THE COUNCIL OF

THE GODS
by José Rizal
An Allegory In One Act

Note: Rizal wrote this in

1880 when he was a
student at Ateneo when he
was 19 or 20 years old.
The work shows Rizal's
amazing knowledge of the
intricacies of Roman
mythology.
Note: This play, supplied to the site
by an earnest student, is submitted
for free academic resource for Filipino
students and others interested in the
Philippine national hero. Bibliographic
information and permission to put up
electronically is pending. If the
English translation of this work is not
in the public domain and the copyright
holder wishes that it be removed, it
will be done. -- RLY

Reunion of the Gods on Olympus:

Jupiter [the chief deity, god of thunder and the

skies: also known as the Greek Zeus - RLY] is seated
on a throne of gold and precious stones, bearing
in his hand a scepter of cypress. At his feet is
the eagle, whose metallic plumage gleams
multicolored; thunderbolts, his terrible arms, lie
on the floor. At his right is his wife, the jealous
Juno [the sister and wife of Jupiter, queen of the gods,
and goddess of marriage: also known as the Greek Hera
- RLY], with a refulgent diadem and the peacock
of vanity. At his left is the wise Pallas [the
goddess of wisdom, skills, and warfare. Also known as
Athena. – RLY] (Minerva), his daughter and
adviser, adorned with her helmet and awesome
shield, crowned with green olive and gracefully
bearing her heavy lance.

Forming a striking contrast is Saturn [the god of

agriculture: also known as the Greek Cronus - RLY],
squatting and gazing at the beautiful group. In
gracious disarray reclines the lovely Venus [the
goddess of love and beauty: also known as the Greek
Aphrodite. - RLY] on a bed of roses, crowned with
fragrant myrtle, caressing Cupid [the god of love,
son of Venus: usually represented as a winged boy with
bow and arrow also known as the Greek Eros. -
RLY]. Divine Apollo [the god of music, poetry,
prophecy, and medicine, represented as exemplifying
manly youth and beauty. - RLY] suavely strikes his
lyre of gold and mother-of-pearl, dallying with
eight Muses (daughters of Jupiter and
Mnemosyne, goddess of memory), who are
Calliope, muse of heroic poetry; Melpomene,
muse of tragedy; Thalia, muse of comedy;
Polyhymnia, muse of rhetoric; Erato, muse of
lyric poetry; Euterpe, muse of song and music;
Urania, muse of astronomy; and Clio, muse of
history. Completing that select circle are
Mars[the god of war; also known as the Greek Ares. -
RLY], Bellona [Wife (or sister) of Mars; goddess of
war], Alcides [the son of Zeus and Alcmene, renowned
for his strength and courage perhaps better known by
the name, Hercules- RLY] and Momus [Note: God of
mockery and censure - RLY]. Behind Jupiter and Juno
are Hebe [Note: Goddess of Youth -- RLY] and
Ganymede [Note: a beautiful youth carried off by Zeus to be
the cupbearer to the Gods - RLY]. On the right side of
Jupiter sits Justice [“Justice is not formally a part of
the Roman pantheon but is treated as such in this play.
- RLY] on a throne, her attributes in her-hands.
Enter the ninth muse, Terpsichore, the muse
 of dance, followed by nymphs, naiads, and
undines [minor nature gods and goddesses, living in
rivers, mountains and trees. An undine is a feminine
water spirit who can acquire a soul by marrying and
bearing a child to a human - RLY] , who, scattering
flowers, dance to the lyres of Apollo and Erato
and the flute of Euterpe. After the dance, they
group themselves on either side of the stage.
Enter Mercury [the messenger of the gods, god of
commerce, manual skill, eloquence, cleverness, travel,
and thievery: also known as the Greek Hermes. - RLY].

MERCURY: (removing his Phrygian cap) I have

obeyed your orders, sovereign father. Neptune and
his court cannot come; they fear to lose commands
of the seas because of the boldness of men. Vulcan
is still at work on the thunderbolts you ordered him
to make, with which to arm Olympus, and is finishing
them now. As for Pluto...

JUPITER: (interrupting) Enough! I don't need them

either. Hebe, Ganymede: serve the nectar so the
immortal may drink. (Hebe and Ganymede obey.)

Enter Bacchus [the god of wine and revelry:

also known as the Greek Dionysus] on foot and
Silenus [Note: the foster father and tutor of Dionysus
and leader of the satyrs {minor woodland deities with
the head and trunk of a human, the hind legs of a goat,
the ears and tail of a horse and short horns known for
their riotous and lecherous merrymaking.}, traditionally
pictured as a fat, drunken, jovial old man with pointed
ears. - RLY] on an ass, singing:
He who wishes to live
and to divert himself,
let him abandon Minerva
and tend my vines...

MINERVA: (loudly) Silence! Don't you see that

mighty Jupiter would speak?

SILENUS: So what? Is the conqueror of the Titans

annoyed? The gods are drinking nectar; so, anyone
can express merriment as he pleases. But I see that
my disciple has offended you, and you use this as a
pretext...

MOMUS: (mockingly) Defend him, Silenus, so they

won't say your followers are an impudent lot.

Minerva, about to speak, is silenced by gesture of

Jupiter, but expresses her disdain with a smile that
alerts the delicate serenity of her shapely lips.
Meanwhile, the gods have finished their nectar and
have begun to chat among themselves.

JUPITER: There was a time, great gods, when the

proud sons of earth attempted to climb Olympus by
piling mountain upon mountain, so they could wrest
away my power. And there's no doubt at all that they
would have succeeded if your arms and my terrible
thunderbolts had not hurled them down to
Tartarus [The deepest chamber of the underworld and
prison of the word’s dead - RLY], burying the others in
the bowels of fiery Etna. This happy event do I wish
to celebrate with all the pomp of the immortals, now
that Earth, following its eternal course, has returned
to that very same point in its orbit that it occupied
then. So I, king of the gods, desire to begin this
feast with a literary contest. I have here a
magnificent war trumpet, a lyre and a crown of
laurel, all exquisitely made. The trumpet is of a
metal known only to Vulcan, more precious than gold
and silver; the lyre like that of Apollo, is of gold and
mother-of-pearl, fashioned also by Vulcan, but its
strings, wrought by the Muses, have no equal; and
the crown woven by the Graces of the finest laurel
growing in my immortal gardens, shines more
brilliantly than all the crowns of the kings on earth.
These three prizes are of equal value; and who has
most ably cultivated the letters and the virtues shall
be the owner of these magnificent jewels. Show me,
therefore, the mortal whom you deem worthy to
receive them.

JUNO: (rising arrogantly) Permit me, Jupiter, to

speak first, since I am your wife and the mother of
the most powerful gods. No one better than I can
present to you so perfect a mortal as the
divineHomer. Who indeed would dare dispute his
supremacy? For no work can compete with hisIliad,
so brave and bold, and with his Odyssey, so
reflective and prudent. Who, like him, has sung your
grandeur and that of the other gods so
magnificently, as if he had surprised us right here on
Olympus and been present at our gatherings? Who
has done more than him to keep the odorous incense
of Arabia burning abundantly before our images as
well as fat sacrificial offerings, whose delicious
smoke, rising in capricious spirals, please us enough
to placate our anger? Who, like him, has recounted
the most sublime battles in more splendid verses?
He sang of divinity, of knowledge, of virtue, of
bravery, of heroism and disaster, using all the notes
of his lyre. It is he who deserves the prize, for I
believe, as all Olympus believes, that nobody else
has made himself so worthy of our esteem.

VENUS: Pardon me, sister, wife of great Jove, if I do

not share your estimable option. And you, Jupiter,
visible only to mortals, be lenient to my pleas. I pray
you not to allow that he who sang [= the epic
poet Virgil who wrote the Aeneid of whom Aeneas is the hero.
- RLY] of my son Aeneas [Upon escaping ruined Troy,
Aeneas wanders for years before coming to Latium and so is
considered the forefather of the Romans. - RLY] should be
vanquished by Homer [The epic poet who wrote
the Iliad and the Odyssey of whom Achilles. - RLY]. Call to
mind the lyre of Virgil, which sang of our glories and
made sweet even the laments of tragic love. His
most sweet and melancholy verses stir the soul; he
praised piety in the person of the son of
Anchises [i.e. Aeneas of whom Anchises is his father - RLY]:
his battles are no less glorious those fought at the
foot of the Trojan walls. Aeneas is greater and more
virtuous than the irascible Achilles [The hero of The
Iliad]. In short, to mind, Virgil is far superior to the
poet of Chios [an Island in the Agean Sea. A legend holds
that Homer was a blind beggar from that island. - RLY] . Is it
not true that he fulfills all the requirements laid down
by your holy mind?

Having spoken, she returns to recline gracefully

on her couch, like the gracious Undine, who,
cuddling on the foam of the waves, forms the most
precious jewel of a lovely poetical lake.

JUNO: (infuriated) What! And why is the Roman

poet to be preferred to the Greek? How can Virgil, a
mere imitator, be greater than Homer? Since when
has the copy been better than the original? (In a
disdainful tone) Ah, beautiful Venus, I see you are
mistaken and I am not surprised: for when the
subject is not love, it's over your head. Besides, the
heart and the passions never knew how to reason.
Abandon the argument, I beg you - in the name of
your innumerable lovers...

VENUS: (blushingly interrupting) O most fair Juno,

as jealous as you are vengeful! In spite of your
excellent memory, which ever recalls the golden
apple so unjustly denied your famous and never
quite fully regarded charms, I see with disgust that
you have forgotten the gross insults your favorite
Homer hurled against us. However, if you yourself
find him reasonable and truthful, that's good - and I
felicitate you for it; but as for me, let the gods of
Olympus say...

MOMUS: (interrupting) Yes! Let them say that you

praise Virgil because. `Tis said, he behaved well with
you; and that Juno defends Homer because he is the
poet of vengeance; and that both of you are really
merely trading caresses and compliments! But you,
Jupiter, why do you not intervene in this debate?
There you sit, like a stunned boob listening to the
trilogies at the Olympian feasts!

JUNO: (loudly) Husband, why do you allow this

deformed and ugly monster to insult us? Kick him
out of Olympus, for his breath stinks! Besides...

MOMUS: Glory to Juno, who never insults, for she

merely called me ugly and deformed! (The gods
laugh.)

JUNO: (paling and frowning, and darting lightning

looks at everyone. especially Momus) Shut up, god
of mockery! By the Stygian lake [reference to the River
Styx which transported the dead to the infernal regions = “by
the rivers of hell!” - RLY]...! But enough of this, and let
speak Minerva, whose opinion has always been mine
since time immemorial.

MOMUS: Yes! Another one like you, illustrious

meddlers, who are always found where they should
not be!

MINERVA: (pretending not to hear; removing her

helmet to reveal her stern smooth brow, mansion of
intelligence; and speaking in a clear silvery voice) I
beg you to hear me, mighty son of Saturn, who
shakes Olympus with your terrible frown; and you,
prudent and venerated gods, who direct and govern
mankind. Please do not take my words amiss, ever
submitted to the will of the Thunderer [= Jupiter -
RLY]. If perchance my arguments lack weight in your
eyes, deign to refute them and to weigh them on the
scales of justice.

There is an ancient Hesperia [the Roman name for

Spain - RLY], beyond the Pyrenees [a mountain range that
separates Spain from the rest of Europe. - RLY], a man
whose fame has crossed, with the swiftness of a
flash of lightning, the space that separates the world
of mortals from Olympus. Ignored and unknown, he
became the plaything of envy and vile passions,
overwhelmed by disaster, the sad fate of great
spirits. It seemed indeed that the world had
extracted from Tartarus all its sufferings and
torments and had heaped them on his unhappy
person. But, in spite of so many sufferings and
injustices, he has not cared to return blow for blow,
but, being too good and too great to be vengeful, he
has rather sought to correct and educate his
fellowmen, by creating an immortal work: his Don
Quixote. I speak then of Cervantes, of this son of
Spain, who is to be her pride but is now perishing in
the most dreadful misery. TheQuixote, his great
labor, is a whip that punishes and corrects, drawing
not blood but laughter; it is a nectar that contains
the virtues of a bitter medicine; it is a caressing
hand that energetically disciplines human passions.
If you ask me what obstacles he overcame, please
listen to me for a moment and you shall know.

The world found itself invaded by a kind of

madness, dismal and frenzied, spread by the idiotic
pens of feverish imaginations. Bad taste prevailed
and time was wasted in the reading of pernicious
books. Then there appeared this brilliant light to
dispel the darkness of the intelligence; and as birds
flee at the sight of the hunter or at the whistling of
an arrow, so vanished the errors, the bad taste and
the absurd beliefs, sinking into the night of oblivion.
And while it is true that the singer of Ileum, in his
sonorous verses, was the first to open the temple of
the Muses and to celebrate the heroism of mortals
and the wisdom of the immortals; while it is true
that the swan of Mantua exalted the piety of him
who rescued the gods from the conflagration of his
native land and who renounced the delights of Venus
to obey your will - you, Jupiter, greatest of all the
gods - and that the most delicate sentiments sprang
from his lyre, his melancholy music transporting the
mind to other realms; it is also no less certain that
neither Homer nor Virgil reformed the manners of
their age, as did Cervantes. At his appearance, truth
once more occupied her throne, announcing a new
era to the world, then corrupted. If you ask me
about his beauties, though I know them well, I bid
you ask Apollo, supreme judge on the matter, if the
author of Quixote has burned incense on his
immortal altars.

APOLLO: Receive, O my father, these arguments of

mine with the same pleasure that you listen, on still
nights, to the complaints of Philomela. The Nine
Sisters [i.e. the Muses - RLY] and I have read in the
gardens of Parnassus [i.e. gardens of poetic activity. -
RLY] this book of which the wise Minerva spoke. Its
merry style and pleasant rhythm sound in my ears
like a sonorous fountain springing at the mouth of
Umbrian cave. (I beg you not to think me partisan
because Cervantes dedicated to me many of his
beautiful pages!) If even in the extreme poverty that
breeds the hunger, misery and woes that afflict the
hapless, a humble son of mine has nevertheless
been able to lift up to me his songs and to harmonize
his accents, offering me a tribute more gorgeous and
precious than my glittering chariot or my indomitable
horses; if in a stinking dungeon, unhappy prison of a
soul that yearns to fly, his well trained pen was able
to pour forth torrents of dazzling poetry far sweeter
and richer than the waters of the golden Pactolus [at
this River King Midus was able to rid himself of the curse that
caused everything he touched to turn to gold. Gold is
supposed to be found in the sands of its riverbanks. - RLY] ,
why, then, should we deny his superiority and not
give him the victory as the greatest genius the
universe has ever seen? His Quixote is the favorite
book of the Muses; and while with its humor it
consoles the depressed and the melancholy and
enlightens the ignorant, it is at the same time a
history, the most faithful history of Spanish customs.
I am, therefore, of the same opinion as the wise
Pallas - and may the gods who do not share that
opinion forgive me.

JUNO: If the greatest merit of Cervantes consists in

having endured so many misfortunes, and since, in
other respects, he surpasses no one, if indeed he is
not surpassed, then I can also say that Homer, blind
and miserable, once substituted on public charity
(which Cervantes never did), wandering through the
towns and cities with his lyre as his only friend and
living in the most complete misery. This do you
remember well, ungrateful Apollo.

VENUS: So what? And Virgil - has he not also been

poor? Did he not live for a long time on a single loaf
of bread, a gift of Caesar? The melancholy that
breathes from his works - does it not tell enough of
how much his sensitive and delicate heart must have
suffered? Could he have suffered less than the
brilliant Homer or the gay Cervantes?

MINERVA: All that is true, no doubt. But you must

not forget that Cervantes was wounded,
overpowered and taken captive on the inhospitable
soil Africa, where he drained to the dregs the chalice
of bitterness living under the constant threat of
death.

Jupiter makes signs that he agrees with Minerva.

MARS: (rising and speaking with a voice of thunder

and wrath) No, by my lance! No! Never! While a drop
of immortal blood warms my veins, Cervantes shall
not win! How can I permit a book to rise victorious
that hurls my glory to the ground and makes mock
my feasts? Jupiter, I helped you one time; so listen
to my reasons.

JUNO: (irate) You hear, O Jove the Judge, the

reasons of valiant Mars, as sensible as he is
courageous. Light and truth spring from his words.
How indeed can we permit this man whose glory
Time has respected (and let Saturn speak out) to see
himself displaced by a one-armed upstart, the scorn
of society?

MARS: And if you, father of gods and men, doubt

the force of my arguments, inquire of these others if
there be any among then who would sustain his
reasons with his arm! (He strides arrogantly to the
center, defying all with a look and brandishing his
sword.)

MINERVA: (stepping forward with proud mien and

flashing eyes, but speaking in a serene voice)
Foolhardy Mars, who has forgotten the Trojan field
where you were wounded by a mere mortal [with the
help of the goddess Juno, the warrior Diomedes drove a spear
into Mars in the battle for Troy. - RLY]: if your reasons are
backed by your sword, mine fear no combat with
them on your ground. But, so I may not be called
reckless, I wish to show you how wrong you are.
Cervantes followed your banners and served you
heroically on the waters of Lepanto[In this battle
Cervantes lost the use of his left hand as he fought the Turks
in 1571. - RLY], where he would have lost his life had
Destiny not meant him for greater end. If he
abandoned the sword to take up the pen, it was by
the will of the immortals and not to disparage you,
as you may have imagined in your wild delirium.
(Speaking more gently) Do not then be ungrateful,
you whose generous heart is inaccessible to rancor
and odious passions. Cervantes ridiculed knight
errantry because it was no longer proper to his time.
Besides those are not the combats that do you
honor, but battles in the open field, as you well
know. These are my arguments; and if they don't
convince you, I accept your challenge.

Having spoken Minerva, like a lightning-loaded

cloud approaching another over the center of the
ocean when the sky darkens, slowly marches
forward, clasping her formidable shield and lowering
her spear, a terrible angel of destruction, of tranquil
but terrifying look, the sound of her voice striking
fear.

Bellona places herself beside Mars, ready to help

him. On seeing this, Apollo drops his lyre and seizes
his bow, draws an arrow from his golden quiver and,
placing himself besides Minerva, pulls his bow, ready
to shoot.

Olympus, on the verge of collapse, shudders; the

light of day darkens and the gods tremble.

JUPITER: (shouting enraged and wielding a

thunderbolt) To your seats, Minerva, Apollo! And
you, Mars and Bellona, do not provoke celestial fury!
(Like cruel wild beasts in an iron cage obeying the
voice of their bold master, those four gods return to
their respective seats, scared by the threat of the
son of Cybele, who, on seeing their obedience,
speaks more gently.) I shall put an end this dispute.
Justice shall weigh the books with strict impartiality;
and what she decrees shall be followed in the world,
while you shall accept her immutable judgment.

Justice descends from her throne and goes to the

center, bearing impartial scales, on which Mercury
places the Aenied and the Quixote. After oscillating
for a long time, the needle finally points to the
middle, indicating that the books are equal.

Venus is shocked but keeps silent

Mercury removes the Aenied and replaces it with

the Iliad. A smile appears on the lips of Juno, a smile
that speedily vanishes when she sees the two scales
bearing the Quixote and the Iliad rising and falling.
 Suspense grips everyone; no one speaks, no one
breathes.

A zephyr [a soft, gentle west wind. - RLY] flies

overhead and perches on the branch of a tree, to
await the verdict of Destiny.

At last the scales rest equal and remain still.

JUPITER: (in a solemn voice) Gods and goddesses,

Justice believes them equal! Bow, then, your heads
and let us give the trumpet to Homer, the lyre to
Virgil, and the laurel crown to Cervantes, while Fame
shall publish in the world the verdict of Destiny and
Apollo shall intone a hymn to the new star that from
now on shall shine in the sky of glory and occupy a
seat in the temple of immortality.

APOLLO: (striking his lyre - at whose sound

Olympus is illuminated - and intoning the hymn of
glory that resounds all over the coliseum): Hail to
thee, greatest of men, favorite son of the Muses,
core of the intense light that shall illuminate the
universe - hail! Praise to your name, splendid
luminary, around who, in the days to come, shall
revolve a thousand intellects, admirers of your glory!
Hail, masterpiece of the land of the Almighty, pride
of Spain! Most beautiful of the flowers that crown my
brows, I salute you! You shall eclipse the glories of
antiquity; your name, written in letters of gold in the
temple of immortality, shall be the despair of other
geniuses! Mighty giant, you shall be invincible! Rising
like a superb monument in the midst of your
century, you shall draw all eyes. Your powerful arm
shall vanquish your enemies as voracious fire
consumes dry straw. Go, inspired Muses; gather
fragrant myrtle, beauteous laurel and red roses, and
weave immortal crowns for Cervantes. Pan [a god of
fields, forests, wild animals, flocks, and shepherds,
represented as having the legs (and, sometimes, horns and
ears) of a goat: also known as the Roman Faunus. Often
playing a reed pipe. - RLY], and Silenus, and you fauns
and merry satyrs, dance on the carpet of the dark
forests, while the nereids [= fairies - RLY], the naiads,
the noisy undines and the playful nymphs, scattering
a thousand fragrant flowers, embellish with their
songs the solitude of the seas, the lakes, the water
falls and the rivers, and agitate the clear surface of
the fountains in their diverse games.

The Muses, nymphs, naiads, etc., begin to

dance, as well as Bacchus, Momus, Silenus and
Ganymede, Terpsichore being the leader dancer.
Apollo and Erato play the lyre; Euterpe, the flute;
Clio, the trumpet; and Calliope, the bugle.
Meanwhile, the gods and goddesses arrange
themselves on either side of the stage, which has
been cleared of their thrones. The Philippine anthem
is played and a second curtain opens, revealing,
fantastically illuminated, a bust of Cervantes being
crowned by Rizal, to the strains of the Spanish
"Marcha Real [Note: “Royal March” – Spain’s National
Anthem]."