Of Englishmen born in 1600, only 33–40 per cent were literate as measured by their ability to sign their names (Lockridge, 1981). David Cressy (1981) reports that in Norfolk and Suffolk, 95 per cent of the females sampled between 1580 and 1640 could not sign their names ( Mitch, 1982).

3. The Phonetic Baybayin: Baybayin’s Vowels

Chirino called this phonetic syllabary Las letras de Manila as shown in Figure 1. It was the native baybayin of three vowels and fourteen consonants.















Fig.


Fig. 1. Las Letras de Manila, Chirino.

3.1. Vowels

There are three vowels: A, U or O, I or E, which actually represent five sounds. According to Jose Rizal, there are orthographical rules for when E is pronounced I , and U to O and vice versa (Rizal,1890: 251-263). To him the Spaniards all got it wrong when they said that the Tagalogs used these vowels indifferently. A sociolinguistic explanation is that it is a regional variation. This is not only found among Filipinos. All languages in the world share this regional variation. In the US, for example, in some Southern dialects, pin is pronounced pen and ten for tin.

Nevertheless, Fox (1954) argues that these Philippine three-syllable interchangeable vowels “conform to a common phonemic pattern of Philippine contemporary language.” This pronunciation is the bane of all teachers of English in regional schools at present. The pervasiveness of the ancient pronunciation for supposedly interchanging vowel sounds is found not only among present-day students but among the educated and government officials as well. A recent newspaper in Manila commented on some Filipinos’ inability to pronounce vowels and certain consonants correctly. Journalist Leandro V. Coronel (1999: 7) of the Philippine Inquirer noted that cabinet members could not pronounce vowels and consonants properly. He writes:

“Isn’t it a shame that even Filipinos in high places can’t properly pronounce letters like “f,” “v,” and “ph”? Politicians cannot be consistent with their “fs” and “v’s” as when many pronounce “VFA” as “BFA.” We even mispronounce words we use regularly. Take the name of our country. Many Filipinos pronounce it “pilipins,” without the “f” pronunciation of “ph.” Of course, we also interchange “e” with “i,” and “o” and “u.”

3.2. The Obvious Question

On this unusual pronunciation predisposition, a reasonable person should be asking two obvious questions. Isn’t it anachronistic that the Spanish conquistador Ruy Lopez de Villalobos in 1542 named the archipelago “Las Islas Felipinas” in honor of Felipe who later became king of Spain (Schurz, 1985), ignorant that the natives cannot pronounce “F” since they do not have it in their native syllabary? Besides, the natives also tend to interchange their E’s to I’s .

Isn’t it doubly ironic that the Americans in 1898 anglicized the country’s name to “The Philippines” without much thought, thus reproducing this inexcusable mistake? Had the colonial governments exercised some sociolinguistic sense, Maynila, the sea port in Luzon bay, meaning the place where local indigo dye (nilad) is traded, or Lusong the native name for the main island, or for that matter, Mindanao, the place where floodwaters flow, would have been the most logical and natural choices which would have posed no vowel and consonant interference.

Twice, in its colonial history, Filipinos (Felipeños, if we want to adhere strictly to having been named after Felipe) had been humiliated in the sociolinguistic arena and made to appear stupid; a people considered so severely speech-deficient that they couldn’t even pronounce their own country’s name correctly.

3.3. Baybayin’s Consonants

There are fourteen consonants in the Baybayin: They are

ka, ga, nga, ta, da, na, pa, ba, ma, ya, la, wa, sa , ha ( Rizal, 1890)


written as

K , G, NG, T, D, N, P, B, M, Y, L, W, S, H .

Each of the consonants changes in the vowel ending pronunciation according to the placement of a mark or korlet (kudlit) above or below the character. A dot above Ba made it either be or bi; a dot below made it either bo or bu.

3.5. Baybayin’s Writing Functions

The writing materials used were sections of bamboo and the letters were carved with a knife or sharp-pointed instrument. According to historian Bernad, (1972: 150) writing was more for sending messages than for recording transactions

However, the geographical orientation of the extent of usage by the Tagalogs, Ilocanos, Pangasinans, Pampangos, Visayans (Samar-Leyte, Negros), and in the islands of Mindoro and Palawan, all coastal or near coastal areas suggest writing was not only for sending messages but most certainly for inter trade transactions among themselves and with foreign traders (Jocano, 1975: 198-199).

3.6. The Codification and Standardization Process




















Fig. 2. Standardization of the native script

Father Méntrida commented in his 1637 Arte de la Lengua bisaya-hiliguayna that different forms of individual scripts were currently in use. In 1663, Esguerra’s Arte de la Lengua bisaya gave alternate letterforms for the vowel e-i symbol by studying signatures in Spanish and Tagalog document.(Jocano, 1975: 48-49, Scott, 1994: 95). The Spanish priest-scholars began to standardize the variant baybayin script that proliferated among the vernacular groups (Scott, 1994: 60).

The seventeenth century variations standardized by López from several documents can be seen in Figure 2. It became easier to read the inscriptions. The vowel killer applied to the end of words ending in consonants improved reading rapidly because any reader can depend on orthography alone, unlike the old method where the orthography plus the contextual knowledge about what and when the inscription was written, were needed to give meaning to the text. In addition, a literate society found the transference to a new system of alphabet easy and most enlightening

There were some positive consequences of the romanization of the ancient syllabary. Through the codification of the vernaculars, the languages were preserved and accounts of the first contact with Spain survived. The negative consequences showed that instead of being able to transfer their literature and writings in the new form, their learning were proscribed to Christian doctrines and their writings of traditional topics were censured as succumbing to the work of the devil.

3.7. Current Users of the Script: Mindoro Bamboo Literacy

This ancient syllabary did not completely die out. Modern day Hanunoo Mangyans of Mindoro and Tagbanuas of Palawan have retained their traditional script writing. Nevertheless, there is no great literature coming out of these groups who write in the native syllabary. They remain marginal and peripheral to mainstream Filipino society. According to anthropologist Antoon Postma, this script is written from bottom to top so that when the bamboo reeds are laid down, it reads left to right (Postma, 1988: 224-225). The Mangyans write their ambahan poetry in this script.


4. The Doctrina Christiana

Within a relatively short period of time after the initial encounter, the Christian doctrine was diffused throughout the archipelago. The friars’ study of languages provided an interpretation of the Filipino way of life. In addition, it provided new mechanism for controlling the people (Phelan,1955 154-159). First came the new schema of the Latin alphabet. Concurrent with it came the Spanish religion; the native culture was the main casualty. The Augustianians, Franciscans, Dominicans, Jesuits, and Recollects struggled valiantly to understand, speak and write the native language. However, the most vexing problems the Spanish met in the Philippines were the extent of linguistic diversity within the archipelago (Carroll, 1968: 62).

The first step in ending this “confusion of tongues” was to formulate a grammatology or a comparison of alphabets, words, and syntax. The Franciscans in 1580 seriously engaged in the systematic study of the native Tagalog vernacular and compiled a Tagalog dictionary For evangelization purposes, Juan de Placensia in 1593 printed the Doctrina Christiana, an instruction manual of prayers and catechism in Spanish and Philippine script with Tagalog wood blocks (Lach, 1977: 500). It provided an interlinear translation, Spanish on one side, Tagalog baybayin script on the other.

















Fig. 4. Doctrina Christiana

As an unintended sociolinguistic consequence, this dictionary and the printed catechism in Spanish and Tagalog effectively established Tagalog (spoken only by a small minority of eleven and not more than fifteen per cent of the total population) as the power language in the island vis-à-vis the other languages.

The Doctrina was a proselytizing success and enjoyed several printings. It was distributed to several parishes. However, the natives were still reading the old baybayin script while studying the new alphabet. In 1663, Father Colin, the Jesuit missionary admitted that although “there is scarcely a man, and still less a woman who does not know and practice this old writing method,” he complained the people “cling fondly to their own method of writing and reading” and was rueful that indeed “even those who are already Christian in matters of devotion” are guilty of this practice. (Blair and Robertson, 1903: 37-97).







5. The Transliteration Effect

5.1. Reordering of Baybayin Sequence

As the Spanish in the Philippines became adept at the language, their European prejudices and Spanish cultural framework shaped their work according to the principles of Latin and Iberian orthography, grammar, and culture. This effort effectively subverted the ancient script to conform to the linguistic scholars of the age. One example is the rearrangement of the sequence of the Philippine syllabary from the original ordering beginning with K, G, Ng, Ta—this order or sequence of letters is derived from the study of Dr. Pardo de Tavera (1890) entitled “Contribution to the Study of the Old Filipino Alphabet”— to the Latin alphabetical order of A B C D hence the Abakada..

In a personal correspondence with baybayin expert Dr. Jean Paul Potet he called our attention to the Rizal’s ordering of the baybayin. It was not the original sequence but a Sanskrit syllabary order. He said: “////////////////////////” (email correspondence,July 2,2001.)

5.2. .Substitution of consonants to Spanish Alphabet

The Spanish alphabet had no W or NG so Father Chirino omitted these letters from his transliterated Philippine alphabet, thus timawa (freeman) became timagua. Even today, a place spelled Wawa in Pampanga in the new orthography is Hispanized and spelled Guagua, in the same manner that the Central American country called Watemala by natives has a Hispanized spelling of Guatemala. “R” was introduced.


6. Socio-cultural Effects of the Roman Alphabet Change

The Roman alphabet was introduced and by it the entire social structure of Philippine society was affected. Reading and writing the Romanized alphabet was easily learned. The transfer of knowledge came next.


In order to teach this transliteral alphabet, schools had to be established—of course church sponsored. Before admission, one has to be a Catholic. To be a Catholic, one has to be baptized. This sacrament effectively obliterated the Filipino indigenous names.

6.1. Onomastic or Naming Patterns

In baptism, a child has to be given a name. Before the arrival of the Spanish, indigenous Filipino girls’ names were sunshine (Luningning), stars (Bituin), virtues (Mayumi), and other special characteristics. Boys were named for heroic deeds (Bayani), birds (Kalaw) valor, (Magtanggol), among others.

In the changed social structure, the parish priests had a formula for naming Filipino children. A calendar or almanac of feast days was consulted (Joaquin, 1979). If a boy was born on March 19, a perusal of the calendar of saints says it is the feast day of San José. Ergo, the boy is automatically named José. If it is a girl, her name becomes Josefa.. A girl born on December 8 is named Maria Concepcion, or Maria Inmaculada, the feast day of the Immaculate Conception of the Virgin Mary. It is supposed to be simple and straightforward. An almanac had to be written; its use must be taught in church sermons in the pulpit. It was a required household reference book.

With this Christianization effort, they who held their practice of naming their children according to their own family tradition were divested of this patronymic right (Flores, 1997). Suddenly a new generation of Filipinos was carrying Hispanic given names. Unlike other countries where grandchildren naturally receive their grandparent’s names and there is a mechanism to trace one’s ancestry back in time, in the case of the Filipinos, this onomastic pattern was aborted. Thus an intergenerational line could never be traced.

6.2. New Literacy had a social function.

The old script became completely obsolete with very few exceptions. Most importantly this change effectively rendered the literate Filipinos illiterate. Ironically, this inadequacy was used by the colonizers to argue that the Filipinos were not yet civilized.

What else did the early Filipinos own that was taken away? A denigration effect was especially directed towards the women.

6.3. Gender Inequality Effects

Before the Spaniards came, Filipino women enjoyed the same privileges, rights, and opportunity as men (Manansan, 1998: 194). Daughters grew up active as sons in work, training, and trade. They had economic power. Inheritance was divided equally among male and female children. Kinship ties were (still are) traced bilaterally from the woman’s and man’s line. Divorce was initiated not by husbands alone but by wives as well. Women retained their maiden names in marriage (Tapales, 1992). The Filipina also enjoyed political and educational power. The woman’s personal signature by and of itself is a lawful symbol of the authentication of any document because of their proven reliability in fulfilling contracts (de la Costa, 1965: 9). Women’s signatures were required to make any transactions valid. When the Spaniards set up their settlements in Luzon, they were shocked by the freedom manifested by the Filipina. Most of all they were shocked at the high position of the local babaylan women.


7. The Babaylan or Native Priesthood Class

Essentially, the local priesthood was a priestess-hood: the babaylan, the traditional repository of cultural and esoteric knowledge. Linguistically, the term babaylan (the priestess class), baybayin (native script), babae (woman, variant: Babaye), and Binibini (woman leader) are interrelated in etymology and in orthography (Flores, 2001). McCoy (1982) writes that the most common term for spirit medium in insular South East Asia is derived from the classical Malay word belian-belian, or waylan in Java, Bali, Borneo and Halmahera; bailan or baylan among the interior population of Mindanao; and baylan or babaylan in he Visayan and Central Philippines.



7.1.An Etymology of Baybayin

In current usage the word baybayin means “to spell, to write a word in order.” A second meaning is “beach” or coastline (English, 1986). Does it mean this native script was used in trade routes normally the seacoasts or beach? Or was the Filipino woman perhaps the real “speller” suggesting that she was the principal “user” of the old traditional script? Were they the recognized culture bearers of society? Were they the more literate group?

7.1.1 “Literate” versus “Illiterate”

According to Michael Clancy (1981) in medieval England, the clergy (the clericus) was associated with literacy in Latin, (literatus). In a sense this differentiated the clergy as a select group in the service of God. This distinction is a social construction of the Middle Ages. Europe had created an elite of priests who monopolized writing. The opposite of clericus is laicus, or the ordinary people, the (laicus) or laymen. In time, the proposition that was advanced became crystallized as an axiom where clericus is the antithesis of laicus, and literatus is the opposite of illiteratus. It is no accident that the Spanish chroniclers who reported the literacy of the indigenous Filipino women were members of the clerici.

As a product of their medieval time, the Spanish in the Philippines, during the contact, tended to question the literacy of the laity. As a case in point, repeatedly, the Spanish chroniclers kept adding the incredulous parenthetical phrase, “there is scarcely a man, and still less a woman who did not write, “both men and women write in this language. ” Corpuz (1989: 20-36) cites Morga saying “virtually all people, the women more than men, not only knew how to write but also loved doing so.” Alcina writes about the difficulty of reading which is more guessing than pronouncing: “It is easy to learn, and most women read with dexterity and without stumbling.” (Scott: 96). We underscored the reference to women here.

In many traditional ancient cultures, the first to possess the art of writing was the priestly caste. As we have seen, in prehispanic Philippines, this priestly office was primarily a woman’s domain, which leads us to believe that women, more than men could have done much of the baybayin writing. Could certain groups have been the members of an indigenous Secretariat, the medieval English counterpart of the scrivener class perhaps, who recorded the laws and orders promulgated by the council of community elders?

7.2. Women Kept in Place

When the Spanish Inquisition’s office in Manila persecuted the babaylans, branded them as witches, burned them at the stakes, threw the babaylan’s writings into the fire, the ancient script was efficiently removed. These burned documents were not only religious and ritualistic incantations but also contained metaphorical statements for arranging marriages, ritual ceremonies, dowry contracts (given to the bride’s parents), eulogy dirges, genealogical records, onomastic naming practices, birth records, wills, blessings, recipes for healing herbs, organic cosmetics and the like (Flores, 2000). All these documents were lost, and with it was the accompanying loss of a peoples’ cultural capital.

The idea of the Filipina did not fit into the Hispanic concept of how woman should be and behave in society. The friars most especially set out to remold her according to the image of the perfect woman of Iberian society, imposing the European restrictive norms of behavior of the times. Through the colonial experience, the Filipino woman was domesticated (taught only domestic skills).


8. Honorific Titles Based on Achievement

The loss of a native script also precipitated a change in the structure of Filipino’s way of acknowledging individual achievement. Socially the early Filipinos were quite deferential to people of attainment. Filipinos do not call people by their given names alone. There is always a polite title attached when referring to somebody by name. For example, when Magellan came in 1521, his Chronicler Pigafetta identified the leaders he met as Siawi, Simiut, Sibuaia, Sisacai. Contrary to what contemporary Balarila textbooks say that SI in front of names is an indefinite pronoun, the Si in front of the names is an honorific title, show of respect, much like the Shri in India (Scott,1994).

8. 1. Traditional Achievement and Performance Oriented Filipino Titles

This was a new paradigm to the Europeans who were differential only to people of superordinate rank and saw events through European lenses and capable of interpreting different cultures in misleading and sometimes pejorative ways. For example, it is not expected that conquistadors would call their subordinate subjects by their titles and traditional respectful addresses. This must look incongruous and inappropriate. The honorifics such as Gat (leader), Lakan (chief), Sri (respected) Dayang (lady of high integrity), Binibini (well bred lady) (Scott, 1994: 196) were translated to Don and Doña which in the first place carried connotations of having been hispanicized, implying subjugation. Furthermore, these Spanish titles were also seen as race-based (Spanish or mestizos) and wealth-driven.

The title Dayang was cast away, obliterated, and assigned to the dust-heap of colonial history. Only the Muslim royalty carry this title today. Binibini was stripped of its rank and exists only as the equivalent of the Spanish Señorita or the modern Miss. Si became a grammar casualty; now used as an indefinite personal pronoun. The original Filipino titles of respect for leadership and greatness were sometimes hereditary but more often than not, were acquired, not ascribed titles (Lynch, 1963:.163-191). Even today, Filipinos insist on addressing a person of attainment Attorney Flores, or Engineer Cruz; vestiges of achievement and performance titles.


8.2. Residues of archaic and suppressed Tagalog modes of honorific titles

Occasionally Filipino extant titles resurface in contemporary Filipino surnames like Gatmaitan, Gatdula, Gatchalian, Gatpuno, Gatbonton, Magat, Lakandula, Lacanlale, and Lakambini.

Lakambini, was reserved for women leaders. However, the Spanish were highly skeptical of the idea of a woman chief no matter how meritorious, valorous or nobly born. After all, their own Queen Juana, who was a legitimate ruler, was officially called, Juana, la loca. Thus they reduced Philippine women titles to a generic form. To add insult to injury, beauty contest promoters of today have bowdlerized it as the title for beauty queen winners of Miss Philippines competitions from prestigious national pageants down to lowly barrio fiestas.


9. Conclusion

Philippine society a few decades after the initial contact with the Spanish brought social changes and social mobility. From a community characterized as simplistic where mobility is permeable and egalitarian to some extent, it turned into a highly stratified one with unequal access and social and educational opportunity. In the course of three centuries of Spanish colonial rule, out of a society overlaid with Catholicism, Hispanic culture, and western thought, there emerged according to James Fallows (1989) a “damaged” society continually robbed of its ingenuity, initiative, self-esteem, and most importantly its literacy. In this paper, we suggest that among other things, the core of this social malaise may be traced far back to the replacement of the era when nearly the total population was literate in the ancient baybayin system.

Thursday, August 5, 2010

What the Philippine Taipans Could Do: The Florentine Renaissance Model

Florence, Italy
5 August 2010

It's amazing how the Florence Renaissance was driven by trade. The trade was driven by guilds. The guilds were driven by competition. The competition was driven by patronizing public buildings. The restoration of public buildings was driven by creative individuals who decorated them. The creative individuals started a blossoming of innovation. And the whole city opened up to a whole new way of thinking.


The primary guilds were the lawyers and judges, wool merchants, silk merchants, bankers, doctors & apothecaries, leather makers, tint makers including artists. Soon lesser guilds were recognised: tanners, butchers, tailors, weavers, chandlers (candlestick makers). These were very important occupations. They were a sort of lobby for monies, grants, tax exemptions and other benefices. In return, these organizations poured their gold money into beauty and culture.


The guilds formed tightly as organizations and collected fees. Each selected a specific church, a public square, a state building, a bridge, an old palace, an antique forum, a unique edifice designed by a celebrated architect, etc. They went overboard to commmission artists, sculptore, woodcarvers, architects, carpenters, tapestry weavers, masons and the like.

One can see the effect of the competition. Statues, fountains, grottoes, pedestals, roof pediments, entry doors, any space...all are given a decorative touch.

Imagine how the drab Philippine Post Office building designed by Juan Arellano, overlooking Pasig River would look like if it was adopted by, let's say, the Divisoria Organization of silk importers and retailers? How about the Barosaoin Church being patronized and restored by the Piña embroidery Organization of Bulacan? Each national organization of professionals and alumni groups could decorate a university. A local Brunelleschi could go bananas with his domes and baptistry doors of San Agustin Church in Intramuros commissioned by the candlemakers organization of Santa Cruz. The merchants under the tulay, (Under the Tulles) could clean up and decorate the facade and side doors of the historic Quiapo church. Over at the corner of
San Sebastian church, an old Spanish-Filipino residence is slowly deteriorating before our very eyes. It needs a patron to get it restored.

The ultra rich in the Philippines stash their money in unnumbered Swiss accounts. The ultra rich in the Florence of old stashed their money where their paintings, buildings and statues could be admired.

Old historical churches abound in the Philippines, many in disrepair and neglect. Gemma Cruz Araneta gave me a copy of her book on churches "Stones of Faith." The churches in the Philippines are ready for a renaissance moment.

This is a plea to the organizations of merchants, professionals, the unions, labor, corporate institutions. What if you followed the Florentine model of pouring your money back to restore and decorate our old cultural patrimony?

Wednesday, August 4, 2010

Osteria dei Cento Poveri, The 100 Poor, Florence, Italy

Florence, Italy
4 August, 2010



The Vespucci, a merchant family in Florence is known for it's charitable work for the poor. They founded a hospital on Borgo Ognissanti, near their palace residence. The hospital is still operating today. They also fed the poor.

We remember Vespucci because one of the celebrated sons was Amerigo, the navigator. In the decade of Columbus discovery of the New World, Amerigo retraced this historic voyage twice and realized that Columbus did not really discover the eastern part of India. Instead Vespucci came to the conclusion that there was a huge body of land mass between Europe and India. He wrote home to his boss, Lorenzo de Medici. From his detailed letters, Florentine cartographers printed a new map of the world that named this land mass America after Amerigo.

The Vespuccis continued their charitable contribution to their community (borgo) and today we find their kitchen that served the poor in the parish had been resurrected as a restaurant. The restaurant was named after that ancient ritual and ceremony called "Cento Poveri" The 100 Poor.


This Osteria dei Cento Poveri was first opened and inaugurated on December 5, 1992.


It's told that the "Venchetoni" monks chose the poor of the parish and literally fed 100 of them after delousing, fumigating, cleansing, bathing, and giving then fresh new clothes. For those over age 60 a black cap and a white scarf was issued.

The Archbishop and his retinue of monks led the procession to the church. The Ognissanti church altar would be illuminated by thousands of lighted candles. The guests were led to a huge handicrafted table with scroll and decorative woodwork by Gianbattista Paolesi. In there, the Cento Poveri invited guests were seated. They were served on precious silver trays and the food portions were very generous.


Every 5 o'clock pm on the last Sunday of the Carnival Season in Florence, a crowd of curious onlookers are seen gathered at the door of this church just to get a glimpse of the ceremony. Apart from the 'Vanchetoni" monks, reknown noblemen, aristocrats, professionals; some foreigners (at that time the so called foreigners were from Venice, Emiglia Romana, Bologna, Sicily, Naples, Sienna, Pisa, Genoa, Milan (small kingdoms and duchies) with their seasonal tickets in hand, were waiting for their turn to be invited.

A couple of evenings ago, I went to this Osteria on via Pallazzuto 23, Angolo Via Porcellana. It was crowded with customers. The fare was inexpensive, simple, and used only fresh ingredients. I saw a pizza as staggeringly big as a basin (palangana) or better still, the diameter of a Bila-o.

A medium size pizza near the Arno river costs 11 Euros. At the Cento Poveri, a much bigger version costs 5 to 7 Euros.

A meal for the poveri like me.

Sunday, August 1, 2010

Dr. José Rizal's Penmanship: The Lost Art of Handwriting

The Lost Art of Handwriting: Rizal's Noli me Tangere

I obtained the facsimile of Rizal's Noli me Tangere and El Filibusterismo in handwritten form. It's very inspiring. To write a complete novel in hand written form was the rigeur of the day in 1885 when he first started to write his manuscript.

Let's see how Rizal did it. He purchased writing paper. Oh, maybe 15 to 20 percent fiber stock. It must withstand the india ink and the quill bush stroke. Now we have the 8 by 12 inch size, or the A-4 of the European size. In Rizal's time, what do you think the regular book size manuscript was? It must be bigger. It must contain at least 21 lines in handwritten form. That could mean about 36 inches wide and 48 inches in length.

Imagine the backbreaking belabored hand, writing all 15 chapters in script. I'd be living in eternal hand cramps. We used to have our type writers in the early decade of the 19th century, and now with the 21st century contemporary computers we could delete and paste with entire abandon.

Not so in Rizal's time. He had to think clearly and must possess the linguistic proficiency to know exactly what he was doing and how he was doing it. The eraser for the india ink pen had not yet been been invented. We could actually see Dr. José Rizal's thought processes as he crosses out a word to convey a better nuanced word choice.

It was this manuscript that my ancestor, Dr. Maximo Viola hand carried to Berlin in 1887 to find a suitable and inexpensive printer. In fact, my granduncle provided the 300 pesetas as a loan to have it printed (see my earlier blog).


Rizal's manuscript in written form was beautifully spaced, It was told that his mother first taught him reading and writing. His personal teacher in grade school and those Jesuits at Ateneo shaped his o's and his u's and made him cross his t's and loop his p's elegantly.

I had the rare chance of tracing Rizal's own signature as he signed his name at the Leitmertiz Registry Book when he arrived for a visit with Dr. Ferdinand Blumentritt at Leitmeritz, Austria, now Litomérice, Czech Republic, May 1887 (see my July 19, 2010 blog).

Handwriting is so personal and is the only legitimate source of our legal identity. Our name signature or hand writing is our special personal possession and so important that it is protected by the state (albeit the credit card companies) that no other is allowed to use it or imitate it.

In fact of all the ways to understand the real authentic Rizal is to study his signature and penmanship. It is a statement non verbally of who he is. Take a look at his hand written facsimile of the Noli as a manuscript. Note the evenly slanted letters. The ascenders (t, d, b, l, h ) or tall letters, and descenders (g, p. y, q,, z) are drawn in pure contour. Rizal could write straight even without a lined paper!

His m's and n's have mounded shapes, while his u's and w's were negative mounded shapes. It is well to remember that Jose Rizal was a sculptor. In this art form, one is constantly thriving for the clearance of the positive spaces and the negative spaces. Rizal's penmanship is an artist's delight.


His hand writing had a slant. A slightly forward slant conveys energy, a subconscious message of forward action, with cautious conservative pace. In his signature, he used heavy dark lines, not thin and wispy, suggesting muscular power, and intellectual strength. But in the Noli manuscript, we note him using medium lines indicating a "fine line of sensibility and a particular elegance. It conveys an aesthetic almost poetic personality." I'm not using these descriptions to give Rizal's attributes as we know it. I'm actually quoting Betty Edwards's chapter on handwriting as an art form (The New Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain, 1999. pp 162-163).

We are not trying Graphology on Rizal's penmanship. Graphologists go into fanciful derivations of how, for example, one large loop of a letter can indicate some personal acquisitive nature. We are talking without question, about the idea of making a line or hand writing related to the principles of art--the basic precepts of composition, balance, movement, rhythm and placement.

Just as art expresses the artist, so does handwriting expresses Rizal's inner personality.


Rizal's signature page is shown below.

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Dr. José Rizal's 4th floor apartments, Madrid, 1882.

31, July 2010, Saturday
Firenze, Italia


My instructor, Erin Murphy, an American, is a Florence resident for the past 20 years.

Beginning Monday, my classes will be held in her studio. It's on the 4th floor of an old Firenze building. Knowing that the first floor is ground zero and does not count, that means I will have to go to 5 flights of stairs to the fourth floor.

What has this got to do with my Blog on Rizal? Why? Because José Rizal's apartments in Madrid were always on the 4th piso, (that's our 5th floor) or 3rd piso (that's our equivalent 4th floor). (See my next series of blogs on Rizal's residence in Madrid).



To Erin's Art Studio: I go through the huge wooden creaking facade door. Then a short vestibule with granite and marble stone floor introduces me to the first flight of stairs. I counted 10 steps to the first landing as it turns to another 10 steps into the first floor. Whew! That was 20 hard narbled steps just to reach the first floor.


Finally, 20--80-- and leading to almost nowhere in sight, we finally reach Erin's studio. It is beautiful out there. From the windows I could see the variegated tile roofs of the neighboring buildings, and the shadow of Brunellschi's Duomo. It's so near it seems I could reach out to it, while from afar, and in the distance, cypress trees outline the sky.


From the attic, there's a dangling Manila hemp rope attached to hooks on the side wall. This very narrow wooden steps lead to the rooftop, and then an open portico with potted plans reveal a fantastic view of the whole city of Firenze and the distant hills .

There overlooking this wonderful scene, for the next week of my art lessons, I will learn how to draw and paint the landscape. Expect me to paint the mildewed clay tile roofs below if I run out of subjects.

Back to Rizal.
Rizal's apartment in Madrid had always been on the 4th or 3rd floors. You and I are thinking the Filipino/American idea of naming floors with ground floor as first. The reality is, in all of Europe, our first floor is called the Ground floor. Their First floor is our Second floor.

Rizal who lived on the 4th floor had to negotiate at least 80 or more steps daily to go up, another 80 to go down. He would go up another 80 + steps for the breakfast morning's end back to his quarters, go down to eat lunch, then go up 80 steps to study, and go down to eat dinner, and finally up 80 steps to retire for the day. But he is rewarded every day of access to the rooftop and an awesome view of the whole city of Madrid spread out before him, with several cathedral spires punctuating the sky.


That was his daily grind. There were no cooking facilities in his apartment. Now we know what Filipino students in Madrid had to go through on their daily existence living in a foreign country away from home where in the home country, the highest floor of apartments and residences are only the ground floor and the first floor.




Rizal moved every so often, and always his quarters were up on the 3rd floor (our 4th). I took pictures of the facade of where he lived, but we can just imagine the stairs he had to negotiate with no elevators. However, having climbed Erin's studio up on the 4th floor, I now know exactly how he felt and where he got his feeling of soreness of the joints.



Rizal was a student at the Faculty of Philophy and Letters at the University of Madrid and later at the San Carlos Medical School in Madrid.

Thursday, July 29, 2010

Accademia Italiana di Bellas Artis, Florence

Florence, Italy
July 31, 2010

I'm here in Firenze attending art school. My first drawing class is about studying and copying Juarez Machado's picture of a nude, another girl and the artist.

Ferdinand Blumentritt of Lietmeritz, Austria, friend of Dr. José Rizal.

On May 13, 1877, Dr. Jose Rizal and his friend Dr. Maximo Viola (my ancestor) arrived by train. The friends were met by Dr. Ferdinand Blumentritt and his family. Earlier, Dr, Blumentritt and Dr. José Rizal had started a very scholarly correspondence (on Philippine ethnography) which with every return of the maIl (around 10 days) the correspondence became more and more communicative. In other words, it was no longer just a correspondence between scholars, but a meeting of the minds of two disparate individuals in terms of geography but so similar in sentiment. In time, they found their metier and exchanged their own philosophies: of life, of teaching, of religion, of the colonizers and of the oppressed.

It will be good for the Filipino American reader to get the two volumes (1992, National Historical Institute, Manila) on José Rizal and his complete correspondence with Dr. Ferdinaand Blumentritt.

Last week, (19 July 2010) I traveled with my good friend from Prague, Miloslav (Mila for short) Smida to visit posthumously with the famed director of the Litomerérice Gynmasium or Realeschule (equivalent to our Secondary, College-bound). With the disintegration of the Austrian Hapsburg Empire, Lietmeritz became part of Czechoslovakia and was given a Czech name.

Litomérice is one hour's drive north from Prague. It has maintained a slower pace of life. The old tower's imagined arms still is about to engulf every newcomer in a warm embrace. The square's fountain in the middle still spouts clear water from its source: the pristine lake nearby. Thanks for the smaller car versions, the parked vehicles seem not so intrusive around the fountain. The arcades around the square still sport the ancient balustrades above and walking architaves below for pedestrian.

The very friendly town officials told us to go to the other side to the square, (East) and turn left. There is a small garden and inside another small garden wall, we found a shady lane with a bust of Blumentritt. I recognized his bespectacled face extruding from the high wall. It was the likeness of the sketch Dr. Rizal made of him during his visit in 1887. Viewing the green grounds, a plaque described this beloved citizen who developed a deep and great friendship with the National Hero of the Philippines. It said: "Here established the connection between Czech Republic and the Republic of the Philippines through the friendship of Dr. Ferdinand Blumentriit and Dr.José Rizal." A quote from one of Rizal's letters followed in Czech inscription.

Back in the center of town, on the other side of the square, we passed through a little street that led to the statue of an important Czech hero, Macha. On the left of the statue, we took three steps down and there we were: right on Rizal Park. It's a a slim tongue of green, a miniature park, very serene, peaceful, and tranquil.

A bust of Rizal lorded it over the scene. It is a beautiful handsome piece, sculpted no doubt by a renowned Filipino sculptor, a Caedo prehaps, but I have to check my sources to verify this.
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I turned to Mila: "They (the Litomerice Commission), knew what they were doing. This place recalls Rizal's Dapitan domicle duirng his exile--- verdant green, tranquil, peaceful and reflective, which he called Mi Retiro" .

Mila replied pointedly: "Well then, let's create a tour prospectus for Filipinos who are traveling to Prague to make sure that they visit this historic piece of important Philippine History."

"I agree. There's more to just going to see the Holy Infant Jesus of Prague, which is the regular itinerary of the many Filipinos I know who travel to Prague." (For all of you out there planning to travel to Prague at any time in the future, please allow me and Mila to get your itinerary planned for this historic event.)

Last week, upon reading my blog on Rizal, the writer and literary critic Allen Gaborro exclaimed, "Who would expect a Rizal Park in the middle of a small ancient town square in an obscure town of the Czech Republic?"


Back at the town square tourist booth, we returned to buy some postcards. I found one that showed the square in 1840. Close enough for me.

Among the goods, postcards, and maps was a monograph of the "Last Farewell" by Dr. Jose Rizal translated in Czech. The glossy cover had a lovely bust image of Dr.l Jose Rizal. This is the bust found inside the Mayor's office. Truth be told, this cover monograph is better a thousand -fold than the images of any Rizal bust found in the Philippines. I'm sure of that.

I bought a copy for 48 Krowns. I wish I had purchased more.

Saturday, July 24, 2010

Visit to Litomérice: In The Shadow of Dr. José Rizal Slideshow

Visit to Litomérice: In The Shadow of Dr. José Rizal Slideshow: "TripAdvisor™ TripWow ★ Visit to Litomérice: In The Shadow of Dr. José Rizal Slideshow ★ to Prague by Penélope V. Flores. Stunning free travel slideshows on TripAdvisor"

Budapest, Esztergom, Szentendre, Visegrad Slideshow

Budapest, Esztergom, Szentendre, Visegrad Slideshow: "TripAdvisor™ TripWow ★ Budapest, Esztergom, Szentendre, Visegrad Slideshow ★ to Rome and Budapest by Penélope V Flores. Stunning free travel slideshows on TripAdvisor"

Thursday, July 22, 2010

PenelopeVFlores: Tracing Jose Rizal's Footsteps, Madrid 1882-1887.

Leitmeritz, Austria is now Litomérice, Czech Republic

My Luvosîce Moment


Penélope V. Flores*


Luvosîce: July 19, 2010

Stunned from too little sleep, I blinked at the giant folio before me. My imagination is most vivid at times like this when I feel a strong connection to my roots. Memories and historical facts feel organically raw. It is hard not to be sentimental in a place like Luvosicé, three kilometers away from Litomérice. Standing there, the polished stone floor of the archive building was likened to a Sahara. My knees began to buckle. Here I am, halfway across the world facing a dark Morocco leather- bound book register. It is Folio XVII. On it’s open pages, I noted the fine delicate flourish of a signature. It showed half-way down the page on leaf IV B 8:

Máximo Viola of the Philippines (Bulacan).

I relive the visit of my ancestor for a moment. At age 26, Maximo Viola just completed his medical degree from Barcelona, Spain and was traveling with his good friend to Leitmeritz, an Austrian town of Bohemia. (At present, it is known as Litomérice, the Gateway to Bohemia, Czech Republic).

The two friends were visiting the Filipinist scholar, Dr. Ferdinand Blumentriit., who was the director of the Litomérice school.

Why this interest in Viola? Dr. Viola is my grandmother’s (Juliana Viola) older brother. I had waited years to undertake this personal journey in order to savor this moment as I traced the peripatetic footsteps of a young Ilustrado.

Ah, but wait!

Just above my granduncle’s signature, clearly another entry on the book is recognizable by the current 81 million Filipinos in the home country. The penmanship showed a very firm hand. The name was written at a slight incline ending with a strong downward and very magnetic stroke. It read:


José Rizal of the Philippines (Calamba).
Leitmeritz 16 May 1887.


My hair,which is normally limp and straight, curled like tendrils that darted off in four squiggly directions. Filled with strong emotions, I turned the other way, smearing my eye-mascara with a hurried tear.

At this point, the manager of the State Regional Archive, Ms. Jana Shejbalová, came over to my side and wrote down the name of the folio:

Gedenbuch der Königlichen Kreisstadt Leitmeritz (1840-1900).


The title page was written in High German script. Jana explained that the town of Litomérice had transferred the 19th century folio to her a couple of years ago.

“It’s a lucky coincidence,” she declared, “that you came today (Monday) because on the other days of the week, this archive is closed.”

The imposing registry is wider than my torso (shoulder to shoulder). When I held my arm forward as a unit of measure, the length went from my shoulder socket to the tip of my hand. As it spread open to the page the heavy registry book took the whole space of a 45 by 45 inch table desk. The Gedenbuch has a 5-inch back spine.

My thoughts began to unfasten as I fingered the page. Our national hero, Dr. José Rizal’s hand brushed this very page as he registered his signature 123 years ago (2010-1887). An ancient doorbell rang inside my liver. Yes, indeed. In the ancient pre-hispanic Filipino belief, the liver (kasing-kasing: not the heart) is the center of emotions. (The etymology of the word Kasintahan literally means the joining of livers.)

I heard the bell’s hushed vibration announcing in very dramatic resonance:

“You have just traced the exact page where our national hero, José Rizal, leaned on his arm and moved his writing hand across this very paper surface.”


That was my Luvosîce moment. I looked incredibly at my trembling hands.

“I won’t wash off the golden and historical aura emanating from this arm,” I swore.

“(Mag pu punas-punas na lang).”


For years this Leitmeritz (Litomérice) registry book might have lain under the eaves of the cavernous Town Hall library, occasionally to be taken down for reference by somebody, mostly historians from some universities in the Philippines; usually shepherded by recently appointed Philippine ambassadors, consuls and diplomats from Prague. But here I am, an ordinary citizen, with no embassy connections, no previous official scheduled appointment, unheralded except accompanied by my good friend Miloslav of Trebotov, a suburb of Prague, perusing the huge same book where our national hero registered his presence as a Filipino.





Back in Litomérice, I asked where Hotel Krebs was. According to Viola’s memoirs (1927), he and Rizal were billeted there in Room 12, during their May 1887 visit. The gentleman at the tourist information booth automatically corrected me.

“There’s no Hotel Krebs in Litomérice.”

“But there was one here in front of the town plaza a century and a quarter ago, “ I insisted with professorial authority.

He pointed across from the town square.

“There’s the former Hotel Rak if that’s what you mean”

According to historian Ambeth Ocampo who visited this building a couple of years ago (2008), the ground floor of the old hotel had become a bank. However, now (2010) it has morphed into a shabby commercial storefront. The outside neon sign read:

Obchodní Centrum
ROSSMANN


Miloslav (I call him Mila) Smida and I sauntered in. The shopping center at best displayed mostly made-in -China clothing.

The old “Hotel Rak” squats like a green box turtle, topped with a red tile roof with shell-shaped dormers on the top 4th floor. The confusion may have been due to the fact that “Rak” is not a “crab” but a “crayfish”. My Lolo Imo (Maximo) and most possibly Rizal were lacking in the German language nuance and could not have sufficiently distinguished the difference between a crab and a crayfish. As a consequence he wrote what came to them : “kreb” or “crab”.

Mila, who is a talented cartoonist, quickly and deftly sketched a pen-and-ink illustration of the crayfish and the 1887 visit of two young Filipino doctors and the Professor from Leitmeritz (See attachment, in future blog).

In addition, to make an impression he suggested:

“I may be wrong, but please inquire from your Ministry of Culture and Education for the correct information. Here this hotel has always been known as Hotel Rak. It's understandable that your historians depend solely on original written sources. However, if initial errors are inadvertently made, it is replicated over and over again. “

“No one bothered to ask us, locals,” he added with a wink.

It was already 3 pm. We started the trip at 10:00 am, July 19th 2010. Before repairing back to Prague, we lunched on cream of asparagus soup and fresh grilled river trout with potatoes and salad greens at a pleine-aire restaurant on Litomérice’s ancient and historic town square.

As we drove back to Prague, Mila made a brief stop at a pristine lake. On the distance I saw the shadow of an island. My granduncle’s diary said, there was an island here where Blumentritt’s family and friend hosted a picnic for the two Filipinos before they left for Dresden.





In my next chapter, I write about Ferdinand Blumentritt’s plaque and the bust of Jose Rizal that overlooks a green square on Litomérice's Rizal Park.








*NOTE: Luvosîce, (pronounced Lu-VOH-zyeet-she) is 3 km east of Litomérici, (pronounced Lee TOH myer-zheet-seh) which is an hour’s drive or 57 km from Prague, Czech Republic. A century ago, this town was known as Leitmeritz and was part of Austria. In this ancient Bohemian town, Dr. Jose Rizal and his friend Dr. Maximo Viola traveled to meet with Dr. Ferdinand Blumentritt.

Monday, July 5, 2010

Tracing Jose Rizal's Footsteps, Madrid 1882-1887.

For the great many of you who had visited Madrid, Spain, I have a question for you.


Did you know that the Philippine Embassy in Madrid has an organized tour of the apartments, residences, restaurants, clubs, and other places where our National Hero, Dr. Jose Rizal had spent during his student days from 1882 to 1887?