Still unaware of the ruin that had come upon his hopes, Rizal was living in Berlin and working on the last chapters of “Noli Me Tangere.” He had taken cheap lodging in one of those huge modern German apartment-houses, in the complex depths of which he could bury himself, press on with his work, and be as remote as Tahaiti. He had known from the beginning that he must bring out his book at his own expense, poor as he was, if it was to be published at all. To a European publisher the subject would seem too unconventional and outlandish; and as for the Philippines, not a printer there would venture on his life to so much as look at it. The type was set (in Spanish) in a small job-office not far from Rizal’s lodging. Of the report that he himself eked out his remittances by working at times as a compositor in this shop, there is no satisfactory evidence; he had not previously appeared as a printer, but with his marvelous dexterity and ease in assimilating all knowledge he might have picked up even this craft, too, with others, difficult as it is. If so, he may have enjoyed in Berlin an unusual experience. He may have been an author putting into type his own copy. One problem had harassed him. Whence could he hope to get the money to pay for the publication? He was still largely supported by remittances from home, from Paciano the ever faithful, from other members of his family; but these were not more than enough to keep him alive. The Fates that packed his wallet so full of other good gifts seem to have omitted a facility in making money, but supplied in its stead an abnormal power of self-denial. He now started out to save the sum he needed by inciting the spirit to triumph over the flesh. About this time there came to visit him in Berlin Maximo Viola, a wealthy and excellent young Filipino he had known in Madrid. Viola records that he found the young author living in a rear room and subsisting upon one meal a day, largely bread and coffee, [84] which were cheap. The raven had come that was not only to feed this prophet but to lead him out of the wilderness. Viola’s object had been to invite Rizal to go with him upon a walking tour through rural Germany and Switzerland. At the proposal, Rizal’s eyes blazed; no project could be more alluring to him, as Viola had well known. Then he said that it was impossible; he could not go. Why impossible? asked Viola. Native pride forbade any direct answer, but Viola extracted the truth. He was saving money to publish a book. What kind of a book? Rizal told him, whereupon the Filipino blood stirred in Viola’s veins also, and he offered on the spot to advance enough money to bring out the book and then enough to take Rizal on the walking tour. A few weeks later, “Noli Me Tangere,” a finished novel of five hundred pages, was printed and bound and launched upon its eventful way. [85]