DUST UPON FLOWERY FIELD And when in the end my tomb, forgotten by all men, Has neither a cross nor a stone to keep its place revealed, Let any man plow it and spread it with his spade and Then my ashes, before they resolve into nothingness again, Will scatter to mingle with dust upon they flowery field. -- Rizal

WHERE DR. JOSE RIZAL FELL

The earth was stained with blood; the forced shouts of Viva rang in Bagumbayan - but here, on this spot, glory never rests and endless streams of countrymen visit the place daily in full reverence

THE MORNING of December 30, 1896 is fresh, even somewhat cold, proper to the petty winter of the Philippines. Since the first hours of the day, there has been noted an unusual activity in Fort Santiago, especially around the chapel. The Jesuits and the officers of the Fort surround Rizal and are amazed at his marvelous serenity. His mother, accompanied by his sister Trinidad, visits him, followed by his beloved Josephine in company with Josefa, another sister of his.

Rizal bade them good-bye. He consoled each and all of them and told them not to weep for him. To his mother he dedicate a sheet of paper with this inscription. “To my dearest mother, Sra. Doña Teodora Alonso, 6 a.m., December 30, 1896”; to Josephine Bracken he dedicated the Kempis with the significant words, “To my dear and unhappy wife.” It would seem that this dedication implied that Rizal had been married to her. But being a rationalist, Rizal could have considered her his wife even without being married, for to him it was not the ceremony of the church but love that consecrated the union between man and wife. He held a brief conversation with her. “What will become of you?” he said bitterly. “I shall live by giving lessons in English,” she consoled him. The Jesuits add that Rizal requested them to endeavor to help Josephine at least to get into a convent. To his sister Josefa he dedicated also another edition of the Kempis, DE LA IMITACION DE CRISTO Y MENOSPRECIO DEL MUNDO (Imitation of Christ and Contempt of the World). To his sister Trinidad he gave the ANCHOR OF SALVATION. He also delivered to her an alcohol lamp and told her in English that there was “something inside”.

At 6:30 the picket was formed rapidly and left Fort Santiago. Rizal, tied elbow to elbow, was preceded by a bugle and a drum. At her side were two priest, Fathers Villaclara and March, and behind him were his defender, Taviel de Andrade, and an escort of artillery.

The lugubrious party filled off along the left side of the boulevard then known as Paseo de Maria Cristina (Now Andres Bonifacio Avenue). At the right he saw the sea, and as the morning was clear, he distinguished the silhoutte of Corregidor and the province of Cavite, where the revolutionaries had fortified themselves in spite of the operations of the Spaniards. At the left was the Walled City, full of churches and convents wherein dwelt his most ferocious enemies.

“We are on the road to Calvary,” he said to the Jesuits at the beginning of the march, “I can well realize now the passion of Christ; mine is so insignificant.”

There was a big crowd along the avenue in spite of the earliness of the hour; some were going ahead of him, others were following the cortege; the rest were standing by. The majority of the Spaniards had come to satiate their curiosity, to witness the death of him whom they erroneously deemed to be the head of the insurrection. The Filipinos who had heard much of Rizal and did not know him wished to see his face, to know the leader who challenged tyranny.

The march was slow. Rizal was serene and tranquil, with body erect, without affectation; his face was pale, his eyes glad and bright within their orbits, his lips shaded by a sparse mustache. He was dressed in black with a white vest and a black felt hat.

“What a beautiful morning!” he said to those accompanying him. “Some mornings like this I used to come here to spend with my sweethearts.”

Passing in front of Ateneo, he also asked, “Is that Ateneo?” “Yes” they said. “I spent a few years there.”

He was laughing at times and gazing at all as if looking for known face among the crowd. There was none. His friends were either in prison or hiding. When he reached the end of the avenue where the Legaspi monument now is, he described a compact multitude which filled the esplanade of the Luneta. Friars and Spaniards drove about in carriages, eager to have satisfaction of seeing the victim of their persecutions fall. Polavieja did not leave his Palace. He did not feel compassionate even for a moment. Rizal’s sisters, who the day before went to entreat  him for their brother’s pardon, did not receive a single word of consolation.

Rizal quickened his step upon nearing the tremendous place of execution, as if running after the glory which he feared he might miss by his tardiness. The crowd gathered around the square formed by the soldiers who were going to execute him. Once placed inside it, Rizal asked the captain who commanded the force to permit him to face the firing line when he was to be shot. He wished to demonstrate his courage, to show that he had no fear of death.

“I can’t do that,” the captain told him, “because I have orders to shoot you in the back.” Rizal argued, “I have not been a traitor to my country nor to the Spanish Nation.”

“My duty is to obey the orders I have received,” the captain told him.  And Rizal replied: “Well. then, shoot me as you wish.

”Rizal had a last request, which was granted: that they not shoot him in the head; he offered his breast for that. They invited him to kneel down, and he refused.

He bade goodbye to his defenders with a strong handshake; he did the same thing with the Jesuit fathers, who gave him a crucifix to kiss; he turned to face the sea and in that way he turned back to the picket that was going to shoot him. The military doctor approached him and asked for his wrist.

“Your pulse is very good,” the doctor told him. Rizal Shrugged his shoulders. He desired to die, anyhow. The guns barked, he veered his body to the right and fell dead, face upward. The sound of the last shot was lost in the emmense sigh of the multitude indicating that it was all over. Exclamations of “Long Live Spain! Down with the traitors!" were heard three or four times. They were those of the Spaniards. Then little by little the crowd dispersed and the place of execution was cleared.

Many desired to see the body and gathered near the place where it fell but the guards prevented them. In a few moments the wagon arrived which picked up the body and carried it secretly to the Paco cemetery. In the meantime the band of musicians of the battalion of volunteers played the martial airs of the march of Cadiz.

Rizal died, but what a most glorious and enviable death was his! He sacrificed himself for one great and luminous idea, the redemption of his country. Will he achieved it? Although it may seem paradoxical, that brief and bloody scene at the Luneta, instead of killing Rizal, made him live in the memory and in the heart of his countrymen. Whereas Rizal since then was more beloved and venerated, those who instigated his execution, like official Spain that authorized it, soon expiated their crime: they cease to rule the land which they considered always theirs. Inscrutable designs of history!

Rizal proved that the Filipinos are not an inferior race incapable of the lofty sentiments of humanity. His blood shall serve as a spiritual fertilizer to invigorate the yearning for liberty. Never with more reason could be inscribed over his tomb that Latin sentence:

            Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori.

            It was learned until a few years later that Rizal had left his last will and testament to the Filipinos in two letters in his own handwriting, which were deposited in the hands of his friend. Doctor Marquez, of Macao, with the request to have them published after his death. Here are the letters. The first addressed:

            “To my dear parents, brothers, sister and friends: The love which I have always professed for you was what dictated this step, and only the future can tell whether or not it is wise. The success of an act is judged according to the consequences; but whether the judgement be favorable or unfavorable, it shall always be said that my duty has dictated to me, and it matters not if I perish in complying with it.

            “I know that I have made you suffer much, but I do not regret what I have done; and if I were to begin now, I would do the same as I have done because that is my duty. Gladly do I go to expose myself to peril, not as an expiation of my faults (for in this matter I do not think I have committed any) but to crown my work and to attest with my example what I have always preached.

            “A man ought to die for his duty and for his convictions, I maintain all the ideas I have expressed concerning the condition and the future of my country, and I shall die willingly for her, and even more willingly to secure justice and tranquility for you.

            “I risk my life with gladness to save so many innocent persons, so many nephews and nieces, so many children of friends and of other who suffer from me. What am I? A single man almost without a family, quite disillusioned about life. I have had many illusions, and the future that lies before me is dark but would be even more so were it not illuminated by the light, the dawn of my country. Meanwhile, there are many persons who, full of hopes and dreams, may perhaps be ever happy through my demise; for I hope my enemies will feel satisfied and will no longer persecute so many innocent persons. Their hatred with respect to me is justifiable to a certain point, but not with respect to my parents and relatives.

“If fate be adverse to me, let it be known by all that I shall die happy, thinking that with my death I shall secure for them the end of all their miseries. Return to our country and be happy in it.

“Up to the last instant of my life I will think of you and will wish you all kinds of happiness.

                                                                                    Jose Rizal
                                                                                                    Hongkong, June 20, 1892.”

 The second letter is the following:

“To the Filipinos: The step I have taken or am about to take is very risky, indeed, and I need not say that I have thought it over for a long time. I know that almost all are against it; but I know what is going in my heart. I cannot live on, knowing that many are suffering unjust persecutions on my account; I cannot live on, seeing my brothers, sisters, and their numerous families pursued like criminals; I prefer to face death, and I gladly give my life to free so many innocent persons from so unjust a persecution. I know that for the time being the future of my country hinges upon me; that if I die many will exult and that, therefore, many will long for my perdition. But what shall I do? I have duties to my conscience above all, I have obligations to the families who suffer, to my aged parents whose sighs pierce to my heart. I know that I alone, even with my death, can make them happy by returning them to their country and to the tranquility of their home. I have only my parents. But my country has yet many sons who can take my place and are already doing so with advantage.

“I desire, furthermore, to let those who deny our patriotism see that we know  how to die for our duty and for our convictions. What matters death if one dies for what he loved, for the country and for the being that are adored?

“If I were the only point of support of the policy of the Philippine, and I were convinced that my countrymen would need my services. I would perhaps hesitate to take this step; but there are still others who can take my place with advantage; and, still, there are perchance those who find me unnecessary and will not utilize my services, for they reduced me to inaction.

“I have always love my poor country, and I am sure I shall love her to the last moment, even though men are perhaps unjust to me; my future, my life, my joys – all these I have sacrificed for my love of her. Whatever my fate may be, I shall die blessing her and longing for the dawn of her redemption.

“Let these letters be published after my death.

                                                               Jose Rizal
                                                   Hongkong, June 28, 1892.”

These two letters constitute the last will and testament of Rizal and reveal how great was the love he professed for his countrymen, and the motives that induced him to return to his country for the last time.

The last will and testament of Rizal! Will the Filipinos fulfill it? There are few ideas in it, but these ideas shine like a beacon light in the darkness.

What a noble eulogy to patriots! If every Filipino would repeat these maxims in his heart and would put them into practice in every moment of his life, how glad would Rizal be knowing that his sacrifice has not been in vain!

He has bequeathed to his people that unsatisfied thirst for liberty, that desire to improve and to rise, that determination to suffer for an ideal, thanks to which our people have risen and improved through the hardest reverses and misfortunes of their national existence. Thanks to the example and inspiration of Rizal the Filipino people launched into the combat and with few arms and resources shook off the oppression of the Spanish yoke. The conduct of the people, dubbed as savage, in the tragic transition from thraldom to freedom, has from punishable excesses which in other parts attended revolutionary conditions. With few arms and resources the people saw themselves engaged in another struggle to resist the invasion of a powerful and strong nation, not in order to win but to demonstrate that they are conscious of their rights and that they would not allow themselves to be despoiled thereof with impunity. Subjected to a new yoke, the people remained serene and confident availing themselves only of peaceful and lawful means to reclaim their liberty.   --- From  “Rizal” by Austin Coates.