husbands of viragoes. They came to the Philippines because they were
below the standard of their homeland. These talked the loudest and
thus dominated the undisciplined volunteers. With nothing divine about
them, since they had not forgotten, they did not forgive. So when the
Tondo "discoverer" of the Katipunan fancied he saw opportunity for
promotion in fanning their flame of wrath, they claimed their victims,
and neither the panic-stricken populace nor the weak-kneed government
could withstand them.

Once more it must be repeated that Spain has no monopoly of bad
characters, nor suffers in the comparison of her honorable citizenship
with that of other nationalities, but her system in the Philippines
permitted abuses which good governments seek to avoid or, in the
rare occasions when this is impossible, aim to punish. Here was the
Spanish shortcoming, for these were the defects which made possible
so strange a story as this biography unfolds. "Jose Rizal," said a
recent Spanish writer, "was the living indictment of Spain's wretched
colonial system."

Rizal's family were scattered among the homes of friends brave enough
to risk the popular resentment against everyone in any way identified
with the victim of their prejudice.

As New Year's eve approached, the bands ceased playing and the marchers
stopped parading. Their enthusiasm had worn itself out in the two
continuous days of celebration, and there was a lessening of the
hospitality with which these "heroes" who had "saved the fatherland"
at first had been entertained. Their great day of the year became of
more interest than further remembrance of the bloody occurrence on
Bagumbayan Field. To those who mourned a son and a brother the change
must have come as a welcome relief, for even sorrow has its degrees,
and the exultation over the death embittered their grief.

To the remote and humble home where Rizal's widow and the sister
to whom he had promised a parting gift were sheltered, the Dapitan
schoolboy who had attended his imprisoned teacher brought an alcohol
cooking-lamp. It was midnight before they dared seek the "something"
which Rizal had said was inside. The alcohol was emptied from the tank
and, with a convenient hairpin, a tightly folded and doubled piece of
paper was dislodged from where it had been wedged in, out of sight,
so that its rattling might not betray it.

It was a single sheet of notepaper bearing verses in Rizal's well-known
handwriting and familiar style. Hastily the young boy copied them,
making some minor mistakes owing to his agitation and unfamiliarity
with the language, and the copy, without explanation, was mailed to
Mr. Basa in Hongkong. Then the original was taken by the two women with
their few possessions and they fled to join the insurgents in Cavite.

The following translation of these verses was made by Charles
Derbyshire:


  My Last Farewell

  Farewell, dear Fatherland, clime of the sun caress'd,
  Pearl of the Orient seas, our Eden lost!
  Gladly now I go to give thee this faded life's best,
  And were it brighter, fresher, or more blest,
  Still would I give it thee, nor count the cost.

  On the field of battle, 'mid the frenzy of fight,
  Others have given their lives, without doubt or heed;
  The place matters not--cypress or laurel or lily white,
  Scaffold of open plain, combat or martyrdom's plight,
  'Tis ever the same, to serve our home and country's need.

  I die just when I see the dawn break,
  Through the gloom of night, to herald the day;
  And if color is lacking my blood thou shalt take,
  Pour'd out at need for thy dear sake,
  To dye with its crimson the waking ray.

  My dreams, when life first opened to me,
  My dreams, when the hopes of youth beat high,
  Were to see thy lov'd face, O gem of the Orient sea,
  From gloom and grief, from care and sorrow free;
  No blush on thy brow, no tear in thine eye

  Dream of my life, my living and burning desire,
  All hail! cries the soul that is now to take flight;
  All hail! And sweet it is for thee to expire;
  To die for thy sake, that thou mayst aspire;
  And sleep in thy bosom eternity's long night.

  If over my grave some day thou seest grow,
  In the grassy sod, a humble flower,
  Draw it to thy lips and kiss my soul so,
  While I may feel on my brow in the cold tomb below
  The touch of thy tenderness, thy breath's warm power.

  Let the moon beam over me soft and serene,
  Let the dawn shed over me its radiant flashes,
  Let the wind with sad lament over me keen;
  And if on my cross a bird should be seen,
  Let it trill there its hymn of peace to my ashes.

  Let the sun draw the vapors up to the sky,
  And heavenward in purity bear my tardy protest;
  Let some kind soul o'er my untimely fate sigh,